The Billionaire's Club Trilogy: Deluxe Box Set

by C. L. Donley

  Alya shook her head as she looked out at the countryside.

  “You swore an oath to me.”

  His mind drifted to the memory of their first touch, paled with time and tragedy.

  “I swore an oath that the doctor wouldn’t take out your womb, and he didn’t.”

  “Some days I wonder,” she muttered, the implication not lost on him. She’d obviously been trying to conceive.

  “We made a deal,” she said, the disappointment in her voice tore at him.

  “And I honored that deal. And now I want to make another.”

  “He will never sell to you.”

  “I’m not suggesting that you would have to move.”

  “He was a friend to my father. Perhaps his closest friend. We’ve sold our wool to his family for generations.”

  “Then I’m sure he knows a good deal when he sees it.”

  “Does the king of Manaf know that you’re here?”

  “I thought the mountains were your country?”

  “I thought, your majesty, that we were… friends.”

  The king stood up, his men following suit. He looked the young shepherdess square in the eyes.

  “I’m afraid you thought wrong, young Alya.”

  * * *

  When Alya and her husband Hazim arrived, the king’s attendants escorted them to the part of the palace where they would be staying, the very room that Alya had stayed in five years before. The things she had left there had not been moved. She clung to her husband that night and the next day Hazim was invited to lunch with the king. Alya was given an armed guard, who quietly went with her as she wandered the halls of the palace in the meantime. At one point, she ran into the queen mother.

  “So you’re the woman my son intends to marry?”

  “No, your majesty. I’m here with my husband about a business matter.”

  “The Manaf land.”

  Alya looked at her stunned.

  “My son has turned down every royal virgin that has been presented to him. He thinks he can hide these sorts of things from me, but I always find out. It’s not easy. He’s inherited his father’s knack for secrecy.”

  “I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

  “I imagine he plans to kill your husband.”

  Alya’s blood ran cold. Somehow she knew it was true.

  “You’re a liar,” she snapped.

  The tension among the guards grew, though they didn’t move a muscle.

  “Careful girl, I do have some semblance of power still. My son would never forgive me if I had you killed, but even these men know your words warrant a lashing.”

  “And what of you, accusing the king of treachery?”

  The queen mother didn’t move a muscle, her guards pretending not to hear her being challenged by the Manaf girl.

  “Why do you think you have an armed guard? And your husband has none?”

  Alya’s eyes darted back and forth, her chest heaving under her tunic as anxiety filled it.

  “Where is the king? Where is my husband??”

  “Alya, my love,” she suddenly heard Hazim’s voice.

  Alya ran to him as they met in the hallway, crying.

  “Let’s go home, my dear.”

  “Nonsense,” her husband chuckled, “the king has invited us to stay and talk business.”

  The first time Alya came to this palace it was like being in an opulent dungeon. It was impossible to see the sun, the silence of the night kept her awake. Five years later it seemed a bit smaller than before. Only now it was a death chamber.

  “It’s not safe here, sir. Please.”

  “Alya, that’s enough,” he reprimanded her quietly.

  “Mother,” the king’s voice bellowed through the palace. “I see you’ve met Alya.”

  “Indeed, I have.”

  “This is her husband, Hazim.”

  “It’s an honor, your highness.”

  “How are you liking the palace, Hazim?” the queen mother didn’t take her eyes off of Alya as she spoke.

  “It’s like living inside a dream, your highness.”

  * * *

  By week’s end, Alya found herself in the queen’s palace, attended by seven virgins, sitting in a bath full of orchid petals and milk. She maintained a stoic expression as her hands and feet were scrubbed, a woman at each end of her. One attached her jewelry, one prepared the henna, and still another tended to her gown. Two combed her long hair, preparing it for her royal headdress.

  Today was to be her wedding day.

  The last she’d heard of her husband, he’d been arrested. For treason.

  Apparently he’d stood trial before the king where he was sentenced to death.

  She was not permitted to visit him while he was imprisoned, nor was she allowed to attend the trial.

  The last time she’d seen her husband was four days earlier, right before bed.

  “The king is quite fond of you,” he’d said.

  “He rescued me during the conflict. He helped grant me my father’s land. I owe him my life.”

  “He’s shown a great interest in that little parcel, but I’m no fool. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

  “That king can have anything he wants,” Alya said. “If he wanted me, he would’ve sent for me long ago.”

  “And you would’ve come?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  She didn’t want to offend her husband, but she couldn’t lie to him.

  She was greatful that she didn’t, because it was the last conversation they would have. That morning he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her.

  The lengthy Ghassani ceremony lasted all day and night. She hadn’t eaten all day per the custom and she was in no mood. When her handsome king arrived on horseback, all the wedding guests cheered, including her distant relatives and her late husband’s family, all except Hazim’s sons, who were a bit older than her. The king insisted they attend, both to extend an offer of peace and to give them the opportunity to demonstrate the lack of bad blood between them. Her husband’s sons and their wives were somber and looked at her with hatred.

