Sheikh's Pregnant Cinderella

With the Sheikh’s appearance in his intended’s bedroom, she’d harboured hope that everything would be resolved.

Except King Zufar al Khalia had just spoken words that simply didn’t make sense. For a moment Niesha wondered whether the shock of watching Amira Ghalib disappear from right under her nose had dislodged a few million brain cells.

The man in front of her, the formidable, extraordinarily captivating tower of masculinity who prowled through his kingdom with harsh authority and power, commanding and receiving the loyal adulation of his subjects because he was simply that breathtaking, had just said—

No. You did you not hear him right. It was impossible.

Her thoughts were clearly echoed by Marwan, who sprang forwards. ‘Your Highness?’ His voice was ashen with disbelief.

The King—her King, since she too was a subject of the Kingdom of Khalia—moved another step closer, bringing his earth-shaking life force even more dangerously into her space. He stalked so close she could almost see the ice crackling in his eyes, the contained fury vibrating his body.

Niesha shrank away from the elegant folds of the wedding gown, the sheets of icy shock thawing into a cauldron of panic. She glanced around the room, selfishly wishing Princess Galila were still here.

King Zufar’s sister barely noticed Niesha most of the time, but her kind smile when she did was far better than the fiercely domineering glower of her brother, and the tableau of horrified expressions spread in panorama before her.

Perversely, those expressions were what hammered home the fact that she’d heard correctly. He’d used her full name. In connection to marriage. His marriage. Today. Shock gurgled in her throat.

Her fingers moved then, connected with the soft, warm folds of the most extraordinary wedding gown she’d ever seen in her life. The gown that, finding herself alone in this room three nights ago, she’d secretly indulged in one insane moment’s fantasy of wearing herself to marry the ephemeral man of her dreams.

The gown that Zufar al Khalia wanted her to...to—

‘I’m sorry, Your Highness...’ she whispered, but his voice overrode hers.

‘Time is of the essence,’ he growled, without raising his deep voice. ‘I suggest we begin preparations immediately.’

‘Your Highness, this...this will be highly unprecedented,’ Marwan said.

‘I should hope so, or there would be something seriously disturbing with my reign,’ Sheikh Zufar stated without looking the old man’s way. ‘But make no mistake. This wedding ceremony will happen. She is the one who will take Amira’s place,’ he uttered with a finality that drove a bolt of fear down Niesha’s throat.

Aware that she had to get herself together very quickly or risk being flattened by the force of nature bearing down on her, she straightened her spine and raised her head.

He was watching her with the savage, mesmerising golden eyes of a hawk. Before she could summon any words, Marwan beat her to it. ‘Your Highness, perhaps we should discuss this—’

‘You are risking insubordination by questioning my command. The subject isn’t up for discussion. Get the bridal attendants in here now.’

Niesha realised her head was moving from side to side, a pendulous action she couldn’t stop. Shockwaves that hadn’t stopped rippling through her since she witnessed Amira and the stranger’s extraordinary flight now threatened to drown her. Another sound ripped from her throat.

Dark, tawny eyes zeroed in on her.

‘You will not pass out,’ Zufar commanded tersely, as if just by issuing the edict, her body would follow. ‘Bring her a glass of water,’ he tossed over his shoulder.

A cut-crystal glass instantly appeared.

With elegant fingers and an unwavering gaze, he handed it to her.

Niesha took a sip, swallowed it along with the hysterical laughter bubbling up. This wasn’t happening. She wanted to go back to an hour ago, when she was the least significant person in the room, no different from the straggly orphan without a past she’d been some twenty odd years ago, the one who’d been absorbed by the state orphanage that bore the royal family’s name.

The hand-me-down clothes she wore were two sizes too large, and really should have done their job of hiding her better, she mused dazedly. She’d chosen them out of prudence, not fashion. It had simply meant she wouldn’t have to worry about new clothes any time soon.

Except, even covered from head to toe, she felt more naked now than she’d ever felt in her life.

‘Drink some more,’ he decreed.

Her hands shook wildly, but she managed to take another sip without spilling it. He promptly relieved her of the glass. Still dazed, Niesha watched as it was spirited away.

Then her eyes clashed with his, and the words he’d spoken rose like a horrifying mirage before her eyes. Beyond the space filled out by his broad shoulders and his overwhelming presence, Niesha spotted movement as the bridal attendants entered.

He flicked a wrist, and Halimah, the head attendant of the women’s wing, who’d barely tolerated Niesha before today, approached.

Zufar acknowledged her presence with a single glance. ‘I do not take your loyalty for granted. But I demand your discretion in this matter.’

‘Of course, Your Highness,’ Halimah replied.

Zufar nodded. ‘My new bride has been selected. You will ensure Niesha is ready at the allotted time. Is that clear?’

Halimah’s eyes widened as she stared up at her King.

‘Is there a problem?’ he demanded.

Her head lowered immediately. ‘No, Your Highness.’

Another tremble swept through Niesha as he continued, ‘You will dress her and present her to the Grand Hall ready for her royal parade in one hour.’ The deep, dark, ruthless timbre of his voice brooked no argument.

No. This wasn’t happening.

She was just a maidservant. An orphan with no past. A nobody. She wasn’t even worthy of wearing Amira’s cast-offs, never mind her wedding gown!

‘Please,’ she started. The word emerged as a weak, scratchy sound. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Your Highness, I beg your pardon, but I cannot.’

Pure thunder rumbled across his impressive eyebrows. His eyes, so direct, so hypnotic, drilled right into her bone marrow.

‘Yes, you will. Unless you prefer to suffer the consequences of disobeying your King you will go forwards with this.’

Niesha balled her hand and placed it over her racing heart, desperate to calm it before it burst out of her chest. A long time ago, she’d sworn allegiance to him and his family. It had been one of the conditions of inhabiting the palace, and she’d done so willingly. And although he had no inkling who she was or her very small insignificant role his life, she’d done everything asked of her, for him.

In her own way, she’d given him moments of comfort, she liked to tell herself, by making sure that the food she was tasked to serve him in his private dining room was the right temperature, by ensuring his favourite wines were on hand when he returned to his royal apartments after long days away from the palace.

On one occasion, she’d taken it upon herself to purchase a bottle out of her meagre savings when the palace delivery had been delayed.

And when his personal cleaning staff had come down with the flu, she’d volunteered to work in his private quarters. To this day, tucked away in her mind, Niesha had a memory of the scent of his sheets and the unique cologne he wore on his skin.

Those tiny, insignificant but intense moments had made her blush for weeks afterwards on recollection. Still made her blush.

So, yes, like everyone else in this room, she would do anything for Sheikh Zufar al Khalia.

But not this.

The oscillation of her head grew faster as her alarm escalated. ‘With respect, Your Highness, you don’t want me. I’m nobody. Th-there are others far more suitable for this role. You’re making a mistake.’ She was a little glad that her voice held firmer than before.