The Desert Sheikh's Innocent Queen: King of the Desert, Captive Bride

He followed her through one low arched corridor after another, deeper beneath the old fortress which had been turned into Ozr Prison a half century ago.

As they walked through the corridors, hands reached out, and voices in Arabic, Egyptian, Farsi and even English begged for help, for mercy, for a doctor, a lawyer, anyone, anything. Ozr was the last place on earth any man would want to be. God only knew how it was for a woman, as once you entered through the prison’s gates, you discovered you’d earned a one-way ticket. Once you were in, you never came out again.

One of Khalid’s friends from high school had gotten into trouble in Jabal and after being arrested was tossed into Ozr was never heard from again. Khalid’s father, the King of Sarq, had made enquiries and then entreaties on his son’s friend’s behalf all to no avail.

Jabal, bordered by four countries including Egypt and Sarq, remained a dangerous dictator state, with international travel warnings in place, warnings that Olivia Morse had obviously ignored.

The guard stopped before a cell that was empty except for a woman sitting on a narrow cot, her knees drawn to her chest, wisps of blond hair escaping from her black veil.

Olivia.

Khalid’s chest tightened, a visceral reaction to seeing her for the first time.

In her passport photo she’d been pretty, fresh-faced, a hopeful light in her blue eyes. But the young woman sitting inside the cell didn’t look like the photo anymore. The woman inside the cell appeared vacant, even half-dead.

“Olivia Morse,” he asked, stepping toward the bars.

Her head briefly lifted but she didn’t look at him.

“You are Miss Olivia Morse, aren’t you?” he persisted, his voice pitched low.

Liv sat on the cot, legs pulled up against her, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, trying to make herself smaller.

Maybe she wasn’t really here, and maybe there wasn’t another bad man standing outside her cell demanding information, threatening another interrogation, interrogations that always ended with a beating.

Didn’t they understand yet that she had no answers? Didn’t they understand she was as confused as they were? She’d been had. Duped. Destroyed.

Liv closed her eyes, bent her head and pressed her forehead against the bony curve of her knees. Maybe if she just kept her eyes closed she’d disappear. Dissolve. Wake up in Alabama again.

God, she missed home. God, she missed Jake and Mom and everyone.

She should have never dreamed of pyramids and beautiful waves of sand, shouldn’t have wanted to ride a camel or explore the ancient tombs.

She should have been happy staying home. She should have been happy just being a travel agent, booking other people’s exotic vacations.

“Olivia.”

The man spoke her name quietly, urgently, and fear rose up in her, fear that something bad was going to happen again.

Turning her head away, she choked in broken Arabic, Arabic she’d learned to protect herself from another blow during the endless interrogations, “I don’t know. I don’t know who she was—”

“We’ll discuss the charges later,” he interrupted, speaking flawless English, English without a hint of an accent. “There are a few things we need to settle first.”

Liv shivered. The fact that he spoke English only made her more afraid, and fear and fatigue were the only things she understood anymore.

“If I knew who she was, I’d tell you, I would. Because I want to go home—” She broke off, took a quick, unsteady breath, exhausted from the interrogations. The guards came for her at all hours of the night and then they’d skip her meals, trying to break her, trying to get the information they wanted. “I want to help you. I’m trying to help you. Believe me.”

“I do,” he said almost gently, and his tone, so different from the others, was her undoing.

Scalding tears filled her eyes, tears so hot they stung and burned as if filled with salt and sand.

Reaching up, she swiftly wiped her eyes dry. “I want to go home,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“And I want to see you return home.”

No one had said that to her since she arrived. No one had given her the slightest bit of hope that she’d ever leave this horrible place.

Liv slowly turned her head and looked at him. The corridor was dark, shadowy, but the shadows couldn’t hide his height or size. He wasn’t a small man, or a stout man, not like the ones who’d interrogated her before. He was considerably younger, too.

He was robed, but his robe was black and embroidered heavily with gold. His head covering was white, pristine-white, and while the cloth concealed much of his hair it only served to emphasize his hard, strong features.

“I’m here to get you out,” he continued, “but we don’t have much time.”

Torn between hope and dread, Liv clutched her knees to her chest, her thin back robe rough against her skin. All of her clothes had been confiscated with the rest of her things at the time of her arrest. In place of her skirts and jeans and T-shirts she’d been given this robe, and the thin, stiff linen garment she wore beneath the robe, which was little more than a slip. “Who sent you?”

The man’s expression was neither friendly nor encouraging. “Your brother.”

“Jake?”

“He asked me to check on you.”

She lurched to her feet and then grabbed the wall for support. “Jake knows I’m here?”

“Jake knows I’m looking for you.”

Liv exhaled in a dizzy rush, her fingers pressed to the damp stone wall. “They said I’d never leave here. They said I’d never get out, not until I confessed, and gave up the names of the others.”

“They didn’t know you were connected to powerful people,” he replied.

Liv blinked, her head swimming. “Am I?”

“You are now.”

She moved to the front of the cell and grabbed the bars. “How? Why?”

“I am Sheikh Khalid Fehr, and I’m here representing the royal family of Sarq.”

“Sarq borders Jabal,” she said.

“And Egypt,” he answered. “It will be a diplomatic feat to get you out of here today, and time is short. I need to have the paperwork finalized, but I will return—”

“No!” Liv didn’t mean to shout, she hadn’t intended her voice to be loud at all, but panic melted her bones, turning her blood to ice. “No,” she said more softly. “Please. Don’t leave me here.”

“It’s just for a few minutes, maybe a half hour at the most—”

“No,” she begged, her voice breaking, her hand snaking through the bars of the prison cell to clasp the sleeve of his robe. “Don’t leave me.”

For a long moment he said nothing, just stared down at her hand, his thick black lashes fanning the hard thrust of cheekbone, his skin the color of burnished gold. “They won’t free you without my completing the necessary paperwork.”