Page 27 of Her Vow to Be His Desert Queen

She did, yet... That ache inside her, that longing, was stronger now than it had ever been, even though she’d told herself she didn’t feel it. The ache that told her she was a liar and that, while protecting herself was all well and good, it hadn’t made her any happier.

Can you even remember the last time you were happy?

She tried not to think about that as they came to a stop outside a pair of massive gilded double doors. The King’s wing of the palace. Ceremonial guards in black and gold uniforms were stationed outside and they regarded Sidonie without expression, allowing her and the servant to step through into the King’s private apartments.

They were just as lushly tiled, though the furnishings were spare, perhaps to draw attention to the colours and swirling patterns of the tiles.

Eventually they stopped outside a simple door of dark wood. The man knocked once and then opened the door, gesturing to Sidonie to go inside.

Her heart gave a sudden hard beat, a fluttering feeling way down deep in her gut. A whisper of the old excitement that had used to grip her every time they met.

He still makes you feel like a love-sick teenager.

He did, oh, he did. And maybe she was a fool for still feeling this way so many years later, but she couldn’t help it, just as she couldn’t deny she felt it.

Taking a moment to steady herself, Sidonie then stepped through the doorway, the door closing softly behind her.

It was a small room and intimate, with more doors that stood open onto a perfect little courtyard. A fountain sat in the centre of the courtyard, filling the air with gentle music. The walls of the room were lined with bookshelves and on the floor were silken rugs in rich reds and deep blues. Low couches upholstered in pale linen stood grouped around an unlit fireplace and a low table in dark wood.

Khalil sat on one of the couches, reading something on a tablet, which he put down the moment the door opened.

He was dressed very simply, in a black robe embroidered with gold and loose black trousers. His chest was bare.

Her mouth dried completely.

She’d never seen him in anything but Western clothing, the jeans and T-shirt of a student, and then later a series of perfectly tailored, handmade suits. He’d been gorgeous in those, but dressed in the clothing of his country, with all that muscled bronze skin on show... God, he was stunning.

The sharp, predatory angles of his face seemed sharper somehow, his black eyes even blacker. He was every inch the regal, mesmerising, charismatic King.

Yet there was a part of her, a tiny, forgotten part, that felt a stab of disappointment. As if she’d wanted him to be someone else.

He rose as the door closed behind her, his intense gaze finding hers. ‘Good evening,ya hayati.I hope you were well looked after today and that the accommodation is to your liking.’

Sidonie clasped her hands together in front of her, trying to keep her gaze from the broad expanse of his chest. Then she caught the gleam in his eyes as he watched her and realised suddenly that he’d done it on purpose. He was trying to tempt her, wasn’t he? He was showing her what she could have if she married him.

You can’t deny that you want it.

Oh, yes, she did. But sex wasn’t enough of an inducement.

How would you know when you haven’t had it?

‘Yes,’ she said, ignoring the voice in her head. ‘The accommodation is perfect, actually. Though, I have to say, it’s huge.’

‘It would be. The Queens’ wing was for queens, plural.’

Ah, yes, so it would. Khalil had told her that Amir had had four wives. He’d been the only child of wife number three and had been brought up in a house in the mountains, not at court.

‘Your mother didn’t live there, did she?’ Sidonie asked, curious.

‘No. She never wanted to. She preferred our house in the mountains.’

He’d told her of that house, with lots of gardens and trees, though his life there hadn’t exactly been idyllic. There had been lots of rigorous schooling, he’d said, and physical training, and not much time for playing. No time for friends, either.

Hers had been the same, at least the school and friends part of it. Her aunt hadn’t allowed her to have friends back because she hadn’t wanted any ‘shouting and screaming’. And Sidonie hadn’t gone to other kids’ houses because she hated asking her aunt to take her. Sometimes May would, but she always acted as if it were a huge imposition.

‘Why?’ Sidonie asked. ‘Didn’t she like living with the other wives?’

‘She did not. She fell out of favour with my father anyway and he had her sent away.’

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