  Alya was officially the queen of her neighboring country. When the food came, she waved it away. Her handsome husband said nothing about it, though he noticed it.

  When it was time for the bride to be carried away to the wedding tent, Queen Alya faced the tent as though it were the executioner’s block. When she and the king were alone she let him completely undress her. In the candlelight he could still make out the landscape of her eyes. They betrayed no emotion. He looked at her as though she were a painting as he lifted a hand to her chin, tilting her head this way and that. The same way he had when they first met, and for her the feelings were the same, betraying her anger. Lastly, he removed her headdress so that her long hair cascaded down her shoulders.

  He reached down between her legs, touching her wetness. His hand remained there as if glued, rubbing back and forth as if struggling to get free. It flooded Alya with sensation, the sight of the king frantically looking her up and down, the revelation of her arousal across his face.

  It was a potent sight she was not used to. Her husband was like a father to her. She forced him to lie with her at times, it killed her to remember. She was determined to produce an heir, no matter that it hurt him. He’d pretended to be understanding.

  She shut her eyes tight, desperate to keep the guilt at bay.

  Suddenly she threw herself on the king, kissing his beautiful mouth, full of power and deceit and death. She bit his bottom lip and he recoiled, tasting the blood. He grabbed her by her gorgeous hair and she winced, even more as his lips trailed her neck and shoulder. She was going down down into a pit, one of passion and lust that she couldn’t control, one that should’ve scared her.

  She was trapped now. In this beautiful sprawling cage, in this beautiful life with this beautiful man. She’d spent many years trying to survive. Only now did she realize how much more she longed to be
free than alive.

  Without warning, Queen Alya bolted for the entrance of the tent. Narrowly the king stopped her with his powerful arm extended. He wrestled her to the ground, his dark brown eyes afire by the candlelight as he held her by the arms. He breathed heavily through his nostrils, admonishing her with his silence. He wasn’t happy with her anymore. There was anger, fear. A sense of betrayal.

  That feeling of uncontrollable passion started to wane. Peculiar. How to get it back?

  Meanwhile the king continued to stare at her. She realized he was still afraid she would run again. Extremely afraid. She smiled, the thought tickling her.

  “I’m going to let go of you now.”

  “Okay,” she nodded.

  “Give me your word you will not run.”

  “No,” she said.

  He sighed as if exhausted. Swiftly he grabbed both her arms by the wrist with one hand, trying to undress himself with the other. Alya watched in fascination. He switched the hand that restrained her when he went to take off his trousers. She flinched and his grip grew tight.

  “You’re hurting me,” she said.

  “Then be still,” he warned her gruffly. He was bare on top and she saw the faint traces of wounds and scarring on his back while his powerful shoulders moved.

  She felt the stirring in her loins return. She gazed on the kings naked form as much as she could in the dim light. She suddenly realized that the passionate feeling was intrinsically tied to the man.

  The next time their eyes met her heart erupted. Abruptly she looked away, turning her head. Once he was fully undressed, he again used both his tired arms to restrain her.

  “Look at me.”

  “No.”

  “You are full of defiance but your body betrays you,” the king said.

  “My body is here to serve, my king,” she bluffed.

  “If I wanted compliance, I would’ve married a million other women,” he lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “It is your spirit that enflames me. It is the smell of your arousal that intoxicates me.”

  Arousal flooded her against her will. His words sent shivers up her spine.

  “If it is my spirit that you want, my liege, say the word and it is yours,” she stoically complied.

  He smiled, amused.

  “You’re angry with me.”

  “No, my king.”

  “You dare lie to me?”

  “Being angry with you would be like being angry with a child, your majesty,” she said, the blue in her eyes blazing.

  Her words shredded his ego. Her now ex- husband was certainly in America by now, not suffering the shame of his cowardly decision. Hafiz should’ve never agreed to secrecy. But he could not hurt his queen by telling her the truth about her dear husband.

  “I promised your husband that I wouldn’t tell you the deal he made for you, but for the first time in my life, I’m thinking of going back on such a promise,” he said, already regretting his spiteful sounding words. He watched her face morph as she spoke and sorrow battered his heart.

  “He would never do such a thing,” she whispered, tears falling down her face. “He loved me. He was the only man left who loved me.”

  “The king of Ghassan is in love you. Desperately. Or does it mean nothing?” he guilted her. “You’re the queen of a prosperous country. You have more power than your sheepherder father would’ve ever imagined—”

  “Don’t you EVER MENTION MY FATHER!!!” she screamed.

  The king put a hand over Alya’s mouth, his patience having run out. She writhed around, trying to get free.

  “Shall I beat you as he did? Will you love me then?” he sneered, the pernicious insult uncontrollably spewing from him.

  “What’s the matter, your highness?” she goaded him, “have you never been yelled at before?”

  “You’ve met my mother haven’t you?” he said, pinning her down by the arms.

  Finally, her struggle seemed to subside. The tent was filled with their humid breath.

