Malik: Desert Sheikh Romance

by Marian Tee

  Altair sputtered over his glass, Vanna dropped her fork, while the king and the other sheikhs had their jaws drop. Malik on the other hand, the queen was quick to note, was conspicuously expressionless, although his hard form had become unnaturally still.

  Harper leaned back against her seat. This was going to be interesting. Turning to Kyria, she asked casually, “Do you already have a school in mind?”

  “Nothing specifically…” Kyria started playing with the napkin on her lap. “But I was hoping I could be introduced to a different culture at the same time.”

  The queen nodded thoughtfully. “That would be fun.” The truth was, Harper had long known about Kyria’s plan. She and the younger girl had become quite close in recent months, with Harper taking on a de facto role as big sister. She felt very protective about Kyria, more so when Khalil’s shy cousin had confided to her about, well…everything.

  And oh, how shocked she had been the first time she realized what those things were.

  “Christopoulos University.”

  All heads snapped towards Malik’s direction, but the sheikh met their stunned gazes calmly. “It’s in Miami, and it’s one of the best schools in the world.”

  Unbelievable, Harper thought, half-confused, half-incredulous. Was he really letting go of Kyria just like that? And why suggest that of all places?

  “Thanks but no thanks.” Kyria’s voice was strained, and who could blame her?

  “Then perhaps Tsubaki in Tokyo?”

  Okay, that made for two strikes now. This time Harper was close to scowling at the sheikh. Was he really that obtuse or was he doing this deliberately? Those two schools had something to do with Katerina Chariot, the girl currently (albeit unknowingly) causing such grief to Kyria. And Malik wanted her to study in either of those places?

  “No.” And this time, Kyria’s voice was tight with anger.

  Malik frowned. “What are you being mad about?”

  Harper’s teeth gnashed. How could one be so dense? If she could be sure that throwing a glass of water on Malik’s too-beautiful face fell within her rights as queen, she would have done so then and there. Although Khalil had been reluctant to speak of Malik’s feelings for the girl, he had said just enough for Harper to understand that Malik had been half in love with Kyria for most of his life. If that was the case, then why couldn’t the idiot see how much he was hurting the girl he supposedly loved?

  During Katerina’s stay at the palace, Malik had been less subtle than usual in the way he had flirted with the girl, and when the sheikh even flew all the way to Tokyo to meet with her, most people were convinced that marriage was in the works…Kyria included.

  “Does that man really love her,” Harper burst out angrily as soon as she was alone with the king in their chamber.

  “With his whole being, and probably more than we can ever comprehend.” Khalil swept her up in his arms as he spoke and carried his wife to bed.

  “I know Malik must have told you what caused them to have this…this very civilized war between them…”

  “I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about.” The king’s tone was polite, but his touch was gentle as he laid Harper on the bed.

  She snorted. “No need to admit it. I know you guys don’t hide anything from each other.”

  “If that’s the case…” His weight settled over her, and she bit back a gasp of pleasure as he licked her lips. “What’s your point?”

  “Umm…” It took her a while to answer, that tiny taste of pleasure more than enough to make Harper lose her senses. Clearing her throat, she said, “That morning changed things between them, and for as long as they don’t talk about it, they’re just going to keep hurting each other.”

  “Probably.”

  She gaped. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “It’s what I think---” And this time, Khalil’s dark gaze held a serious look of warning. “---but you and I and the others are not allowed to say anything.”

  “B-but---”

  He said very gently, “Malikta.” My queen. “It is their lives, and so we must allow them to make their own decisions as they see fit.”

  “I know that,” she exclaimed in frustration. “But didn’t you see Kyria’s face when Malik suggested KC’s schools to her? He was hurting her!”

  “Even so.” The king sighed, and seeing his wife prepare to start arguing with him again, he forestalled her words with a shake of his head. “Let me ask you this. Has Kyria told you that she is in love with Malik?”

