Page 40 of Her Vow to Be His Desert Queen

The battle was not supposed to end in death. It was supposed to end when one participant yielded, thereby accepting defeat. So when Yusuf had pulled out the knife he’d had hidden in the middle of their fight, making it clear that yielding was not an option, and that he meant to kill him, Khalil had not been expecting it. And it was only in that moment that the full horror of it had descended upon him: only one of them was going to make it out of the battle alive. And it could not be Yusuf. His country could not afford for it to be Yusuf. Which meant it had to be him.

He’d not felt like a surgeon then, or even the heir to the throne.

He’d felt like a killer.

The memories made something shudder and shift inside him, so he shoved them away. That was in the past and he couldn’t change what had happened.

The most important thing was Sidonie and her happiness, and she needed to be happy for the sake of his people and for his country. He couldn’t give her love, but perhaps he could give her that happiness. It was his responsibility after all.

Determination settled inside him.

He turned from the fountain and strode back inside to his bedroom. There, he went over to the huge, canopied bed where Sidonie was curled, fast asleep, and he got in, gathering her warm, sweet, naked body close.

She gave a little sigh and snuggled into him, her red hair spilling over his chest.

He tightened his arms around her.

Yes, he would make her happy. He would. If it was the very last thing that he did.

CHAPTER NINE

SIDONIESTOODINthe deserted throne room of Khalil’s palace, a thousand butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

When she’d woken this morning, Khalil hadn’t been there, but Aisha had. The woman had delivered a raft of instructions on the day’s schedule, and then she’d had breakfast brought to the King’s apartments so that Sidonie could eat.

Sidonie hadn’t felt much like eating—she’d been far too nervous—but she’d forced something down. Then Aisha had escorted her back to the Queens’ apartments, where she was pounced upon by a fleet of servants who dressed her in a simple, unadorned gown of white silk that flowed like water over her curves and then out behind her in a long train.

She’d had no idea how he’d managed to find a gown that fitted her so perfectly on such short notice, but he had. And it was beautiful. Then they laid a veil over her face and hair, of white silk lace embroidered with tiny, glittering diamonds, and she loved that too.

Khalil clearly wasn’t wasting any time, because then she was escorted through the echoing palace corridors that seemed to get grander and grander, until she was shown into a huge, ornately tiled room, its roof supported by many elegant columns.

The sun shone down through a hole in the roof in the very centre of the room, making the tiles glitter and bathing everything in light.

Sidonie was guided to that shaft of light and now she stood there, feeling as if she was standing in a waterfall of sunlight, waiting to be married. To Khalil.

Are you sure this is what you really want? He’s not your Khalil, you know that.

No, but she wasn’t his Sidonie either. They weren’t the people they’d once been—five years apart and heartbreak had seen to that.

But what did that matter? She loved him, that was the constant, and as his wife she’d have the time to rebuild the relationship they’d once had. And anyway, she was stronger now than she’d been back then, and more certain. More than a match for the King he was.

What about love, though? What kind of marriage would you have without that?

But they did have love. Her love.

Will that ever be enough?

The thought brought memories, dim now after so long, but still there. Of her parents, her mother’s warm hugs and her father tossing her in the air and making her laugh. They’d loved her. They’d loved her so much. And she’d ached for them after they’d died, ached for those moments of affection and tenderness, and she’d spent years hoping for the same from her aunt. But her aunt hadn’t loved her and there had been no tenderness or affection from her, none at all.

Khalil might not love her, but he wanted her, and he cared about her, and he gave her pleasure. His touches set her on fire. He could give her affection and tenderness, too; it wasn’t that he didn’t.

It was enough.

Are you sure about that?

But the thought slid away as a tall figure strode through the gloom of the throne room, then stepped into the shaft of sunlight with her, bathing him in glory. And for a second she could understand why his court laid themselves on the floor and pressed their faces to the ground whenever he passed. Because in this moment he truly seemed divine.

There was a lump in her throat as she looked at him, and she had to blink back her tears.

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