Page 15 of Her Vow to Be His Desert Queen

He raised his own glass. ‘A toast,’ he said. ‘To your birthday.’

She looked at him a moment longer, then raised hers too, taking a small sip. ‘So,’ she said. ‘What were you doing with those children in the village? You gave them something.’

Interesting that she should have noticed that.

‘I gave them some money.’ He took a sip of his own champagne. ‘And then told them that the first person to find four totally round and smooth rocks and bring them to one of my men would receive another ten pounds.’

Her brow creased. ‘Why?’

Did she think he wouldn’t have thought about or noticed the attention his chopper had drawn when he’d landed it in the middle of the village green? Of course he had. Then again, she’d always thought he was too arrogant for his own good and she wasn’t wrong. But kings had to be arrogant. Without confidence in themselves and their decisions, how could their people trust them? And without trust, how could they rule effectively? Confidence and certainty were strengths, and he was nothing if not strong.

His mother had made sure of that. Her methods had been...unorthodox, but he’d survived them. And his reign would be the better for them.

‘I wanted to get them away from the helicopter, since we were about to take off.’ He swirled the liquid in his glass. ‘Also, I like children.’

The cool expression on her face rippled, betraying surprise. ‘You do?’

Had she forgotten their discussions? About their dreams for the future? He’d never made any secret of the fact that he wanted to have a family one day. He had to. It was expected of him to secure the succession. Not that he’d ever have more than one wife, unlike his father. It was his father’s greed that had caused all the problems after all, and outlawing polygamy had been one of Khalil’s first acts as King.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Do you not remember? I wanted a big family, as you did yourself. That is why you made me sign that piece of paper, after all.’

‘I thought I made it clear—’

‘I mean to marry you, Sidonie.’ He let the steel of the King thread through his voice, so she would understand how serious he was. ‘And I want it to be a marriage in every sense of the word.’

She said nothing. Then carefully put the champagne glass down on the stone of the parapet and turned to give him her full attention. ‘Why?’ she asked bluntly. ‘It’s been years since we’ve seen each other and even before you left you never displayed the slightest interest in me. Something’s changed. What is it?’

He could only give her the truth. She expected—and deserved—nothing less. And he suspected that if he wanted her agreement, being honest with her was the only way to secure it.

‘What changed?’ he said after a moment. ‘I became King. And I need a queen.’

‘That’s it? You need a queen and I randomly fit the bill somehow?’

‘You are not random, Sidonie. I need a woman I can trust, and my people a queen they can look up to.’

She frowned. ‘What do you mean, a queen they can look up to?’

‘You know about my father’s reign. You know what it did to my people.’ They’d talked about it many times, all those long nights studying either in her rooms or in his. Drinking endless cups of coffee as he’d told her about his country and what his father had done to it. How his great-grandfather had reinstated polygamy so for decades the Kings of Al Da’ira had more than one wife, much to the disapproval of the rest of the world, including the neighbouring desert nations. His father had had four, and, like his father before him, had decreed that his children should battle for the crown as they had in centuries past. And so Khalil had grown up the only child of wife number three, and he’d had to fight his oldest half-sibling for the right to rule, the only one who’d been of the right age, and that had been Yusuf.

It had been a medieval childhood. A medieval and dangerous existence.

Sidonie had been shocked when he’d told her about that and the endless intrigues, assassination attempts, and corruption that his father actively encouraged. She’d asked him lots of questions and then they’d discussed how he’d bring change to his country, because they’d both agreed emphatically that change had to come.

And it had. He’d had to use force to quell the stubborn pockets of resistance who’d supported Yusuf, the sheer power of his will to lay down new laws. People had said he was too much like his father, that he was not divine, that he was only a man, and they couldn’t follow a mere man.

But he’d shown them. He’d proved he wasn’t his father, that he wasn’t a mere man. He’d shown them that he was a king, and so they believed.

But now was not the time for more pressure. It was the time for peace and for that he needed her.

‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I remember. And you wanted to be different.’

‘I have been different. But change was not easy, and my people have been...scarred.’

A look of concern flickered over her face, a glimpse of the empathic friend he remembered. ‘Oh, I didn’t know that. I’m sorry, Khalil. That must have been awful.’

Something inside him ached suddenly, a ghost of the longing he’d once felt for her, but he ignored it. He’d cut that feeling out of him long ago.

‘It was,’ he agreed. ‘My people need some joy in their lives. They need hope and laughter. They need kindness and care.’ He met her gaze. ‘They do not need a king. What they need is a queen. What they need is you.’

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