  She bit her lip. “No.”

  “Has Kyria told you that she’s stopped seeing him as her brother?”

  “No,” she admitted reluctantly.

  “Then you mustn’t say another word that could influence her. I know this whole thing seems romantic, but you mustn’t forget Kyria is just eighteen. She’s young, impressionable. A word from you and especially from Malik could change her mind, but would it really be her decision? My brother is suffering, too, Harper. More so than Kyria, I would suspect, because unlike her – he is certain of his feelings for her. Unlike her, Malik knows exactly what he had lost – just as he knows there’s no guarantee he can have it back.”

  Part IV

  St. Valentine was Contini’s winter capital, a city blessed with spectacular snow-capped mountains and flower fields that went as far as the eyes could see. Tourists abounded for as long as snow fell, and in the day, they would come skiing down any of St. Valentine’s majestic slopes, and once darkness ushered in they would take refuge in the hallowed halls of any of the tastefully opulent chateaus that lined the picture-perfect avenue of Rodestein. There, the sound of gaiety often rang well past the last hour of the night, with many guests delighting in post-dinner chats in front of the fireplace while enjoying toasted sweets and hot chocolate. Others danced the night away, swaying to the lilting notes played by classical quartets, which locals greatly preferred to any kind of modern-day music that involved screaming or head-banging.

  Indeed, these were magical moments, but as soon as the snow melted, the crowds faded, and as spring turned into summer, a quiet would settle, and it was during this time of the year locals would have their beloved city to themselves.

  Was it terribly selfish of her, Kyria wondered guiltily, to feel one with the locals and wish that it would always be like this?

  Although now having reached the grand old age of twenty, Kyria was still unused to the massive crowds that winter brought to St. Valentine. She still much preferred the solitude of summer, with its fairly empty roads and how the air was mostly quiet save for the occasional chirping of birds. It reminded her of life back home, and although one could never actually be alone in the palace, the servants and guards there were so good at making themselves unobtrusive that she had never felt her privacy invaded.

  Oh, how she missed Ramil. If there was anything that the almost two years she spent in St. Valentine had taught her, then it was that there truly was no place like home. And Ramil was home. It might not be her country of blood, but it was the kingdom of her heart, and she missed it, badly. No matter how beautiful St. Valentine was, it could never compare to what Ramil meant to her, and sometimes she wondered---

  “Ms. Markides?”

  Hearing her name called out by the interviewer had Kyria quickly standing up, all thoughts of her old life shelved for the meantime.

  “It’s your turn.” The other woman flashed her a smile. “Good luck.”

  Ninety minutes later and Kyria had become the preschool’s newest part-time teacher. It was only two hours a day, didn’t come with particularly high wages, but it was a start, and she was proud of it.

  After cycling back to her fourth-floor studio apartment, Kyria quickly called home, wanting to share the good news with her family. She expected one of the staff to answer the phone, but instead---

  “Malik Al-Atassi.”

  Her eyes flew wide open. Malik? A conflicting mass of emotions detonated in her heart at the familiar, silky soun
d of his thickly accented voice.

  “Marhava?”

  The impatient way in which he said ‘hello’ had Kyria plunging back to reality. She thought of saying something, but all the words that rushed to her head were impossible for her to say.

  I miss you. Did you miss me? I’m lonely without you. Are you lonely without me?

  “Marhava?”

  The coldly impatient tone made Kyria jump, and before she could consider what she was doing…

  Click.

  She had already done it.

  Kyria stared at her phone in complete agony.

  She had hung up on Malik like a kid.

  Her shoulders slumped, and she slowly and deliberately banged her forehead against her desk.

  Hail Kyria the idiot.

  The thought of what she had done plagued her for the rest of the day and had Kyria tossing and turning for hours. By the time she woke up, her head was pounding, and it felt like she hadn’t slept at all. She trudged to the shower and as she shampooed her hair, she gradually convinced herself that she was overthinking things.

