The Sheikh King's Ward (Halabi Sheikhs Book 1)

by Leslie North

  “It wouldn’t have to be terrible,” said Ibrahim. “You’d have your own lovers, of course, and if you wanted to work—”

  “Get out.” She clenched her fists tight. “Leave right now, and I’ll tell the king you felt sick. Stand there one more second, and I’ll scream.”

  Ibrahim muttered something under his breath, but he did as he was told. Fiona stood breathing hard, the blood pounding in her ears.

  “Fiona?” Bas appeared at her side, brows knit in concern. “Did something go wrong? Where’s Ibrahim?”

  “He had breath like a turkey vulture,” she snarled. “And a mouth like a sewer.”

  Bas cocked his head. “That doesn’t sound like Ibrahim.”

  “I’m sorry.” Fiona leaned on the bridge railing, letting her breathing settle. “He was pleasant enough. We had nothing in common, is all. There didn’t seem much point in carrying on the charade.”

  Bas’s frown deepened. “Are you sure that’s all it was? If he did something to offend you, I’d be glad to have him whipped.”

  “What?”

  “Or tarred and feathered? Covered in bees?” Bas nudged her gently, the barest brush of their elbows. “Drowned in boiling honey?”

  Fiona smiled in spite of herself. “Shaved bald and dumped in an eagle’s nest?”

  “That one. Definitely that one.” Bas offered his arm, and Fiona took it. He tensed as she did, and that sizzle went through her again, like touching a live wire. He felt solid and safe at her side, like a knight protecting his lady. The fantasy was comforting and a little thrilling, and she leaned into his warmth, pretending it was true.

  Rashid showed up late and sweaty, smelling of tar. He bounded onto the patio, coattails flapping, and screeched to a halt. “Sorry! Sorry I’m late.” He bent over, brushing at his knees. “My sister’s cat got on the roof, and I went up to get it, and…Miss Nadide. Your Majesty. Please forgive me.”

  “It’s quite all right,” said Bas. He pulled out a chair and gestured for Rashid to sit. “I’m afraid I won’t be joining you this afternoon, but feel free to make use of the gardens. Anything you’d like.”

  “Your Majesty.” Rashid bowed too deeply, sending his hair flying. Fiona choked back a giggle. He was a string bean of a man, all arms and legs.

  “I really am delighted,” he said to Fiona once Bas had gone. “I mean, it’s a surprise, of course, a summons from the king, but…do you like mountain climbing?”

  Fiona blinked. “Mountain climbing?”

  “Yeah. I made it up Kilimanjaro last year, and I’m going to try Denali next May. After that, on to Everest!”

  “Everest, eh?” Fiona fought to keep a straight face. This boy seemed harmless, if a little full of himself. “I’m not sure I’d recommend it,” she said. “I heard it’s full of garbage.”

  “Garbage?” His whole body drooped, a study in comic dismay. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, hundreds of people go up every year, and they all drop their trash on the way—tin cans, candy wrappers. You do the math.”

  “Oh. Oh, no.” Rashid reached for the tea. He bumped his elbow on the table and squeaked like a rat. “Look at me, late and nervous. I’m not making the best impression, am I?”

  “You’re doing fine.” Fiona grabbed the teapot and poured him a cup. “You know, about this time last year, I sat on my palette without noticing, and walked all through the market with a rainbow on my tush.”

  “Oh—oh…” Rashid blushed to his eyeballs and choked on his tea. “You, uh…you paint, then?”

  “I do.” Fiona smiled, hoping to set him at his ease. “Nature, mostly. The birds outside my window. Flowers from the garden. Are you a painter yourself?”

  “No. I don’t have the eye for it.” He flashed a crooked grin. “Collecting’s more my thing. Surrounding myself with beauty, if I can’t create my own.”

  Fiona’s heart leaped. This could be the chance she’d been waiting for, though Rashid looked all of fifteen. She sipped her own tea. “Not to be rude, but may I ask how old you are?”

  “Twenty-two.” His tongue darted out, a nervous gesture. “I know I’m probably not what you were, uh…I’m hardly a dreamboat. My parents sort of…”

  “Made you come?”

