Demanding His Desert Queen

‘Very few. It’s too early to accuse him publicly—not until the evidence is watertight. But if he becomes Sheikh…’

Karim could imagine. A criminal thug with almost absolute power. It didn’t bear thinking about.

He ploughed his hand through his damp hair. ‘It’s still a matter for the Assarans.’

‘And they want you, Karim.’

Karim’s mouth flattened. His nostrils flared as he dragged in a deep breath. ‘I’ve got a life here.’

He watched the stream of rain down the windows and another chill encompassed him. It didn’t matter how long he spent in Europe and North America. He still missed the wide open skies of his homeland. The brilliant, harsh sun, and even the arid heartland where only the hardiest survived.

‘I’ve got a business to run,’ he added.

Ashraf didn’t respond.

‘I’m a private citizen now. I’ve had my fill of being royal. From the moment I could walk I was moulded into a prince, crammed full of lessons on public responsibility and politics. Now I’m living for myself.’

Not that he expected sympathy.

Finally his brother spoke. ‘So you’re telling me you’ll just turn your back on the situation? Because you’re having such a good time answering to no one but yourself?’ He didn’t hide his scepticism.

‘Damn it, Ashraf! Do I look like a hero?’

His brother’s voice held no laughter when he answered. ‘I always thought so, bro.’

Karim flinched, feeling the twelve-month age difference between them like a weight on his shoulders. Some hero! He hadn’t been able to protect his own brother.

Karim had been a serious, responsible child, his world hemmed in by constant demands that he learn, achieve, excel, work harder and longer. Even so, he’d devoted himself to finding ingenious ways to keep the old Sheikh’s attention off his younger brother. When he hadn’t succeeded—when the old man had focused his hate on the boy he’d believed a bastard—Ashraf had been bullied and beaten. Karim hadn’t been able to protect him all the time.

Ashraf had never blamed him for not looking after him better, but the twist of guilt in Karim’s belly was something he’d always carry.

‘You don’t have to be a hero to become Sheikh,’ Ashraf continued, as if he hadn’t just shaken Karim to the core. ‘Shakroun would have no qualms about taking the throne and there’s nothing heroic about him. He’d enjoy the perks of the position.’

The words hauled Karim’s thoughts out of the past and straight back to Assara. To the idea of Safiyah at the mercy of a man like Shakroun. Hassan Shakroun wouldn’t be slow to recognise that tying himself to the previous Sheikh’s beautiful widow would cement his position. Karim might not care for Safiyah any more but the thought of her with a thug like Shakroun…

Karim cursed under his breath, long and low. His brother, having made his point, merely said goodbye and left him with his thoughts.

Instinct warned Karim to keep a wide berth from Assara and its troubles. Yet his sense of responsibility nagged. It wasn’t helped by the realisation, crystallised during the meeting with Safiyah, that his new life wasn’t as fulfilling as he’d like. Yes, he had an aptitude for business and making money. Yes, he enjoyed the freedom to choose for himself, without pondering the impact of his decisions on millions of others. And Ashraf was right: it was far easier enjoying a discreet affair without the encumbrance of royalty.

But Karim had spent his life developing the skills to administer a nation. He’d had a few years of taking on more responsibility when the old Sheikh’s health had faded. He’d thrived on it. It had been his vocation. Which was why he’d been so devastated when he’d had to step away. Ashraf had told him to stay as Sheikh but Karim hadn’t been able to do it. His brother had already been robbed of so much. Karim had refused to take what was rightfully his.

The idea of making a real difference in Assara, doing what he was trained for and what he enjoyed, tempted him. He could do a lot for the place and its people. Assara was a fine country, but it was behind Za’daq in many ways. He’d enjoy the challenge.

Yet behind all those considerations was the thought of Safiyah. Of what would happen to her and her son if Shakroun became Sheikh.

Karim paced the private gym from end to end. Safiyah was nothing to him—no more important than any other Assaran citizen. He should be able to contemplate her without any stirring of emotion.

He grimaced. Emotion had lured him into playing out that scene with her earlier. He’d drawn out the interview with talk of marriage purely so he could watch her squirm. It had been a low act. Karim was ashamed of stooping to it. He couldn’t recall ever deliberately lying before. But he’d lied blatantly today. To salve his pride. And because he hated the fact that Safiyah could make him feel anything when she felt nothing. To her he was, as he’d always been, a means to an end.

But his talk of marriage had backfired mightily.

Because now he couldn’t get it out of his head.

Karim was intrigued by her. He kept circling back to the idea of Safiyah as his lover. Maybe because although they’d once been on the verge of betrothal, they’d never shared more than a few kisses. The night she’d agreed to come to him had been the night his world had been blown apart.

That had to be the reason he felt so unsettled. Safiyah was unfinished business.

Lust speared him, dark and urgent, as he remembered her in the crimson dress that had clung like a lover’s hands. The delicate pendant she’d worn, with a single glowing red stone, had drawn his eyes to the pale perfection of her throat. He’d wanted to bury his face where her pulse beat too fast and find out if she was still as sensitive there as he remembered. Or if that too had been a hoax. Like the way she’d pretended to fall for him.

He knew he should walk away.

Safiyah tested his limits more than any woman he’d met. He didn’t want to spend his life with a woman he couldn’t trust or respect. Even to satisfy his lust.

But what if he did walk away? If he let Shakroun take the throne?

Karim would be in part responsible for what that thug did to Assara. And what he might do to Safiyah and her boy.

Karim stopped pacing and stared at the tall figure reflected in the mirror on the far side of the room. He saw hands clenched into fists, tendons standing taut, a body tensed for action.

He’d been raised to put the welfare of a nation before his own. That conditioning was hard to break.

Surely that was what made him hesitate.

He had a major decision to make and it would not hinge on Safiyah.

Karim forked his hand through his hair, scraping his fingers along his scalp. The trouble was, the more he thought about it, the more he realised marriage to the Assaran Queen was the best way to ensure he was accepted as Sheikh.

If he chose to take the role.

If he could bring himself to marry the woman who’d once spurned him.

‘He’s fine, Safiyah. Truly. It was just a runny nose and he’s okay now. He’s bright as anything and he’s been playing with the puppies.’

The phone to her ear, Safiyah rolled onto her back on the wide bed, imagining Tarek with a tumble of puppies. He’d be in his element. He loved animals, but Abbas had always said a palace was no place for pets.

‘You brought them to the palace on purpose, didn’t you, Rana? You’re hoping we’ll keep one.’

Not that she minded. These last few years she’d missed being around dogs and horses. There was something soothing about their unquestioning love.

‘Guilty as charged.’

Her sister’s chuckle made Safiyah smile. It was such a carefree sound, and one she still cherished. Rana was happy and settled now—such a tremendous change from a few years ago.

‘But you know how hard it can be to find homes for a litter. Especially since they’re not pure-bred. What’s one little puppy…?’

Safiyah laughed at Rana’s exaggerated tone of innocence. ‘Probably a lot of trouble until it’s house-trained and learns not to chew everything in sight. But you’re right. A dog would be good company for Tarek.’

Not that her son showed any sign of missing Abbas. He’d rarely seen his father more than once a week, and then only for short periods, usually in the throne room or the royal study.