Desert Rogues Part 1

“Rihana, Your Highness.” The young woman gave a slight curtsy. “It is my honor to serve you.”

Dora wished she could say that it was her honor to be served, but she knew it would take her a long time to get used to that. “Are you allowed to call me anything but ‘Your Highness’?”

Rihana smiled. “Of course. Princess Dora is an acceptable title.”

“Then let’s use that, instead. If I hear my name, I have a better chance of realizing you want a response.” Dora glanced to her left and saw oversize double doors. “Is the bedroom in there?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t I unpack my clothes myself? That way I’ll know where they are.”

Rihana frowned. “Princess Dora, my job is to take care of you.”

“And before I arrived, what was your job then?”

“I am part of the household staff.”

“I see.” Dora smiled. “But as I’ve just arrived, I’m going to guess that your assignment to help me is recent. Therefore you probably still have some household tasks to complete.”

Rihana looked confused. “Of course, but they will not interfere with my service of you, Princess. I am a hard worker.”

“I have no doubt.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m not used to the ways of this country, or of the palace and it’s going to take me a little while to fit in. For now, let me unpack myself. I promise tomorrow you may serve as you see fit.”

Rihana hesitated. Dora smiled, then pointed to the door. “It’s all right, Rihana.”

The young woman made her way toward the exit. “If you change your mind, simply pick up the telephone and ask for me.”

“I will. Thank you.”

When she was alone, Dora stepped into the bedroom. This room was slightly smaller than the living room, but no less impressive. A four-poster bed stood on a raised platform in the center of the room. The opposite wall was glass, with French doors leading out to the common balcony. Blue, green and gold tiles formed a mosaic on the walls, the colors circling each other in exotic disarray.

The furniture was slightly more Oriental, with black-lacquered sides and gold Chinese characters for drawer pulls. Dora crossed the marble floor and pulled open the wooden closet doors, then blinked in stunned surprise at the empty space before her.

This wasn’t Khalil’s suite of rooms; she hadn’t been put in with her husband. Instead she’d been shown to guest quarters, who knows how far from the family’s section of the palace.

Fear and worry knotted in her stomach. What did this mean? Was it a mistake? Would Khalil come looking for her when he realized she wasn’t to share his room? Or was this the way of royal life in El Bahar? Why on earth hadn’t she done some research before they’d left New York?

Fear turned to panic when she realized that except for Khalil and his family, no one in the world knew where she was. Everything had happened so quickly, she hadn’t had time to call any of her acquaintances. Her mother was gone, she hadn’t seen her father in years. She could simply disappear, and no one would ever miss her.

She walked into the living room and paused by the entrance. Was she a prisoner here? Scenes from old movies filled her brain. Pictures of women trapped, stolen, killed. Her mouth went dry as she wondered if she would ever see the land of her birth again. Sadness filled her as she realized she had only herself to blame for this situation. She’d been so excited to have a man interested in her that she hadn’t thought about the consequences of her decision. A prince had appeared in her sad little world, and she’d jumped at his offer of marriage.

She had to get out of here. Now!

Dora pulled open the door to her suite and stepped into the hallway. Her first shock was that the door opened easily, the second was that there wasn’t a guard posted in the hallway. She still remembered those fierce, armed men by the entrance to the palace.

She looked one way, then the other, trying to remember the direction to the front of the palace. If her suite faced the water then that was south and the palace faced…

“Princess Dora, may I help you with something?”

“What?”

She looked up and saw an elderly man standing in front of her. He carried several thick towels in his thin, brown arms. His dress wasn’t familiar to her—an open robe over light-colored loose trousers and an equally loose shirt—but his expression was friendly and welcoming.

“Are you hungry, Your Highness? May I bring you a tray of food? Or would you like me to call Rihana?”

She opened her mouth then closed it. Obviously if she wanted to escape, she needed a plan. “I’m fine,” she said. “Thank you.”

She retreated to her room. First things first, she thought, as she shut her door. Item one—calm her heart rate. Item two—figure out a plan.

She collected a pad of fine linen paper from the desk in the corner, then settled on the sofa. After drawing a rough outline of the palace as she remembered seeing it when they’d flown over on their way to the airport, she began filling in the rooms she knew. Which meant she could write in the entrance, a hallway and her suite. Nothing else. Maybe she could ask Rihana to take her on a tour.