  Rashid’s blush turned volcanic. He slurped his tea and coughed. “I didn’t mean to insult you. You’re lovely, of course, and I’m—it’s an honor you’d even, uh…”

  “Hey.” She reached across the table, not quite touching his hand. “I’ll tell you a secret: this isn’t exactly my dream, either, a parade of strangers marching through, and I’m meant to pick one just like that.” Her smile widened. “Why don’t we go back to art? We’ll drink tea, compare notes—at worst, we’ll be friends.”

  “Really?” Rashid sat forward, brightening. “You have no idea how much I’d love that. I’m not usually this goofy. It’s just, I was up all night picturing you staring me down, and I’d just have nothing to say. Or you’d see me and laugh in my face. So I barged in here trying to impress you, and…well, you were there.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Art, though—I could talk about that all day. Do you know Ilya Repin?”

  “Russian painter, nineteenth century.”

  Rashid flapped happily. “That’s the one. I’d kill for one of his canvases. He got so much life in there. So much energy. You look at his bargemen and your own shoulders ache.”

  “I like his Ivan the Terrible. It’s so raw. And when you see it up close, the expression on his face…”

  “Yes. And the brushstrokes. So thick. So rough.” He fished out his phone. “Can I show you my latest acquisition? I think you’ll like it.”

  Fiona leaned closer, all eyes. Rashid wouldn’t be her husband, but he might just be the patron she’d hoped for, not to mention a good friend.

  “Do you like the water? I was in the boat club at Cambridge—First and Third Trinity, of course. Have you been to Cambridge? Everyone rows, everyone who’s anyone. Truly the sport of gentlemen, democratic, genteel. Shame it’s not—”

  Fiona bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Saleem hadn’t quit talking since he took his seat, not even to chew his sesame cakes. Bas hadn’t paid him much mind at first, drifting in and out of the room as he fielded an endless stream of phone calls, but now he was leaning in the doorway, looking bored out of his mind. Fiona could relate.

  “—and the other thing with Cambridge is the cyclists. Of course, students can’t own cars. It’d be chaos, all those narrow old streets, but you’d think they’d hire drivers. Why, I nearly got bowled over coming out of the—”

  Fiona made a strangled sound. Bas was yawning theatrically, patting at his mouth. He caught her eye and winked.

  “—but I’ll take you, of course, once we’re married. It’s romantic in spring, the daffodils along the river. You’d be Titania herself, with a wreath on your brow. Oh, and—”

  Bas made a yap-yap-yap gesture with his hand. Fiona clenched her teeth to keep from giggling. Saleem was ridiculous, and Bas wasn’t helping. She looked down at her lap to avoid his eye.

  “—but I’m being so rude. Was there anything you wanted to ask me?”

  Fiona swallowed. She glanced at Bas, and inspiration struck.

  She shouldn’t.

  She couldn’t.

  Bas flashed her a warning look, perhaps guessing her intentions.

  She sat up a little straighter and schooled her face into a deadpan expression. “So, where’d you go to college?”

  Bas dove behind the curtain. She heard quick footsteps, then a slamming door. Saleem’s face fell.

  “Oh, very funny.”

  She thought it was.

  If the rest of her suitors were this entertaining, the next few months would fly by.

  5

  The terrace was fragrant with plumeria, and Fiona breathed a sigh of relief. Saleem had started sweating after her jibe, and the whole dayroom reeked of garlic and stress. She sniffed at her sleeve, but the stench
hadn’t stuck—or at least, she hoped it hadn’t.

  “Small mercies,” she muttered, and jumped when someone laughed. “Who’s there?”

  “Just me.” A pretty young woman waved from the garden, silver bracelets tinkling on her arm. Her long, dark hair fell in graceful ringlets to her shoulders. “Come down and join me,” she said. “I’d come up, but…” She gestured at her wheelchair, then the steps. “I’d have to go all the way around. It’ll be quicker for you.”

  Fiona hopped down, smiling. “Whoever you are, you have no idea how relieved I am to see you. The day I’ve had…”

  “Oh, the bachelors?” The woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Edlyn, Bas’s sister. I’m dreading the day he decides it’s my turn.”

