Page 39 of Seduced By the Sheikh

“I’m so sorry. I was only just told. It seems your father…” He trailed off with an abject shake of the head.

She reached out to reassure him. “My father wanted to make me wait. I understand, Mohammed. Will he see me now?”

“He will. I made sure he will.”

Soraiya followed Mohammed through the corridors to the king’s office. He knocked on the door, announced her and then, with a grim face, stood back to allow her to enter. She didn’t move for a second as, even without seeing her father, she sensed his anger and knew how it would go. She drew in a deep breath and entered his office. It had always been a place where she’d been welcomed, even if it were only because of her efficiency and usefulness. Now, she’d lost even that advantage.

His tall, heavy-set figure dominated the office. But it was the contempt she saw in his dark eyes which made her falter. He stood over the desk, gripping its side as if it were the only thing stopping him from leaping over to her and attacking her. “You. I’m surprised you had the gall to turn up here.”

She swallowed. “I’m still you daughter, and we have things to discuss.”

“You are not my daughter, and we have nothing to discuss!”

She flinched under the attack of his words, so violent that spittle flew from his mouth, spattering on the papers strewn over his desk.

“Then why did you agree to see me?” She was relieved to hear her voice sounded far calmer than she felt. The only way to deal with her erratic father was to talk to him as if he were an aggressive dog.

“Because my vizier advised me to. He had the temerity to tell me that I owed you. He is wrong of course, but maybe I was just curious. So, tell me what is it you want? Come to beg, I suppose?”

“No. I’ve come to bargain.”

“Bargain?” For the first time since she’d entered the room, there was a flash of interest in his eyes. “What with?”

She took advantage of the brief stay in hostilities to advance towards him and take a seat. She certainly didn’t want to collapse in front of him, and her legs felt like jelly.

“Perhaps,” she said, sitting down, “you should call in Mohammed.”

He grimaced but nodded all the same and pressed a buzzer which must have sounded elsewhere. Immediately the vizier appeared, and searched her face first, as if her reaction was the only one he was interested in. They’d always understood each other. She nodded and shot him a wan smile. Between the vizier’s support and her father’s greed, she stood a chance.

It didn’t take long to conclude the negotiations. It seemed an hour was sufficient time in which to trade all the wealth she’d inherited from her mother in exchange for land which would be signed over to the King of Sirun. She’d entered the room a wealthy woman in her own right, and exited with nothing to her name. Nothing except the knowledge that she’d put right the wrongs which her father had been prepared to inflict on Sirun.

But she’d got the result she wanted. Sirun would have the land it so desperately needed to win trade agreements and the investment it so urgently required. But she had no idea what any of it would mean for her. Maybe she’d be left with nothing except her honor? Or maybe she’d be reunited with Zak and all would be well. She hoped for the latter but had nothing to base her hopes on as she hadn’t heard a word from him. She had no idea whether he would be appeased by her actions or would want no further connection to the walking scandal which was his wife. One way lay destitution, the other happiness. She’d done all she could do to right the wrongs of her parents. The rest was up to Zak.

As she walked out of the palace in which she’d been raised, she realized it might well be the last time she ever saw her father, or ever visited her homeland again. He might have agreed to the bargain she’d offered but he clearly wanted nothing further to do with her now he knew his blood didn’t flow in her veins. She understood. One thing about her father was that he was consistent. He’d always stated that blood lines were important and he wasn’t about to make an exception with her.

She stepped out from the shelter of the portico and into the bright sunlight as a wave of nausea swept over her. She swallowed the bile down and gripped onto a railing to steady herself.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?” one of the guards asked.

She tried to smile reassuringly, gratified that he’d noticed. She’d always got on well with the palace staff. Better than her own family. She wiped the sweat from her upper lip and put on her sunglasses. “Yes, thank you. But I need a car to take me to the airport. Could you please arrange transport?”

“There’s no need.” He pointed to a limousine parked close by. “It’s waiting for you.”

Frowning, she walked over to it. The driver jumped out and greeted her.

“Your Majesty. I have instructions to take you directly to the airport.”

“Instructions? From whom?” She needed it spelled out. She hardly dared hope.

“From His Majesty, Sheikh Zakariyya. He’s waiting for you on the royal jet. Waiting to take you home.”

She smiled for the first time in what felt like days. Home. She liked the sound of that.

Zak was waiting at the top of the flight of steps which led into the plane. His hands were on his hips, and his agitation was clearly etched in his face. Behind him stood his vizier. She felt the curious stares of other staffers as they watched her from the windows.

“Soraiya,” Zak said, pulling her into his arms. “Thank God you’re alright.” He released her suddenly. “You are, aren’t you?” he asked, gazing deep into her eyes, as if realizing there might be hidden pain and hurt not immediately obvious.

She nodded and looked around at the vizier and others. It looked like they’d assembled for a meeting of the cabinet.

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