  That call was nothing, and in the event that Malik had found out via caller ID that Kyria was the one who had called, well, she was sure he’d have thought nothing of it either. Or so she convinced herself, which was something she had gotten rather good at in the past two years.

  Nothing, nothing, nothing, Kyria repeated to herself as she rubbed herself dry with a towel.

  Nothing, nothing, nothing, Kyria mentally chanted as she brushed her teeth.

  Nothing, Kyria anxiously told herself as she stared at her too-pale face in the mirror.

  Nothing, nothing, nothing!

  She grabbed her bag from her bedside table and hurried towards the door.

  Nothing, nothing, nothing!

  She threw the door open.

  A tall, handsome dark-haired man stared at her, his lithe, powerful form covered in a long flowing white thobe.

  Oh, Servant of God, she had reached her limit, hadn’t she? She was seeing things now, the Fates punishing her with hallucinations for the sheer immorality of her thoughts.

  Made-up Malik gave her a brief, polite smile, but Kyria only scowled. Oh, you are so not going to fool me, you imaginary sheikh---

  “Kyria?”

  Her eyes widened.

  It…spoke.

  It…was real?

  “Malik?” she whispered.

  “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

  Tears of heaven, it really was him!

  The realization made her pale and her body stiffen. A thousand things that she wanted to do raced in her mind, but none of them was appropriate. She wanted to jump for joy, throw her arms around him, kiss him---

  Stop thinking crazy things, Kyria Markides!

  Panic gripped her, her eyes flying to his in horror, but this turned out to be an even bigger mistake. Malik’s handsome face filled her vision, his sheer presence overwhelming her, and her mind…sort of…snapped.

  Bang!

  Kyria stared at her door in complete misery.

  She had just shut the door on the sheikh’s face.

  It was already well past lunch by the time Kyria mustered the courage to use her door’s peephole, but the sight of her empty hallway only resulted in mixed feelings. The sheikh was gone.

  Her shoulders slumped.

  Well, of course he was. Not only had she hung up on him yesterday – which she was now gloomily certain he was aware of – but she had also added insult to injury by slamming the door in his face. Honestly, with all of these, she wouldn’t be surprised at all to receive an email from the palace anytime about her citizenship being revoked.

  For the rest of the day, Kyria waited and paced in anxious silence in the event that the sheikh were to call or visit. But neither happened, and before she could stop herself, she was already on the phone and making a call to the one person she knew who would always give it to her straight, albeit tactlessly.

  “Well, hello there, prank caller.”

  Kyria grimaced at the way the beloved Queen of Ramil seemed to take relish in speaking the words. “Very funny, Your Majesty,” she muttered. “I take it everyone knows?”

  “That you hung up on Malik?” Harper asked cheerfully as she resumed walking down the hallway. “Absolutely. Have you two talked then?”

  “Not…exactly.”

  The queen blinked. “What does that exactly mean?”

  She hesitated, knowing how Harper could be.

  Sensing something juicy coming up, Harper said cajolingly, “Come on, Ky. Who else can you to talk to about these things?”

  Well, that was true, but---

  “Promise me first you won’t laugh,” she demanded.

  Harper crossed her fingers behind her back as she entered the bedchamber she shared with the king. “Of course.”

  Kyria took a deep breath. “He came here this morning, and I was so shocked that I kinda……slammed the door on his face?”

  For one moment, there was silence---

  And then the Queen of Ramil was gasping, laughing so hard she was literally gasping for breath.

  “You said you wouldn’t laugh,” Kyria protested.

  “It’s y-your fault,” Harper managed to choke in between laughs as she sat on the edge of her bed.

  “Calling you is an obvious waste of time,” Kyria muttered glumly.

  “I have…tell…king.”

  Her teeth gnashed as the queen continued laughing her head off. “You are not helping at all!”

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Harper wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and did her best to control herself. “But seriously, why in God’s name did you do those things in the first place? Did you forget we have caller ID?”

