Page 49 of Her Arabian King

“Traitor!”

And the guests laughed again.

From the other side of the hall, the sheikh smiled at the way the crowd reacted to his queen. Their early morning talk had made Harper unconsciously aloof with his guests, and when people had started to talk, he knew he had to do something to make her loosen up.

Rayyan shook his head at the look on Khalil’s face. “Stop congratulating yourself.”

Khalil shrugged. So he enjoyed the fact that the world would see his queen the way he had always seen Harper: a woman who was too adorable not to tease. That was not a crime, surely?

“What happened to the man who says he wanted a queen who could slay her own dragons?” Tarif asked slyly.

“It is still what I want,” Khalil answered calmly. And his queen would become that tonight, for the sheikh had already set things in motion.

Chapter Fifteen

Dinner took place in the ballroom, a multi-course extravaganza that had the palace’s guests oohing and aahing on every dish that was served. This time, the king and queen were seated on opposite ends of the table, with about fifty guests on each side separating them.

Harper normally hated this type of setup, but tonight she welcomed it, the distance between them allowing her to mull over the sheikh’s words feverishly.

Don’t do it for me, he had said.

Then that meant – she should do it for herself?

It made sense, she supposed. She should take pride in her own work as his queen, and she could see why he would want that. But something still didn’t feel right, and the thought continued to nag at her even as dancing commenced and Harper and the sheikh were called to perform the first dance.

They met on the dance floor, and her heart swayed at the dashing sight her husband made. He had changed into a tux for the dance, and dear God, he looked so damn sexy she found herself gulping, knowing just how a whole lot sexier the naked body underneath it was.

“You look beautiful.”

“It should,” she muttered, “considering I’m wearing something worth millions.” The gown Harper wore was another creation by a Ramilian fashion designer: a shimmery long-sleeved gown with a full skirt sewn entirely with gold thread and a belt made of diamonds.

The sheikh only smiled. “You know I don’t mean it that way.” And this time, his hot dark gaze caressed her figure, making his meaning very clear.

Harper turned red. “All I know is that you look like you’re about to tear my gown off.”

“Because you were looking at me like that was what you wanted me to do,” the sheikh purred.

She started to retort, but then the sheikh had already twined his fingers with hers while his other hand clasped her by the waist.

And then they were dancing, and it was magical.

For just a few moments, she forgot about the world and everything else. For just a few moments, it did seem like there were only the two of them, and she could lose herself in the sweet tempting darkness of the sheikh’s gaze.

But then the music started to fade, and as the other couples started to join them, the sheikh slowed to a stop, and Harper knew it was time to part.

“I love dancing with you, wife.”

“I, umm, feel the same.” But Harper’s voice was gruff, and she could only make herself stare at his bowtie when uttering the words.

Only when they had already parted and the sheikh and Harper resumed their duties as hosts that the sheikh’s earlier words returned to her—-

Don’t do it for me.

Damn. She had forgotten to ask him about that, and after matching a local artist with a diplomat for a waltz, she moved to the sides, ostensibly to watch the guests dance but really she just wanted a moment or two to think about the sheikh’s words some more.

Her omnipresent AFK immediately closed ranks around her, and her lips twitched, thinking that they’ve certainly come far, considering how they used to disapprove of her unfeminine ways. Now, her guards were resigned to it, and their disapproval had evolved into protectiveness.

It is not the queen’s fault she was naturally unfeminine, was the AFK’s official stance.

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