My Arabian King: Enemies to Lovers (Desert Sheikh Romance Book 1)

by Marian Tee

  “What about Contini?”

  “Queen Wilhemina has sent none other than her most trusted envoy himself.”

  A split screen followed, showing photos of a ridiculously attractive couple, both of them tall, blond, and blue-eyed, and their names – Willem de Konigh and his fiancée Serenity Raleigh – flashing below it.

  The female program host sighed. “Those two look too good to be true.”

  “A whole other contingency of de Konighs is also here, and luckily for Ramil’s single population, many of them remain eligible.”

  “Who else is there?”

  “We caught a glimpse of The Pussketeers.”

  “Any word on their stand?”

  “Firmly on the Emir Sheikh’s side. For those who don’t know, all of Constantijin Kastein’s news companies have published articles sharing the accomplishments of the Emir Sheikh, and he paid for all of it out of pocket. These news editions have been freely distributed in all the hotels owned by Staffan Aehrenthal and the ducal properties of Rathe Wellesley.”

  “Impressive!”

  “That’s not all of it. Staffan’s wife, Sapphire, was also accompanied by the whole March clan. Her father Senator March, her mother – the Beaufort heiress – and of course, Steel and Silver March.”

  “That is one serious show of support for the Emir Sheikh.”

  “Understatement of the year,” the correspondent said with a chuckle. “And let’s not forget the other Beasts.”

  “Did they all come?”

  “Everyone and their plus ones are accounted for. Even Russia sends its love. The Russian Beast came with his whole family in tow – Fyodor, Misha, Vassi, Seri Devereux, and of course Sergei’s wife and infant daughter.”

  “All things considering, I don’t see how the Emir Sheikh can possibly lose.”

  Harper snorted at the TV host’s statement, muttering, “The only reason she can say that is because she doesn’t know how many idiots make up the council.”

  Silence.

  And the queen belatedly remembered she wasn’t actually alone but in the throne room, where all of her husband’s supporters had gathered to watch the televised results of the election.

  Oh shit.

  But this, too, slipped past her lips, and laughter rang out in the throne room.

  Harper pretended not to notice her court tutor glaring at her. She was so dead.

  From the other throne, the sheikh bent close, saying solemnly, “I will plead your case to your court tutor if you wish.”

  “No, thanks.” Knowing him, he would just dig a bigger grave for her.

  The sheikh took hold of her hand and frowned at how cold it was to touch. “You are afraid of the results?”

  She avoided his gaze, mumbling, “I don’t want you to stop being king because of me.”

  “And I don’t want to stop being your husband because of the throne.” The sheikh brought her hand to his lips. “It will be fine, qalifa. Trust me.”

  “I do. It’s just that stu—-” Shit. She hurriedly corrected herself, saying, “It’s the council I don’t trust.” Harper bit her lip. “Are you sure everyone who could help you get votes has come?”

  The sheikh paused. “Well, there is one representative from Japan that I am waiting for to arrive tonight.”

  “Japan? Really?” Harper knew she should no longer be surprised at how far-reaching the sheikh’s network was, but she couldn’t help it.

  “I am good friends with the Himura family,” the sheikh said.

  It was an entirely innocuous statement, save for an unintended effect on two women who happened to overhear the royal couple’s conversation.

  Lace took one look at her friend’s face and quickly grabbed KC’s hand and dragged her towards the nearest restroom. And a good thing she did, since they barely made it in time, with KC throwing up the moment she reached the sink.

  “Sorry,” Lace whispered guiltily as she held her friend’s hair away from her face while KC continued to make the most horrible retching sounds. “I didn’t know...” She almost slipped, mentioning Yuki Himura’s name, but she managed to stop herself in time.

  Outside the restroom, resounding cheers had filled the throne room, with the results finally being announced and the council had voted 120-o in favor of Khalil Al-Atassi remaining Ramil’s king and forever eliminating any possibility of his abdication.

  The soldiers assigned to the throne room began chanting.

  Long live King Khalil!

  Long live Queen Harper!

  And when the palace’s PA system began to play the kingdom’s national anthem, the cheers became so raucous that Altair shook his head in a mixture of exasperation and amusement before dismissing his soldiers and granting them an impromptu holiday.

  “Where’s the celebrating couple anyway?” Rayyan was the first one to think of asking.

  A search was conducted, but it quickly became apparent that the royal couple was nowhere to be found.

  “Pretty sure they escaped to fuck,” Staffan Aehrenthal said slyly to his wife.

  The other billionaires who overheard this nodded in agreement while their wives tried not to blush.

  “Question is,” Jaak de Konigh murmured laconically, “where would they go?”

  “The hallways are out of the question, since they’re teeming with reporters,” Damen mused.

  “The restroom?” Nathan Callis asked.

  “I just came from there,” Silver March answered, “and only Lace and KC were in there.”

  “Interesting conundrum,” Misha Grachyov murmured. “But since I doubt they’d brave the crowd to fuck, they have to be here somewhere—-”

  A sudden, hard thud coming from the little-noticed tool closet at the back of the throne caught everyone’s notice.