  “Of course I didn’t.” Kyria threw herself on the couch in a fit of unrest. “I panicked at hearing his voice.”

  The queen frowned. “But it’s not like you guys don’t talk.”

  Kyria grimaced. Even the word ‘talk’ would be stretching it a bit when she recalled the stilted phone conversations that either Vanna or Altair had forced on her and the sheikh in the past two years.

  Happy birthday, Kyria. I’m sorry I’m unable to visit you.

  Merry Christmas, Malik. I’m sorry I’m unable to fly back home.

  “Those were different,” she said finally. She had at least some semblance of time to prepare herself for those calls. It was the opposite with him answering the phone yesterday and the way he unexpectedly showed up on her doorstep this morning. Neither had given her any time at all to school her mind and heart…

  Harper was still bewildered. “What do you mean different?”

  “I wasn’t expecting to hear his voice yesterday. It made me want to say things, stupid things---”

  Stupid things, the queen mentally translated, like probably how Kyria still couldn’t make up her mind on whether she saw Malik as a man or as a brother.

  “And because they were stupid things,” Kyria continued glumly, “I panicked.”

  Now Harper was beginning to understand. “That’s why you hung up.”

  Kyria’s head hung low in shame. “Yes.”

  “And so when you saw him this morning, you were, umm, thinking of stupid things again?”

  “Yes.” The admission was uttered in a small voice.

  “And so instead of doing any of those stupid things---” Harper was guessing those had to do with hugging and kissing. “You, umm, ended up panicking again and slamming the door in his face?”

  “Yes.” And this time, the younger girl’s voice was even smaller.

  “I…see.” Harper tried hard not to imagine the look on Malik’s face when his beloved Kyria shut the door on him, but it was impossible, and before she knew it she was already clutching her sides, lost in another bout of laughter.

  “Harper!”

  “Sorry…just…too…funny.”

  She glared at the phone in disgust. “Call me when you’re done, and by the way---”
Her voice turned sweet. “I’m charging this call on your account.”

  The queen’s laugh abruptly stopped. “Hey!”

  But Kyria had also hung up on her. Serves her right, she thought darkly. As Harper was now queen, the kingdom’s laws dictated that her every expense be settled from the royal coffers, and there was nothing the fiercely independent queen hated more than having to spend anyone else’s money but hers.

  That took care of her little revenge, but there was still the matter of a certain sheikh.

  Kyria stared at the phone in her hands. At the very least, she owed him an apology. But what if he asked why had she done all those things?

  As Malik’s limousine joined the flow of vehicles rolling down one of St. Valentine’s busy avenues, the sheikh noticed his head of security glancing at him every once in a while through the rearview mirror---

  Malik met Emmanuel’s gaze, and the older man swiftly averted his gaze. But a moment later, Emmanuel let out a heavy sigh, and his teeth gnashed. The older man had been doing that for a week now, ever since his rather unfortunate visit at Kyria’s apartment.

  When they reached their destination, Emmanuel opened the door for the sheikh and as he stepped out, Malik looked at the older man, and his head of security looked back at him, his face completely expressionless.

  “If you sigh one more time, I’ll have you sacked.”

  “The thought hasn’t even crossed my mind, Your Highness.”

  “She obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” he stressed coldly.

  “We are all entitled to think what we wish,” the older man answered politely.

  “I’m not ignoring her calls to punish her.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  “That would be juvenile.”

  “Undoubtedly.” And the older man’s gaze bored through the sheikh, saying without words it was exactly what he thought of Malik.

  The sheikh stalked inside the hotel lobby. Damn old man. He loathed how talking to Emmanuel always made him feel like he was a pathetic seventeen-year-old again. The man had been with Malik since he was seventeen, had seen the sheikh grow up, and as difficult as it was to admit, Malik also had a feeling Emmanuel knew exactly how he felt about his so-called sister.