‘No!’ She would not return there without him—could not stand to sleep alone in the bed where they had made love—and no more would she beg him.
‘Go and do your deal in Calista—but I am not going to stay locked in a palace pretending for ever. You have a week. If you choose, after that, not to return to Haydar for a respectable time, if you choose to dishonour me in that way, then never ask me to stand as your wife in anything other than duty.’
She pushed him from her then—pushed him as if he revolted her.
‘Sort it out, Xavian—you have one week.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NOW that he had let himself remember, memories returned with a vengeance. And as he stepped into the Calistan palace, it was as if he was being pelted with them.
He could hear his mother’s laughter, and his own boyish giggles as he chased that bird that had flown into the palace. He could see himself running along the corridors, opening doors that he had always but never known…And later, out in the stables, he buried his face in the neck of a fierce stallion named Death, inhaled the scent of the stables and felt giddy with recall.
‘My parents forbade me to ride…’ Xavian said. ‘As the only heir I had to be responsible. One day I defied them and rode the fiercest horse in the stable—I saddled him myself, and I mounted him easily. I could not understand how I knew what to do…I just did.’
‘You were like a gypsy boy.’ Zakari smiled. ‘You loved your horses.’ He paused for a moment. ‘All this is yours, Zafir.’
‘Don’t call me that.’
‘You are Zafir.’
‘It will kill my people.’
‘I do not care for your people,’ Zakari said. ‘Qusay stole my brother—it has had enough borrowed time; I feel no guilt that we claim what is ours.’
‘What about my wife?’ Xavian roared. ‘She married a king.’
‘And now she gets a prince…’ Zakari shrugged. ‘You can help her…’
‘Help her!’ Xavian gave a black laugh. ‘She does not need my help—she rules her way…’
‘Then let her,’ Zakari said, as if it were that simple. ‘Everyone knows this is nothing more than a business arrangement—she can get on with ruling Haydar; you can get on with being Prince. Anyway…’ Zakari shrugged ‘…the marriage may not even be legal now…’
It was like a knife to his chest.
‘You can have your life back, Zafir—the life Qusay has denied you, the life that was meant for you. Come now…’ Zakari said. ‘It is time to inform your brothers…’
‘No!’ Xavian halted him. ‘Not yet. I will decide in my own time.’
‘They have missed you; they have grieved…’
‘A few days’ more will make no difference.’
And at least Zakari granted him that.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DESPITE her brave words to him, Layla could not cleanse herself of want.
She tried so hard—tried to simply hate him.
Each morning as Baja bathed her the henna butterfly he had kissed faded a little. She filled her days with reading, with long walks on the beach, she wrote morose pages in her diary as she awaited his return—but at night she burned for him. She wished she had never known him, because up till then she had slept. Now her body twitched like a jumble of electric wires, nerves all awakened, all missing what just a week ago they had never even known.
She had given him a week—and still, as always, he made her wait.
And she gave him another day, because…well, because she had to.
But when by day nine there was still no word, no sign of his return, she could take it no more.
She had a right to better than this, and so she summoned Akmal.
‘Arrange my flight. Let my people know I am returning to Haydar.’
‘Perhaps a couple more days, Your Highness…’
How dared he suggest that to her? How dared an aide of the absent King, suggest what she might do?
‘You will arrange for my things to be packed.’ Layla was pale with rage at his insolence. ‘And summon my plane.’
‘There are papers that need your signature—both your signatures—with witnesses…’
‘Tell that to your King.’
‘It will not look good…’ She was about to demand that he leave, and to have him reprimanded severely, yet his eyes were filled with tears. In abject apology he knelt on the floor and pleaded—pleaded with Her Majesty to give his master some more time. ‘He has so much to contend with….’
‘Like what?’ she demanded, because till Stefania and Zakari had asked for an audience things had been perfect—well, not perfect, but better than this. ‘He is busy brokering a deal that will serve you, Akmal, and your people,’
‘This is not about stones or jewels.’ The vizier bowed his head.
