Page 42 of Her Vow to Be His Desert Queen

They landed on a helipad beside the little palace. It was cooler up in the mountains, a fresh but pleasant breeze lifting her veil as Khalil helped her out of the helicopter.

Royal servants were kneeling on the ground, their faces pressed to the stone as Khalil led Sidonie to the palace’s doors.

‘Khal,’ she murmured, deciding that, since she was going to be Queen, she may as well start straight away. ‘We could make a small change right now, couldn’t we? They don’t need to prostrate themselves.’

‘They do not have to,’ he murmured back. ‘I told you that. Their beliefs require it.’

So he’d told her, yet she still didn’t like it. ‘But you’re not a god. And if all of this is to build confidence in the throne after Amir, you have been ruling for five years. Surely they know you’re not your father by now.’

He stared at her a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he glanced at the servants. ‘You do not have to give me formal obeisance,’ he said. ‘That will not be required in future.’

Slowly the servants stirred then got to their feet, looking at Khalil cautiously.

‘But, Majesty,’ one old man said, ‘you must have acknowledgement.’

Khalil frowned. ‘Do you think that I am Amir? That I need this level of acknowledgement? That I demand it?’ There was no heat in his voice. It was a simple question.

The man eyed him. ‘No, Majesty. You are not him in any way. But we wish to honour you.’

There was another silence. Khalil’s expression was oddly still. ‘You can continue to serve me willingly,’ he said at last. ‘That is all the honour I need.’

A flicker of something that looked like respect passed across the old man’s face. Then he bowed deeply. ‘Your will, Majesty.’

Khalil inclined his head in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything else. He reached for her hand, though, as they approached the palace doors, and he squeezed it gently. He’d liked what she’d said. He’d liked it a lot.

There was still hope for him.

The palace was made of white stone that gleamed against the black rock of the mountains, set off by the small, yet beautiful gardens that surrounded it. There were also colonnades and courtyards and airy arcades, the silence broken only by the sound of fountains playing.

It was absolutely beautiful.

‘What is this place?’ she asked as Khalil led her inside. ‘It’s gorgeous.’

‘It was my mother’s palace,’ he said. ‘I grew up here.’

So that was why it was familiar. He’d told her how his mother had been fiercely protective, yet very strict with him. And he’d had a harsh childhood.

Why would he want to come here?

She wanted to ask him, but then more servants approached and Khalil was murmuring instructions. Then he led her from the entrance hall and straight out through an atrium courtyard shaded with orange trees, with a small fountain and arched colonnade. He pulled open another door into a shady interior hall and up some stairs. Then he stopped before a simple wooden door and pushed it open, stepping into a large room. The walls were simply tiled in white and light blue, the floor of pale wood. High, arched windows gave a magnificent view of the mountains.

Though it wasn’t the mountains that Sidonie noticed, not when the huge, canopied bed piled high with white cushions took up most of the room.

Khalil shut the door behind them, then shrugged off his white robe, leaving it to lie carelessly over a nearby chair. Then he looked at her and there was fire in his black eyes, and it blazed.

‘Come here, wife,’ he murmured, his voice getting darker and deeper.

Excitement gripped her, goosebumps rising on her skin, her heartbeat getting faster. So that was what he was impatient for. She should have known.

Not that she wasn’t impatient too, even after the night before, when he’d kissed, tasted, and explored every inch of her body, before showing her how to do the same for him.

She wanted him. She wanted to finally claim him as her husband every bit as much as he wanted to claim her.

Slowly she walked over to where he stood, so tall and broad and beautiful in his white wedding clothing, then stopped in front of him. ‘What can I do for you, my husband?’

A smile curved his beautiful mouth, a wicked smile that looked far too good on him. ‘We have another custom in Al Da’ira. When a couple marry, on their wedding night the new wife undresses her husband so she may worship him.’

She had to smile. ‘Sounds like a custom you’ve only just made up right now.’

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