  “Better find someone first.” Fiona shook Edlyn’s hand and squeezed it tight. “You’re the first woman my age I’ve seen here. Even the maids are twice my age.”

  “Yeah. They’re all Father’s, been here forever.” She turned and started down the path. “Come on. Let’s wander. I’ve been dying to meet you.”

  Fiona followed her eagerly. Stepping out of the shadow of the palace felt wonderful, and she turned her face up to soak in the sun. “Why are we just meeting now?”

  “I’ve been in Addis Ababa. We have family there, and I visit every year.” Edlyn sighed. “One of these days, I’d like to try somewhere else—Athens, maybe, or Milan—but you know how it is. A young woman, helpless and unchaperoned? Who knows what might happen?” She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  “That I do.” Fiona pulled a face. “One idiot wanted to marry me and keep his lover, and we’re the ones who can’t be trusted?”

  “Right?” Edlyn turned down a path Fiona hadn’t tried before, shaded with tall, fragrant trees. “Bas wouldn’t let me go yachting last summer in case I fell in. We took swimming lessons together. I’m better than him, and he knows it. But they all went, him and Dan and Chadil, all the Halabi brothers, and you know what I did instead?”

  “What?”

  “Absolutely nothing. They left me in the beach house without so much as a book.” She chuckled. “I could’ve made them dinner, but why should I?” They emerged from the shade. A long, low building stood along the garden wall, and Fiona smelled sweat and old leather, the sweetness of hay.

  “I didn’t know you had stables.”

  “My favorite place.” Edlyn’s voice took on a wistful note. “I used to love riding. It was the one time I felt free.” She pointed past the stables, toward the garden gate. “There are trails just past there, up by the oasis. You should go some time, maybe take my brother. He could use a day off.”

  “What about you?”

  “Come back fourteen years ago.” She tapped the arm of her chair. “This is my horse now.”

  Fiona frowned. “I don’t know. I saw something on the news once, this guy who’d broken his back, but he was winning all sorts of equestrian cups. He had a special saddle, a ramp to get up there—”

  “I saw that too.” Edlyn’s lips turned down. “But so did Bas. The look on his face…I couldn’t bring myself to ask. He’d worry too much, me on horseback again.” She clapped her hands, her bright smile returning. “Do you want to meet the horses? We don’t have to ride them to have fun.”

  “Yeah. Of course.” Fiona let the subject drop, but the gears were spinning in her head. Edlyn was the first ally she’d found in the palace, and a breath of fresh air. Maybe she could return the favor, talk to Bas on her behalf. The worst he could do was say no.

  Bas could do far worse than say no.

  He stood over his desk with a face like thunder, fists bunched at his sides. Fiona found herself picturing Ivan the Terrible, and she shied away.

  “I don’t understand. All I’m suggesting—”

  “What part of none of your business did you fail to understand?” Bas turned to the window. He was trembling, she noticed, vibrating with rage. It was rolling off him like a fog, thickening the air. Fiona felt claustrophobic, a little afraid.

  “If you’d just seen her face—”

  “She’s my sister!” Bas whirled, eyes spitting. “You think I don’t know how it hurts her, watching all her friends live out her dreams?” He massaged the bridge of his nose. “Under no circumstances will she ride again. Do I make myself clear?”

  “No.” Fiona quailed at the look in his eyes, but she kept going. “I’m sorry, but no. I don’t understand at all. There are saddles that’d hold her in place—”

  “And if the horse fell? What then?”

  “That could happen to anyone, not just—”

  “Enough.” He brought his palms down on his desk, sending a pen rattling off the edge. “You’re a guest here, nothing more. You’re not the one who’d be drying Edlyn’s tears if she lost what independence she has left. Come to think of it, you’ll be married and gone any day. Perhaps it’d be best if you left her alone. She’ll only be heartbroken when you go.”

  Fiona’s breath caught in her throat. Not so long ago, she’d pictured Bas as her knight. He’d made her laugh, made her feel safe, but the way he was looking at her now, she felt like dirt on his heel. The walls closed in around her, prison walls. She got to her feet.

  “Whatever I’ve done to offend you, I beg your Majesty’s pardon.” The words came out colder than she’d meant them, but there was no softening them now. She turned and walked out, forcing herself not to hurry. Bas didn’t call out or follow her, and somehow, that stung worse than his anger.