For Akmal to reveal even this much had her heart tripping with fear. ‘Then what?’ she croaked, and then cleared her voice. ‘What is it that my husband is struggling so hard to contend with?’ But even as she asked she knew that the loyal Akmal’s first duty was to his King. Yet his answer was more telling than she had expected.
‘Your husband appears to treat you poorly…’ Akmal’s lips trembled at his own indiscretion. ‘For a King to leave his Queen alone so soon…’ His eyes pleaded with her to listen, to read between the lines, to do something, because this was more weight than Akmal could bear. ‘Yet I believe he will return soon, that all will be well, if you can just give him some time…’
She was scared for her husband.
Layla stood there and was scared.
Was he being bribed? The moods, the nightmares…? Her scalp was tight with fear.
But Xavian was strong.
What was it that troubled him so?
She had to know.
‘There is a change of plan—I am going to Calista…’ She watched Akmal’s eyes widen. ‘Unannounced,’ she warned, and so determined was she that Akmal nodded. ‘I will remind your King of the consequences should he choose not to return to my country with me…’
For the first time in days Akmal had hope. He had never seen Xavian so smitten with a woman—maybe Queen Layla could be the one to persuade him. For if he lost Qusay he would lose her too—the Queen of Haydar would surely prefer to be married to a King!
‘You cannot go to him yet…’ As she opened her mouth to reprimand him, Akmal bravely spoke over her. ‘Your eyes are swollen from crying, your hair is unkempt, and I know how King Xavian likes…’ His voice trailed off, but she did not reprimand him. They were both on the same side after all—they both wanted him back, both wanted the world to be as it had been just a few days ago. ‘Let me help you, Your Highness.’
And she nodded.
Maybe it could work, Akmal thought as he ran around, clapping hands, summoning staff. He called the beautician, make-up artists, the finest designers—oh, when King Xavian saw his bride surely that would bring him home…
‘Not yet!’ Baja called, as Akmal knocked at the door—but the Queen overrode her, allowing Xavian’s vizier the final say.
‘Will I do?’
Though he had never found love himself, Akmal decided that there was surely nothing more beautiful than a woman who was in love.
She had chosen well. Her pale skin was enhanced by a dress so black it was almost blue, made in a silk so heavy it looked like wool, and it clung to her curves. The empress neckline enhanced her bust, her legs looked even longer in high-heeled black shoes, and her hair, usually worn down, was instead piled high on her head, with some stray curls tumbling down. It was divine—surely the King’s impulse would be the same as any man’s? To pull out the grips and watch her hair fall like a theatre curtain. Her cheeks were accentuated with blusher, her lips skilfully rouged, and her eyes darkened with kohl.
She looked both shy and wanton, and Akmal decided if anything would silence the King, if anything would make him stay, then it stood now before him.
‘You will bring our King hom
e,’ Akmal said, which was a soaring compliment to Layla. ‘Wear this…’ He handed her the emerald necklace Xavian had given her on the night of the official ceremony. ‘This means everything to our people, to the royal family…When he sees you in this…’
It dripped between her breasts, and even Baja found she was smiling—from tomboy princess, to hard nosed Queen, to shy bride. Today her Layla was all woman—a woman dressed for her husband’s eyes. But now she must dress for others, and Baja helped her put on her veil.
‘We are ready,’ Baja said to Akmal, but Layla had other plans.
‘No, Baja. I am going to Calista alone.’
‘You do not know what you will find there…’ Baja said, because King Xavian’s reputation was legendary. ‘You should have someone with you.’
‘I will face him alone,’ Layla said, because Baja confused her. ‘And if he chooses not to return…’
Akmal closed his eyes for a moment—he knew the truth; he knew what she was walking into.
‘I will escort you,’ Akmal said.
‘He could fire you…’ Layla pointed out. ‘He may be furious at my arrival. You do not have to risk your job…’
‘I am coming with you.’