Dora leaned back into the comfortable cushions. Perhaps she was making this too difficult, she thought. Maybe she should simply pick up the phone and ask to be connected with Khalil. After all, he was her husband. If they could speak, if she could at least see him, things would be better. That decided, she closed her eyes for just a minute. She hadn’t slept the night before on the plane. She’d been too tense, with too much on her mind. Just for a second, she thought drowsily. One little second…

“I’m sorry, child, but you don’t have much time,” a voice said.

Dora stirred, then blinked and realized she was in a most awkward position, sprawled in a corner of the sofa. She looked up and saw a tall, slender woman with streaks of gray in her thick, dark hair. A beautifully tailored sapphire-colored suit made her look regal, while matching stones glittered at her ears. But it was her face that captured Dora’s attention. Despite her obvious age and the tiny wrinkles in her paper-thin skin, she was an amazing beauty.

“Fatima,” Dora breathed as she first sat up, then rose to her feet. She realized she was speaking with a woman who was both the mother of the king and a queen in her own right. “I mean, Your Highness.” She gave a shaky curtsy.

Fatima patted her smooth chignon and gave a quick wave. “Oh, please, we’re family, my dear. If Grandmother is too familiar, then call me Fatima. Or ‘Exalted One.’ I’ve always enjoyed that particular title. Of course it was first spoken to me by a visiting head of state some forty years ago. The man in question had his hand sliding up my inner thigh as he said it. I informed him that I was more than willing to be his lover but when my husband, the king, found out about our affair, and I was very bad at keeping secrets, he would make sure that particular dignitary lost his ability to ever be with a woman again. If you get my meaning.”

Fatima winked, then her expression turned slightly sad. “I miss him. My husband, not the other man. Despite my teasing, I was a good and faithful wife for nearly forty years. We had a wonderful marriage.” She touched the neckline of her suit. “It’s Chanel. Don’t you simply adore the Chanel line? I knew Coco, but then at my age, it’s easy to have known everyone. So you’re Khalil’s new wife. I would guess that you’re quite confused by all this.” She motioned to the room.

“More now than before,” Dora replied without thinking, then pressed her fingers to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Fatima surprised her by laughing. “Yes, but the point is you were thinking it.” The older woman took a seat on the far end of the sofa, then patted the cushion next to her, indicating Dora should sit as well. Dora sank down gratefully.

“I’m a bit eccentric,” Fatima continued. “Some of it is age, but a lot of it is just me. I’ve had more than seventy years to perfect my oddness and I take great pleasure in doing or being the unexpected.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “We’re surrounded by men, my dear. If you haven’t noticed, you will. Givon’s sweet wife died some years ago and I can’t get him to remarry. He had three sons. Bahania, our neighbor to the east and the land of my birth, has a royal family with four sons and only one daughter. We women have to stick together.”

Dora didn’t know what to say to Fatima, so she kept quiet. She still had the oddest sensation of being caught up in a dream. Of course, she’d been living with that feeling since Khalil had first walked into her bedroom and told her that he wanted her.

“The palace is in an uproar,” Fatima said. “Part of the problem is that the youngest son of the king married in a foreign country in a civil ceremony to a complete stranger.” Fatima leaned forward again and patted the back of Dora’s hand. “No offense, dear, but we don’t know you, do we?”

Dora could only manage a weak, “I suppose not,” in response.

“Then there’s the whole issue of Khalil not being like this at all. I won’t say he’s the most arrogant of his brothers because they can all be difficult, but he’s not impulsive. Now if Malik had suddenly shown up with a bride in tow, that would have been more understandable. But not Khalil.” Fatima frowned thoughtfully. “How well do you know my grandson?”

Dora swallowed. “I, um, worked for him while he was in the United States. I was his secretary.”

Finely plucked eyebrows rose at her statement. No doubt Fatima knew that Khalil had been away for all of three weeks.

“An impulse,” the dowager queen said more to herself than Dora. “Has he told you about his scar?”

The unexpected question left Dora blinking in confusion. “The one on his face?”

“It’s the only one I know about, although if he has a more interesting scar you must tell me the story.”

Dora felt as if she’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in an alternative universe. “I don’t know how he received the scar on his face and that is the only scar I know about.”