  “Your soldiers killed my father, and you killed my husband,” she panted. “Why should I feel anything for you but hatred?”

  “You killed him,” he strengthened his grip as he confessed to her. “The moment you agreed to marry him, you killed him,” he said. His dark eyes bored into hers, looking angry, looking hurt.

  The queen looked into the king’s eyes, feeling defensive.

  “You expected me to wait? I haven’t survived this long by waiting around for a man,” she replied.

  “What’s done is done,” he fumed. “You’re now my queen and will never have to merely survive again. Your land will never be sold, and will stay in your family line forever.”

  “And yours as well,” she said with contempt, a single tear dropping down the side of her face into her ear.

  Angrily, he relinquished his grip on her. He’d spent the entire day dreaming of her, only to have her reject him, as though he had ruined her life. He was emotionally drained.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m going to bed,” he replied, his naked form only half visible in the flickering candlelight. He laid on the couch inside the sprawling tent, a single blanket over his middle.

  “But we have to consummate our union,” she said.

  “I don’t want to.”

  Somehow, the queen hadn’t expected his answer.

  “But your guests—”

  “Since when do you care about tradition?”

  The queen lay back down, her eyes on the ceiling.

  “Why is it so quiet out here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No birds, no crickets, no animals. No sheep.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” he replied.

  “It’s impossible to rest,” she commented.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted your king to find some way to put you to sleep,” he said, one arm slung over his head as he lay with his eyes closed in the darkness.

  When she didn’t answer, the king raised up to look over at her. Their eyes met, a perfect halo of light around her face.

  Hafiz could barely believe his luck. The queen hated him, but she still wanted him. Perhaps even needed him.

  As he left his position on the couch, he wrapped the blanket around his waist, his silhouette becoming lit as he came towards her and knelt beside her bedside. Alya was naked and uncovered as she lay facing him, one arm concealing her cleavage, another bent under her head. The space in between her legs was a shadowy crease in her curled position.

  “Have you pleasured many women?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He found it an odd question.

  “Because… I liked it.”

  “But you didn’t want to marry them.”

  “No.”

  Alya’s eyes perused the king’s young, virile body, his happy trail leading below where his blanket tied.

  “Hazim. He did not want our relationship to become physical. He married me to honor my father, but… I needed heirs.”

  More tears streamed as she shut her eyes tight.

  “It was like a knife to his heart. I made him do it. He hated it,” she sobbed. “I have killed him. More than once.”

  He dried her tears with his thumb as she spoke.

  “I won’t tell you what I promised not to,” he alluded, “I can only tell you that I know with all certainty he was not angry.”

  “The men in my life die, your majesty. They all do. They leave me. And you will leave me too one day.”

  He grabbed the hand that covered her cleavage and brought it to his lips.

  “We will die hand in hand on our deathbeds, in our old age, with our children sitting around us,” he said as he looked on at her lovingly.

  “I’m ready to make love,” she suddenly said.

  In record time, the king was instantly at attention.

  “You do not have to,” his words betrayed his body.

  �
�I want to.”

  “Are you not sad?”

  “I am,” she sniffed. “But so are you. Let us comfort one another, my king.”

  He stared at her a bit longer from his position on the floor of the tent, memorizing her features, arranging her hair so that it framed her face. Finally he relinquished the blanket around his waist and joined her in the giant bed.

  “You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen” she confessed. He put one of her hands on his face to caress his cheek. “Am I the most beautiful woman you have ever seen?” she asked.

  “The most beautiful I have seen and will ever see,” he said, gazing back at her.

  “A most excellent choice of words your highness,” she smirked. He laughed.

  “Will you kiss me?” she innocently asked. “Kiss me again and again, until my misery is forgotten?”

  “As you wish, my queen,” the king whispered, enthralled.

  Alya again threw herself on him, showing his Highness how the moutain folk made love. He grabbed her and rolled her on top of him, his hands perusing her back and and the crown of her hair as they passionately kissed. They could faintly hear the sounds of the not so distant reception, still lively and having many more hours to go.

  * * *

  “Tell the king it’s a boy!” Queen Alya’s midwife exclaimed.

  One of her attendants left the queen’s chamber at once to deliver the news.

  When the attendant got to the throneroom, she did not need to make a request. The doors automatically opened.

  “It is another boy, your majesty!”

  The entire throne room erupted.

  Moments later the king was escorted to the queen’s chamber, where their nanny was waiting.

  “Marcus!” King Hafiz called his young son to his side.

  “Where is the queen?”

  “She is already out of bed and in her parlor, with the baby, your highness,” the midwife informed him.

  Alya had a parlor constructed in the first year of her reign that butt up against the back of the palace and faced the royal cemetary. Hafiz found it morbid, but it was where Queen Alya felt the most peaceful. When the king found her, the baby was wrapped and shielded with a blanket, the queen wrapped in a blanket of her own.

  “They called you already,” she said.

  “Of course,” he said sitting down, young Marcus on his heels.