Page 1 of Her Vow to Be His Desert Queen

CHAPTER ONE

SIDONIESULLIVANSTARED,irritated, at the half-pint of lager and packet of pork scratchings sitting on the table in front of her.

‘Happy birthday, Sid.’ Derek, who was sitting in the booth seat opposite and who’d bought her both the half-pint and the pork scratchings, smiled. ‘I know it’s not much, but I’ve got dinner booked at Giovanni’s and that’s a bit special, don’t you think?’

Sidonie smiled back, forcing away the slight twinge of impatience. ‘Thanks, Derek. This is...lovely.’

Itwaslovely. Derek was an old school friend, and it was very nice of him to take her out for a birthday dinner, but he was part of a life she’d left behind five years ago when she’d moved to London. A life that didn’t bear any resemblance to the life she had now, and one she didn’t particularly want to return to.

She was only here in Blackchurch, the little Oxfordshire village she’d grown up in, to pay a visit to her aunt, and then she’d be returning to London the next day, and quite frankly she couldn’t wait. Blackchurch was small and insular, and she’d never felt at home there. Plus, Aunt May had always been awful, and time hadn’t made her any less so. It was more a duty visit than anything else, since May wasn’t in good health and had no one else to check on her.

Not that Sidonie could afford time away from the children’s charity she’d started five years earlier. The charity was getting bigger every day, providing opportunities for disadvantaged kids all over the country, and she had plans to take it to Europe too, then maybe the rest of the world. There was always so much to do.

So much so that she’d forgotten it was her birthday until Derek, on hearing she was back for a visit—the village telegraph was apparently very much alive and well—had knocked on her aunt’s door and asked Sidonie out.

She hadn’t wanted to go—she had emails to answer, a report to write, and a couple of phone calls to make—but Derek had been insistent, and Aunt May, who hadn’t been all that thrilled to be visited anyway, had wanted to be left alone to ‘watch her shows’. So Sidonie had reluctantly agreed. She couldn’t recall the last time she or anyone else had actually celebrated her birthday—certainly her aunt never had—so it had been very nice of Derek to remember.

Hewould have.

The thought came out of nowhere, startling her. How strange for her to think ofhim,after all this time. Not that hewas relevant at all right now. He’d left England five years ago and the only communication she’d had since then had been a terse email telling her it would be best if they didn’t contact each other again.

So she hadn’t. She’d puthimfirmly out of her mind that day, so why she was thinking about him now was anyone’s guess.

She smiled determinedly at Derek because, while she wasn’t attracted to him in the least, he was a nice man who’d wanted to do something lovely for her and she appreciated it.

‘So, Sid,’ Derek began.

But she never found out what he’d been going to say because at that moment the pub door banged open and in strode six powerful-looking men wearing black suits, sunglasses, and earpieces. One went straight to the bar to talk to the publican, while the others went systematically around the room getting people to their feet and herding them out of the door.

Sidonie frowned.

‘What’s going on?’ Derek threw a puzzled look in the direction of the black-suited men. ‘Is this a movie or something?’

Good question. The men seemed to be some kind of security team, though why on earth they’d be here, in this obscure English pub, she had no idea.

Then quite suddenly, all six of the black-suited men snapped to attention, one of them announcing something in a lyrical language that definitely wasn’t English. The other five repeated it like a mantra and then another man strolled into the pub.

And Sidonie’s whole world slowed down and stopped.

He was very,verytall, with the kind of wide shoulders and broad chest a Greek god would have been proud of, and he moved with all the grace of an apex predator. Which he most certainly was. His face was all sharp planes and angles, with the fierce beauty of a bird of prey, and his sharp black gaze missed nothing.

His dark, handmade suit was immaculate, his white cotton shirt serving only to highlight the burnished bronze of his skin, and he wore power and arrogance as if both had been tailor-made specifically for him.

There was nothing about him that was not beautiful.

In one hand he held a small but perfectly frosted chocolate cupcake with a candle in the centre and in the other a red balloon.

Sidonie felt as if her heart had stopped beating.

It washim. It was Khalil ibn Amir al Nazari. The man who’d once been her best friend in all the world. The man she’d fallen in love with and who’d walked away from her five years earlier, leaving her standing alone in a snowy street in London.

She hadn’t seen him since.

She’d met him when they were both students at Oxford. He’d been one of the ‘Wicked Princes’, a group of three young royals infamous among the colleges of the university town. Galen Kouros, Prince of Kalithera. Augustine Solari, Prince of Isavere. And him. Khalil, heir to the throne of Al Da’ira, a small but very rich country near the Red Sea.

She hadn’t paid much attention to the Wicked Princes—she was quiet and studious, and on a scholarship too, so she had no time for parties or any of the wild shenanigans they and their friends got up to.

Then one day, she’d been working at her part-time job stacking books in one of the college libraries, when a deep, dark male voice had peremptorily demanded her help, and when she’d turned around she’d found him standing there. Khalil, arrogant and so totally mesmerising she’d lost the power of speech. He’d repeated his question, even more arrogant and demanding than he’d been the first time, and she’d been so shocked and surprised that she’d laughed at him. Of course, then she’d felt terrible, and had apologised, but first he’d stared at her as if she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. Then he’d told her that her apology wasn’t necessary and that he should be the one apologising, since he’d been very rude.

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