The journey took four hours. She wanted her arrival to be unannounced, so instead of landing at the palace the royal plane touched down at Calista Airport, where a luxury car took her through ancient streets to a place she had never been.
She was grateful that Akmal was with her, because there was some difficulty at the palace gates. It was Akmal who smoothed the way, assuring them that, yes, indeed it was Queen Layla who had just arrived to join her husband, and he suggested it would be extremely rude to keep her waiting.
After just a moment or two the gates opened and Layla was invited in.
‘You can go back to the plane,’ Layla offered, ‘Xavian does not need to know that you brought me here.’
‘I will wait for you,’ Akmal said stoutly. ‘You go inside. I know several of King Zakari’s aides; I will pass the time talking with them.’
A rather flustered Queen Stefania greeted her in the lounge as a nanny swept a tearful baby away.
‘Forgive me.’ Queen Stefania stood. ‘I was feeding baby Zafir; we were not expecting you…Zafir did not…’ She stopped talking and shook her head. ‘Sorry, Xavian did not…’
‘You can carry on feeding Zafir,’ Layla said. ‘I am sorry to interrupt that.’
‘He had just finished,’ Stefania said. ‘Xavian did not say to expect you…’
‘Xavian does not know.’
‘Can I get you some tea…?’ She nodded to a maid. ‘Some refreshments…?’
‘I just want to speak with my husband.’
‘Please…’ Stefania gestured. ‘Won’t you have a seat?’
‘No, thank you.’ There must have been something in her voice that told Stefania that polite royal talk was not going to appease Layla. She would not sit, she had not even taken off her veils, she just stood there, strong and defiant and almost…dangerous. There was a recklessness in Layla that Stefania recognised from a time in her own life—no matter who was present, she would speak her mind. Clearly worried, Stefania dismissed her maid as a precaution.
‘He is out riding…’ Stefania said. ‘I am sure if you had let us know you were coming he would have been here…’
‘When will he return?’ Layla watched as the Queen ran a worried hand through her hair. She was clearly embarrassed, and Layla did not want to hurt her, but she was hurting herself.
‘I am sorry, I don’t know. Perhaps we could go for a walk in the gardens…?’
‘A walk!’ Layla was sick of this—sick of the games, sick of the double talk. As if she could walk in the manicured gardens and make stupid conversation about flowers and such! ‘I did not come here to walk. I am here to see my husband. To find out why, one week after our wedding, he chooses to spend time getting to know your family rather than his bride.’
‘There are perhaps things that the Kings need to discuss…‘
‘Is this a joke? Layla demanded. ‘Or is this acceptable to you? I suppose it must be…’ Layla scoffed as Stefania closed her eyes. Layla dished out the truth. ‘After all, you invited only him to join you here in Calista. Am I wrong to want to see my husband?’
‘Of course not…’ Stefania was weeping, remembering the hell of her own honeymoon, when Zakari had told her theirs was a marriage of convenience only—when she had found out he had married her only so that he could claim the Karedes Diamond. She could hear the pain in Layla’s voice, the confusion and anger, and Stefania recognised it as if it were her own. Oh, she had supported her husband on this—theirs was a strong and loving marriage now, and on everything except this Zakari listened to her. But not where his long-lost brother was concerned. For Zakari it was simple: Zafir must return home. But here before Stefania was just a fraction of the pain that decision might bring. And she admired Layla too—how brave she was to stand in an unfamiliar palace and demand her rights as a wife.
‘I want to see my husband,’ Layla said finally. ‘I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, or if it is an imposition, but I am not leaving until I do.’ Only then did she sit down, and Stefania knew that Layla was not going anywhere until she got answers.
‘He went out on Death before dawn.’
‘Death…’
‘The stallion. We told him it was not advisable, but he is not keen to listen to anyone now…He has been gone since…’
‘I don’t believe you. I want you to take me to my husband.’