  A moment later, something that suspiciously sounded like a half-formed whimper followed, like someone trying not to make any noise.

  But it was too late.

  Through the narrow slits of the tool closet’s door, Harper saw everyone start to smirk—-

  “Khalil, you bully!” The words came out a part-wail, part-whimper. “You told me they wouldn’t guess—-”

  But her words ended in a gasp, with the sheikh pounding harder into her from behind, so damn hard that her eyes rolled back and she could only cling helplessly at the slits.

  Oh God, it was so, so good.

  Willow Manolis was eyeing the size of the tool closet doubtfully. “How long do you think they’ll last there?”

  “Good question,” her husband said, eyes gleaming.

  And soon, the other billionaires had the same gleam in their eyes.

  Mairi Tanner-Leventis was confused. “Am I missing something?”

  “We’re going to bet on it,” Damen explained.

  “With the proceeds going to charity of course,” Kyrillos said with a straight face.

  “But really, it’s just to make the king mad,” Tarif said, and with that, Khalil’s four vassals were the first to place their bets.

  The End

  Author's Note

  02 June 2020 Tuesday

  Manila, Philippines

  Thank you for taking a chance on My Arabian King. This was the first ever sheikh romance that I published back in 2017, and since then I've returned several times to write the stories of the king's vassals. So far, Malik, Tarif, and Rayyan already have their stories out, and I've included excerpts of their books in the next pages. Altair will be last, and I'm hoping to write his story next month. Fingers crossed!

  For those new to my books, I have a lot more for you to enjoy. I have everything listed on my Amazon author page, and they're listed according to my suggested reading order. I also have a character database on my website, which I try to update as often as I can. Most of my books are interconnected, so the character database lets you know who's connected to who.

  I usually take this opportunity to update you guys about my personal life, but since we've all been under lockdown, I feel like a
ll of us basically have the same routine. One thing I have done more of because of quarantine is working out (to be healthier and hopefully develop a stronger immune system against the virus), and watching Netflix. I can't remember if I've already mentioned this, but watching The Last Dance had a tremendously positive effect on my work. It's inspired me to push myself harder and to make no excuses. Another thing that I've been enjoying a lot is watching Lee Min Ho's The King: Eternal March. It's written by the same writer behind Goblin, The Heirs, and Descendants of the Sun. So if you enjoyed those shows, you will love this newest one, too.

  Well, that's it for now. Thank you as always for taking the time to read my work. Take care, and God bless!

  Until our next journey,

  Marian Tee

  P.S. Please consider subscribing to my newsletter if you'd like to be notified about my newest books and enjoy exclusive excerpts of upcoming titles. Thank you so much again!

  Malik

  With the people’s attention diverted mostly to ongoing preparations, Malik was able to slip back into Ramil unnoticed and thus keep his arrival a secret. He was looking forward to seeing the look of surprise on Kyria’s face once she saw him – and learn that he was back for good – but when he arrived at the palace, his plan backfired and he was the one left reeling from an unpleasant shock instead.

  Fuck.

  He was fucked.

  He was so royally fucked.

  His foster sister stood at the center of the palace’s private stone garden, dark tresses flowing freely down her back, her eyes glowing as the four sheikhs around her traded jests with each other. Granted, one of them was his brother and the other three his cousins, but even so they were all still too pretty for their own good, and he wanted them to stay at least ten feet away from her at all times.

  Something Tarif said made her throw back her head with a laugh, the action exposing the elegant length of her pale neck, and Malik whitened.

  FUCK.

  This was not how it should be.

  FUCK.

  He stepped back.

  FUCK.

  But before he could turn away and leave, it was too late. Some kind of sixth sense seemed to make her stiffen, and then she was whirling around. The tray of empty plates she was holding in her hands crashed to the ground. And as everyone’s heads snapped towards where she was looking, tears started to run down her face—-

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  He opened his arms.

  She broke into a run and threw herself at him. “Malik.” She was weeping. “Malik.”

  A part of him wondered if the reason she was crying was because he was close to breaking her ribs with the way he was hugging her so hard. He knew it was possible, but he also knew he just could not let her go.

  He just could not.

  Not just yet.

  He closed his eyes.

  Fucked. I am fucked. I am eternally fucked.

  It was almost two in the morning by the time he made his way to the palace’s luxurious underground baths, where Altair and his other cousins waited. Naturally arching stone ceilings blended well with gilded posts and marble-walled pools while recessed lighting tucked away in hidden crevices made the waters glow like liquid turquoise.

  “Hear, hear, our hero has returned.”

  “Fuck all of you.” He gave everyone the finger for added measure, but all four men laughed. Slipping into the water, he stretched his arms against the wall and leaned his head back. Hopefully, the supposedly healing waters of the palace’s Turkish bath could help clear his mind.

  “She’s become more beautiful than you expected, hasn’t she?” Tarif asked slyly.

  His eyes snapped open, and he shot his womanizing cousin a look of warning. “You’re forbidden from seeing her beautiful from now on.” The words were out before he could stop himself, and when he realized what he had just said, and how and why he had said such words—-

  A groan of defeat escaped him.