  6

  Zahid stood nearly a foot shorter than Fiona. He’d tried to make up the difference with his hair, slicking it up at the front like a rooster’s comb. That was the most interesting thing about him. His conversation consisted mostly of grunts and nods. Fiona found herself staring past him, longing for the bustle of the stables. She’d visited the horses almost daily since Edlyn had introduced them to her, and they’d proved the highlight of her captivity.

  “So.” Zahid toyed with his cufflink, twisting it this way and that. “So.”

  She waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. Outside, a bird called, as though inviting her to join it. Fiona stood up. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

  Zahid looked surprised, but he seemed agreeable enough. “I could stretch my legs,” he said. He put his hands on his hips and leaned back, spine crackling loudly. Fiona wondered how old he was. He looked about thirty-five, but he moved like a much older man, mincing stiff-legged down the path. One of the servants followed at a distance, giving them privacy, but not too much of it. Fiona mustered a smile.

  “The bougainvillea is in bloom.”

  Zahid sniffed at a jasmine bush. “Oh.”

  “No, the…never mind.” She led the way under the trees, breathing in the scent of the stables. Even Zahid couldn’t ruin a ride in the hills. With any luck, she’d forget he was there.

  “Oh. Oh, are those horses?” Zahid stopped in his tracks, hand over his nose and mouth. “I definitely smell horses.”

  “We’re going for a ride.”

  “A ride?” His voice shot up an octave. “I don’t think I’m dressed for that. And you’re in a skirt.”

  “I’ll tuck it up under me.” She urged him on, impatient. “Haven’t you ridden before? You’ll love it, I promise.”

  “I, ah—” Zahid patted his breast pocket. “I’m getting a text.” He pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen, already retreating the way he’d come. “Oh. This is unfortunate. I’ll have to take a raincheck. I have a…” He turned and fled, not even bothering to finish his excuse.

  Fiona watched him go, amused. Well, that was easy. If she’d known Zahid was such a coward, she’d have brought him out right away. She made for the stables on her own, gratified to hear the horses whickering in their stalls. They’d come to recognize her voice; maybe it was just the promise of treats that had them excited, but she liked to think it was her.

  She ducked into the stables with a sense of relief. The end
less stream of suitors was becoming a nuisance. Most of them were dull, dismissive, or both, and apart from Rashid, not one had expressed an interest in the arts. The process had been amusing at first, with Bas dropping in to add his two cents, but he’d made himself scarce since their blowout over Edlyn. She’d spotted him once in the kitchen, kneading a ball of dough as if he was mad at it, but it hadn’t felt like the time to approach him. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to. His behavior was bewildering, playful one minute and cold the next, protective and cruel by turns.

  She got a couple carrots from the crate and moved down the line, feeding a chunk to each horse. The big black one snuffled and butted her with its nose. The gray one grabbed her sleeve between its teeth and wouldn’t let go till it got an extra treat. The white mare nuzzled into her palm, more interested in affection than in food.

  “You’re my favorite,” she whispered. “Come on. Eat up.”

  The mare nibbled delicately, careful to avoid her fingers. Fiona stroked its mane, working out the tangles.

  “You’re good with them,” came a voice, and Fiona froze where she stood. While Bas didn’t sound angry, exactly, a sharpness in his tone set her on edge. He came up behind her, straw crackling under his boots. She shivered as he reached past her to pat the mare. “Care to explain why Zahid fled in such a hurry?”

  “He got a text,” she said, and Bas let out a snort.

  “It wasn’t his crippling fear of horses?”

  “I couldn’t have known about that.” She turned around, and Bas was smiling. “What?”

  “I was watching you.” He took the last carrot and fed it to the mare. “You talk to the horses like they’re people. It’s…not what I’d have expected from you.”

  Fiona’s brows went up. “How so?”

  “I don’t know. You’re always on guard, aren’t you? You’re defensive, and I understand that, but…” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen you with your suitors, how you sink in your claws before they know you’re a cat. If there’s a soft underbelly, you’ll lay it bare. I wasn’t sure you knew how to relax, but look at you now, all soft as taffy over a horse.”