Claiming His Replacement Queen

What was not quite so simple was the old Zayyari law that demanded a marital alliance between two high-born members of aligning kingdoms. His advisors had already been fighting a backlash from the older generation, who disagreed with their country’s changing landscape. He needed a bride if he wished to avoid public uproar. Thankfully, King Fabian had assured him that arranged marriage for the royal descendants was still a firm practice in his kingdom. Khal was not overly fond of the King, but he had not believed him capable of coercing his own daughter to the point that she would run away to avoid a proposal.

Cressida had assured him that she was not being coerced as her sister had been, yet still he wondered what personal reasons drove her to accept a political arrangement. Clearly she had a strong sense of loyalty to her kingdom and her family. It did not take much imagination to picture her by his side, swathed in silks and jewels, hosting lunches and balls in the Zayyari grand palace for hundreds of guests from all over the globe.

The trouble was, he had imagined a cold marriage. So far, his response to his fiancée had been far from cold. He’d had a true marriage once, built on the foundations of love and companionship. He had no desire to try to recreate that, for many reasons.

But the attraction between them was a complication he had not foreseen. Five minutes with her in his arms and he had practically pulled her to the nearest private area, needing more. She had felt so good in his arms. Too good.

The moment that he had realised she was completely oblivious to his identity he had felt something awaken inside him that he had long buried. Suddenly his quiet political marriage had seemed a lot less straightforward. He had planned to sit and keep watch until she decided to leave of her own accord. Then someone had tried to dance with her and that small primitive part of him he tried his best to suppress had roared to life, moving in to claim what was his.

So much for changing his image of ruthless desert King.

He had not expected to be physically interested in the woman he married; it was not necessary to the arrangement, after all. His head was not usually turned by long legs and a short dress. But the moment he’d had her body pressed against his, he had felt his libido emerge from its self-imposed hibernation with a vengeance. He’d been possessed by the mad urge to press his lips to the soft parts of her neck and continue down... It had shocked him, the need.

The wedding would take place in two days. This time he had made sure of it. An iron-clad contract of law bound Princess Cressida to their agreement. If she went back on her promise, his financial investments into Monteverre’s failing economy became null and void. Perhaps it was severe, but he couldn’t take a chance on her backing out of the marriage just like her sister had. Not when the future of two countries lay in the balance. He was not a patient man, quite the opposite. He liked things to be done precisely when he planned. Soon he could get back to more important matters in his own kingdom.

* * *

Cressida tried to stifle a gasp as the helicopter lowered swiftly to the ground, depositing them on a crop of barren flatlands on the very outskirts of the Zayyari desert. Despite her attack of anxiety at the news that she would become Queen so soon, she had surprisingly managed to sleep for almost five hours before waking with a ferocious hunger. The rest of the flight had been spent nibbling on snacks and perusing some of the books she had found on board about her new home, the desert kingdom of Zayyar. It had been a smooth trip from the private airstrip and she had presumed that they would arrive directly at the palace in the centre of Zayyar’s capital city of the same name. Her Internet research had provided her with some basic facts of what to expect from her new home, but nothing could have prepared her for the heat. Her blouse already felt damp on her back as Khal helped her out of the SUV and into the direct glare of the burning hot sun.

She had covered her hair with a pale pink scarf before they exited the jet, provided by one of his many assistants. In general, Zayyar was rather cosmopolitan for the Middle East; they did not enforce modesty among the women of its population. But apparently where they were going for their wedding ceremony was a sacred place. It was all very mysterious.

‘We continue on horseback from here.’ Khal’s voice was gruff and sleep-worn as he gestured to where his guards had already begun to mount impressively large dark steeds. ‘You will ride with me.’

She gulped, taking in the sheer size of the animal before her. She had never been one for horseback riding as a girl. But, before she could object, strong arms gripped her hips tight and she felt herself being swung up onto the saddle as though she weighed nothing at all. The hard warmth of the Sheikh’s chest pressed tight to her back as he settled behind her and she felt her body tense. The effort of keeping her eyes on the horizon was a welcome distraction as they began a swift gallop across the sand. There was no sound around them other than the beating of hooves on the dry desert plain. Gone was the hustle and bustle of city life she had grown used to, the noise she had used to distract her just as much as the books she lived inside. The air she breathed in was warm and fragrant, reaching deep within her and calming her raging heartbeat.