  “I’m fucked.” Malik let out a laugh, but the sound was bleak. The two years he had spent away from Ramil amounted to nothing. If any, it had only made things worse because whereas he had never seen Kyria as a woman before, he did so now—-

  “I’m so goddamn fucked.”

  Click here to start reading Malik today.

  Tarif

  Oh for the love of Allah, why was he here?

  One moment Anisah was happily alone in the observatory, busy scribbling her notes, but then the next moment he was suddenly there, and the resplendently rare sight of the sheikh dressed in a formal white robe had her scrambling off her chair with a gasp. “Sheikh!”

  “Maehdina, anisdi.” The sheikh’s tone was polite, but the gleam in his gaze was mocking. “Did I startle you?”

  Of course he did, and the infernal man knew it. Pasting a smile on her face even as she bristled inside, she asked, “May I be of service to you, Your Highness?”

  “You may.”

  Anisah’s toes curled involuntarily inside her shoes. Curse him. Just two words, and he had somehow made her offer sound positively indecent.

  “I would like to request the honor of dancing with you, anisdi.”

  Anisah didn’t even hesitate, saying politely, “I beg your forgiveness, alshaykh, but I am currently on duty.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Nem, alshaykh.” Yes, sheikh.

  Like hell she was, Tarif thought in amusement. Since he had a copy of her work schedule for the entire year, he knew she was lying, and strangely enough, he found this endearing...and arousing. Taking a step closer towards her, he asked cajolingly, “Surely you can spare a few minutes for a dance?”

  “I truly beg your forgiveness, Your Highness—-”

  The sheikh’s eyes gleamed at the way she took a step back as she spoke.

  “But it is also because I would rather not risk causing you dishonor.”

  Now that was new, Tarif thought, and dealing Anisah a curious glance, he asked, “In what way do you believe you will dishonor me?”

  Where did he want her to start, Anisah wondered exasperatedly. She was neither a princess nor an heiress, was neither exceptionally beautiful nor famous for anything, and most importantly of all, she wasn’t even dressed for the ball.

  Making a gesture towards her serviceable-looking robe, which she had so donned because she had only a night of observation ahead of her, Anisah said emphatically, “Please consider what I’m wearing, Your Highness. It would not be appropriate for you to be seen with someone dressed—-”

  The sheikh interrupted her with a rather unexpectedly inelegant snort. “And you think I would care about something like that?”

  “It would be ideal if you would, Your Highness,” she said seriously. “Dressing up for a ball such as this isn’t only about one’s physical appearance but a matter of showing your respect for the king and queen. It is your duty, sheikh, to uphold the standards of the royal family in every way, and this definitely includes ensuring one is suitably attired at all times, most importantly on occasions where the ruling family is expected to present a show of solidarity to the world.”

  Silence.

  And then—-

  "And here I thought you were just fishing for compliments,” Tarif said silkily. “Instead, I find myself lectured by the court tutor about social etiquette.”

  Oh! Anisah colored furiously at the realization she had overstepped her bounds. Bowing her head, she apologized stiffly, “I am terribly sorry, Your Highness.”

  “How sorry are you?”

  The sheikh’s calm tone only made her feel worse about getting carried away, and she bowed her head in apology, saying, “Very much so, Your Highness.”

  “Sorry enough to dance with me?” Her head jerked up, and a look of comprehension dawned on Anisah’s lovely face, and she finally realized he had only been pretending to feel offended. She scowled, and he grinned, asking, “So how about it then, anisdi? Will you dance with me?” He offered his hand and almost howled with laughter
when Anisah gazed at it with visible distaste.

  This, too, was as strangely endearing as it was unquestionably arousing, and if he had any doubts of how much he wanted this woman in his bed – he had none of it now. Poor sweet puritan, Tarif thought in amusement. It was clear that Anisah believed her constant rejection and troublesome ways would eventually turn him away for good, but it only achieved the opposite.

  Her every resistance only further whetted his appetite for her, and unfortunately for her, it also made him more impatient to have her.

  “One dance, Tory.”

  Anisah blinked at the way the sheikh had addressed her, and she asked blankly, “Tory?

  “Nem. Tory.”

  “My name is Anisah—-”

  “And your second name is Victoria, is it not?”

  Oh! Her lips pursed as she struggled under a turbulent mix of annoyance and embarrassment. “It is not proper to have you address me so, sheikh.”

  “A nickname is not proper?”

  “It is not when it implies intimacy where there is none—-”

  “Yet.”

  Violet eyes flashed at him in mute exasperation. “Your Highness!”

  Tarif knew she was waiting for him to apologize – as was the proper thing to do – but the angry look on her face only made him lust for her even more. Ah, my sweet. He could only imagine how glorious it would feel to have wonderful angry sex with this woman.

  The air in the room suddenly throbbed with tension as Anisah unintentionally caught the flash of desire in his eyes.

  Oh, may the stars save her.

  The things that look promised—-

  Such unspeakably crude things...

  Such dirty, dirty things...

  Things that shouldn’t make her body ache just by the thought of them, but curse the man, it did.

  Click here to start reading Tarif today.

  Rayyan