Demanding His Desert Queen

‘I’m not inclined to accept the throne, but I’ll consider it more thoroughly if you’re willing to marry.’

Safiyah drew a deep breath, frantically searching for a semblance of calm. She couldn’t believe the direction this conversation had taken. What had begun simply had become a nightmare.

She was about to ignore his warning and spill out her fears, but the stern lines of his expression stopped her. Karim didn’t look like Abbas, but she recognised the pugnacious attitude of a man who’d made up his mind. Not just any man, but one raised to expect unquestioning obedience.

She’d learned with her husband that defiance of his pronouncements, even in the most trivial, unintended way, only made him less likely to listen. Safiyah couldn’t afford to have Karim reject the crown.

Carefully she chose her words. ‘I need time to consider too.’

Karim raised one supercilious eyebrow, obviously questioning the fact that she hadn’t instantly leapt at the chance to marry him.

Except the thought of being tied in marriage to any man, especially Karim, sent a flurry of nervous dread through her.

‘You need time?’

His tone made it clear he thought it inexplicable. He was right. Any other woman, she was sure, would jump at the chance to marry him.

‘It seems we both do.’ She held his gaze, refusing to look away. She might be reeling with shock inside, but she refused to betray the fact.

‘Very well. We’ll meet tomorrow at nine. A lot rides on your answer, Safiyah.’

CHAPTER THREE (#u7fa3491a-ff67-5a8f-a31e-020c0e68a435)

‘I LIKE IT,’ Ashraf said over the phone. ‘Accepting the Assaran crown is a perfect solution.’

Karim frowned at his brother’s words as he wiped the sweat from his torso. The morning’s visits had left him unsettled, and he’d sought to find calm through a workout in the gym, only to be interrupted by Ashraf’s call.

‘Solution? I don’t see that there’s a problem to be solved from your perspective—and especially not from mine.’

Yet, if not a problem, Karim sensed there was something. He and Ashraf had spoken at the weekend. It was unlike his brother to call again so soon. Unless something important had arisen. They didn’t live in each other’s pockets, but there was a genuine bond between them, all the more remarkable given the fact they’d been kept apart as much as possible by their father.

The old man had been prejudiced against Ashraf, believing him to be another man’s son. He’d neglected the younger boy, fixing all his focus and energy on the elder. Not because he’d cared for Karim—the old tartar had been incapable of love—but because, as the eldest, he was the one to be moulded into a future sheikh.

If it hadn’t been so personally painful Karim would have laughed when the truth had been revealed, that the Sheikh had picked the wrong heir. That Ashraf was the true son and Karim the bastard.

‘I’ve no need of a throne, Ashraf. You know that.’

There was a growl in his voice. A morning besieged—first by the envoy from the Assaran Royal Council, and then by the only woman he’d ever seriously thought of marrying—had impaired his mood. The idea that Safiyah believed he still cared enough about her to be coaxed into doing her bidding set his teeth on edge. It would take more than an hour in the gym to ease the anger cramping his belly.

Karim stared through the huge windows, streaming with rain, towards the mountains, now shrouded in cloud. He usually found peace in a long ride. But he had no horses here. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have subjected any poor beast to a hard ride in this weather just to shift his bad mood.

‘Of course you don’t need a throne.’ Ashraf’s tone was matter-of-fact. ‘You’ve taken to being an independent businessman like a duck to water. Not to mention having the freedom to enjoy lovers without raising expectations that you’re looking for a royal life partner.’

Karim’s frown deepened. Did his brother miss his old life? Ashraf and Tori had been blissfully wrapped up in each other when he’d seen them last, but… ‘What’s wrong? Are you pining for your days as a carefree bachelor?’

Ashraf’s laugh reassured him. ‘Not a bit. I’ve never been happier.’ He paused, his voice dropping to a more serious note. ‘Except I’d rather you were here more often.’

It was a familiar argument, but Karim was adamant about not returning to Za’daq long-term. His brother was a fine leader, yet there were still a few powerful men who chafed at the idea of being ruled by a younger son.

His brother sighed at the other end of the line. ‘Sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t mention it.’

‘Why don’t you just get to the point?’

The point being the outlandish suggestion that he, Karim, should take the Assaran throne. Interestingly, the proposal hadn’t been news to Ashraf. Nor did he think it outlandish.

‘You rang to persuade me. Why?’

‘Pure self-interest.’ Ashraf’s answer came instantly. ‘Life will be much easier and better for our country if there’s a stable government in Assara.’

Karim didn’t dispute his logic. The two countries shared a border, and what affected one ended up affecting the other.

‘If Shakroun becomes Sheikh there’ll be stability.’ Karim didn’t like the man, but that was irrelevant. ‘He’s strong and he’ll hang on to power.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ his brother murmured.

‘What?’ Surely Ashraf wouldn’t advocate civil unrest.

‘You’ve been away a long time. Certain things have come to light that put a different slant on Shakroun and his activities.’

‘I haven’t heard anything.’

Despite removing himself from the Middle East, Karim followed press reports from the region. He’d told himself more than once that his interest in matters he’d left behind was a mistake, but though he’d cut so many ties he couldn’t conquer his innate interest. He’d been bred to it, after all, had spent a lifetime living and breathing regional politics.

‘We’re not talking about anything known publicly. But a number of investigations are bearing fruit. Remember that people-smuggling ring that worked out of both countries?’

‘How could I forget?’

Za’daq was a peaceable country, but years before the borderland between the two nations had been lawless, controlled by a ruthless criminal called Qadri. Qadri had unofficially run the region through violence and intimidation. One of his most profitable ventures had been people-smuggling from Za’daq into Assara and then to more distant markets. Tori, before she’d become Ashraf’s wife, had been kidnapped for the trade, and Qadri had attempted to execute Ashraf himself.

‘We don’t have enough quite yet to prove it in a court of law, but we know Qadri’s partner in the flesh trade was Hassan Shakroun.’

‘I see…’ The surprising thing was that Karim wasn’t surprised. Not that he’d guessed Shakroun was a criminal. He’d just thought him deeply unpleasant and far too fixated on his own prestige and power. ‘How sure are you?’

‘I’m sure. The evidence is clear. But it will take time till the police are ready to press charges. Since Qadri’s death Shakroun has taken over some of his criminal enterprises. They’re trying to get an iron-clad case against him on a number of fronts. It’s tough getting evidence, because Shakroun gets others to do his dirty work and witnesses are thin on the ground. A couple of people who stirred up trouble for him met with unfortunate “accidents”.’

Karim felt an icy prickle across his rapidly cooling flesh. He grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it one-handed over his head, then shoved his arms through the sleeves.

‘That’s one of the reasons the Council is searching for someone else to become Sheikh.’

Now it made so much more sense. Did Safiyah know?

Immediately he dragged his thoughts back. Safiyah wasn’t the issue. He refused to be swayed by her. Yet the thought of her with her small child in the Assaran palace and Shakroun moving in made his stomach curdle.

‘It’s also why they’re eager for an outsider,’ Ashraf added. ‘If they choose from within the country Shakroun is the obvious choice. He’s from an influential family, and on the face of it would make a better leader than the other contenders. But with you they’d get someone they know and respect, who has a track record of ruling during those years when our father was ill.’

Karim let the words wash over him, ignoring Ashraf’s reference to the man who’d raised him as his father. His thoughts were already moving on.

‘How many know about this?’