Page 3 of Seduced By the Sheikh

“And, finally, leave immediately. I never want to see your sorry faces here again.”

He was aware of the stunned silence but couldn’t be bothered to face them. Instead he walked over to the window to get a better view of the mountains which had always meant so much to him and his brother, Kadar. He needed the memories to soothe him like never before. He waited until he heard the door close behind them before turning around to an empty room. Finally, he was with the only person he could trust. Himself.

CHAPTER 2

Soraiya waved away the mirror and the staff who were swooping and swirling around her like a flock of agitated pigeons. She didn’t need reassurance that her make-up was flawless and that her silk abaya, while austere, flattered her green eyes. Instead she focused on maintaining a strength and stillness within. It was the reason people described her as cold behind her back. But, it was also the reason she’d been accepted among her father’s ministers and allowed to do the state work which meant so much to her.

She walked over to the door and waited for it to open and for her to be announced. She was sweltering and was glad she was wearing the lightest of her silk abayas. She’d never been anywhere as hot, or as ancient as this castle, in this desert city, in the center of the hammada plains with the mountains looming up behind them. Everything was unfamiliar to her—from the accents, to the heat, to the lack of refinement in the people’s manners. She may as well be on the moon.

“Her Royal Highness, Sheika Soraiya of Ra’nan!” announced one of his courtiers, stepping aside with a flourish. Soraiya entered the room and for a brief moment her self-possession faltered. The room was cavernous, shadowy and designed to overawe. At the far end the King of Sirun sat on a raised dais. To her surprise he was alone, with not an adviser in sight. Even from that distance she could tell he was watching her. She allowed her gaze to slip and focus on his knees. At least his knees beneath his robes couldn’t intimidate her.

She walked along the stretch of carpet, followed by her closest attendant. The knees were getting closer and one of them jiggled slightly as if impatient. As if, she thought to herself suddenly, it wanted to be anywhere other than here, with her. She’d been wrong. Even his knee could intimidate her.

She came to a halt when the carpet ran out and the knee stopped jiggling. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look up. What she saw didn’t reassure her.

He looked no more amenable in real life, than he did in his photos. His flint-like gaze was fixed on her as if staring at her would somehow either make her explicable or disappear. Then he huffed out an impatient sigh which seemed to suggest he wasn’t successful on either count. He looked her up and down like the possession which, she supposed, was exactly how he viewed her, and how she was struggling not to feel — bargained and agreed on between two men.

“As-salamu Alaykum,” he greeted her coldly.

“WaAlaykumas-salam.” Soraiya returned the traditional words of greeting.

He grunted and then turned to her assistant, Daria.

“Leave us!” he growled.

Daria looked at her anxiously. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

“Leave us,” he said, louder this time.

She turned to Daria. “You may leave,” she said with dignity.

She watched her friend, her assistant and her last link to her home, exit the room. The double-doors closed behind Daria with an echoing clang and Soraiya turned once more to the man who would be her husband. She refused to be intimidated by him. If she could deal with her father, she could deal with him.

“You want us to be alone, Your Majesty, but we are not yet married and my assistant feels uneasy. As do I.”

He stepped down from the dais and came to a halt in front of her, too close. But she didn’t retreat.. She was tall, but he stood a head taller than her and she had to look up to him.

“You feel uneasy?”he asked.

“Of course. It would be strange if I didn’t,” she said, forcing herself to meet his commanding gaze. “I don’t know you, and yet I have to leave my home and everything that is familiar to me to live in your country with you—a man I’ve never met before but in whom I must put my trust. I suggest these are sufficient reasons for me to feel uneasy.

Was it her imagination or did that fierce expression soften briefly? If it did, it was only momentary and it was gone the instant she’d registered it. Her hope for a warm reception must have conjured it up.

“Besides,” she hurriedly continued, “it is not proper.”

He hadn’t moved and yet he seemed closer. He must know he was invading her space, but maybe it was a test. If it was a test, she was determined to pass, just like any other test which had ever been set her. She was an A+ student and she’d be an A+ wife, because no one could criticize you if you were perfect. She lowered her gaze as she’d been taught. A+, she reminded herself.

“I think being ‘proper’ is the least of our problems, don’t you?” he said.

She jerked her head up to meet his eyes once more. Was he referring to the fact that neither of them wished to marry the other? She assumed so, but refused to admit it to him.

“Your Majesty. I can assure you I have no problems.”

He grunted with a brief quirk of his lips which she assumed was as smiley as he got.

“Then aren’t you the lucky one?”

What on earth did he mean? She looked down with a frown.

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