‘He is riding…’ But it was dark now; the sun had set hours ago.
Layla shook her head at the impossibility. ‘Xavian doesn’t ride; his parents forbade it—that much I do know about him. So he cannot possibly be out on a stallion.’
‘Please, Layla,’ Stefania begged. ‘Zakari has gone out looking for him. I am on your side. I want you to talk to Xavian…’
‘Then you will show me to the stables…
‘You cannot go out…’
‘I am not going out looking for him….’ Layla corrected her assumption. ’I will wait for his return—before you and your husband get to him, or speak on my behalf….’
Layla was worried, and terribly so.
Out after dark, on a beast of a horse—he could be lying with his neck broken…She refused Stefania’s offer to join her and instead followed her directions to the luxurious riding complex, past an indoor, air-conditioned arena where a young prince was practising his jumps, and then through to the stables area. Clearly horses played a large part in the Al’ Farisi royal family’s lives, because it was modern, airy and gleaming—but none of that would keep Xavian safe out riding in the dark. What on earth had he been thinking?
She waited for ages.
The young prince had long since finished, his horse safely stabled for the night, and the lights to the arena were turned off. Layla paced Death’s stable, worried for Xavian, and worried for herself too, when he found out she had come to confront him.
And then she heard him—or at least she heard one set of hooves that could be Zakari’s horse. But no, as she looked over the stable door it was Xavian…
Neither exhausted nor weary, he dismounted from the beast and led it to the yard, hosing down his legs and tying him up before he removed the saddle, leaving the rest for one of the stablehands to do. In the darkness Layla removed her veils and stood watching her King’s approach, wondering what his reaction would be when he found out she was here.
He had ridden all day, had galloped at breakneck speed through the desert, and yet had found nothing—no peace, no clarity, just anger: a burning fury. He was sick of Zakari, of Stefania, of them telling him what he must do, guiding him—they could all go to hell.
No one knew. No one knew how torn he was.
‘Xavian…’
He opened the door, flicked on the light and there she was, standing in a black dress and black stilettos, her legs bare, h
er hair in wild black ringlets, with the necklace of the rightful Qusay Queen around her neck—except the rules didn’t apply any more.
‘My plane is waiting at the airport.’
‘So?’ He strode past her and threw down the saddle.
‘If you do not return with me to Qusay then I leave for Haydar tonight.’
‘Then go.’
‘There are papers we need to sign. There are things we need to discuss.’
‘I have nothing to discuss and I do not do paperwork in a stable…’ He turned to where she stood, ran his eyes across her naked arms and legs, the generous glimpse of cleavage, and all he wanted was her. All he wanted to do was live the lie—to take her to bed with him this night and go back to what they’d had.
But living a lie was not honourable…
‘Xavian?’
Something inside him twisted—because she didn’t even know his name.
‘When you are more suitably dressed you can join me in the palace and we will do business.’
‘I don’t want to go to the palace.’
‘What do you want?’ His question was urgent. ‘What is it you want from me? Tell me now.’
‘What we had,’ Layla said.
Only Xavian knew that could never be.
‘You want a king?’
‘No!’ Layla shook her head, her curls catching the light, confused by his questions. ‘I want you, Xavian. It is you I want.’
‘Me?’ What a joke—she didn’t even know who he was. He kicked the stable door closed behind him. ‘You know nothing of me!’ Xavian roared. ‘Yet you demand everything. This was business…it was agreed; now you have decided to change the rules.’
‘We decided!’ Layla’s shout matched his. ‘When we made love, when we kissed, when we spoke—that was not business…’
‘So you are complaining that I was too nice to you? That the sex was too good…?’
‘You are twisting my words…’ She refused to just turn tail and run, and how Xavian admired her for that—but how he feared for her too. Because of the shame that this scandal would cause and also, in a deeper truth, because he did not want to see the disappointment in her eyes when she found out who he was.
Wedlocked: Banished Sheikh, Untouched Queen Page 11