by Maya Blake
Light-headedness clawed at the fringes of her consciousness. A garbled sound echoed from far away but she knew it had come from her throat.
‘You will pull yourself together, girl,’ Marwan said.
Again hysterical laughter bubbled up. How very easily everyone told her to pull herself together, to rise up to the occasion. To obey. But no one knew the terrifying depths of her emotions. No one knew how she’d secretly watched Zufar move around the palace, on TV, stared at his pictures in magazines for years. No one knew of the secret awe she held for the man who sat on the throne.
For a brief moment in her youth, she had even fancied herself in love with him! She’d grown out of that foolishness, of course, but the unfettered awareness and awe he drew from her had never dissipated.
If she’d been performing this task for any man other than the King of Khalia, she would probably have summoned something other than terror. But he wasn’t any other man. Zufar al Khalia was in a stratosphere of his own, over and above the royal blood that ran through his veins and the crown that sat on his head.
All too soon the ride was over.
Trumpets sounded as the Rolls stopped in front of the Imperial Ceremonial Room where she would be taking her vows before the hour was out. The breath she drew into her lungs did nothing to offer sustenance or clarity, and, even though the senior aide highly disapproved of what was going on, Niesha was grateful for his presence as he alighted and held out his hand to her. She was certain she would’ve fallen into a wretched heap if he hadn’t offered his support just then.
The hand she placed on his arm trembled wildly.
Flower girls she’d never met giggled and danced in front of her, throwing handfuls of scented flowers in her path as she slowly glided up the twenty-one steps to the wide doorway and down a gold-edged, royal blue carpet towards the centre of the exquisite ballroom reserved for the sole purpose of conducting official ceremonies.
Outside, several dozen more trumpets joined the heralding around the kingdom, crowds roaring where they were watching on giant screens across the city.
Inside, Niesha moved towards the man who stood tall, regal, and devastatingly handsome at the altar, her heart firmly wedged in her throat.
When Marwan winced, she realised her fingers had dug into his skin.
An apology tripped on her tongue but was immediately strangled by her nerves.
The murmurs in the congregation escalated, heads beginning to turn as speculation grew as to why Marwan walked next to the bride.
Niesha had no chance to dwell on that. Her sole focus was on Sheikh Zufar as he swivelled on his heel to watch her progress down the aisle.
His face gave nothing away. Years under the spotlight had honed an ability to ruthlessly school his features. But the many interviews that Niesha had watched of the Crown Prince, now turned King of Khalia, had clued her into the nuances of his expressions.
Right now, he bristled with fury, still incandescent at the atrocity that had been perpetrated against him. That fury was ruthlessly caged, the greater calling of duty and responsibility taking priority. He meant to see this through, come hell or high water.
Niesha cursed her senses for choosing that moment to flare back into life. The bright colours of the Imperial Ceremonial Room, the hushed voices of the guests and the laser focus of Zufar’s eyes all pierced her consciousness, grounding her mercilessly in that moment.
You will be all right.
How? she railed at the soft voice. She wanted to scream, turn and flee from the room, but there was nowhere to go. They were almost at the altar. Marwan was lowering his arm in preparation to step away.
The moment he did, Galila stepped close. Zufar’s sister’s face was pale, her mouth pinched as she cast a searching, bewildered glance at Niesha. Unlike the others in the room, she knew why a maidservant stood in Amira’s place.
‘The bouquet,’ she said gently.
Niesha reluctantly handed it over, mourning the tiny support being stripped from her.
Before she could dwell on it, Zufar extended his hand. They were to take that last single step to the altar together.
Niesha stared at the long elegant fingers of her soon-to-be—temporary—husband. Automatically, she lifted her right hand and placed it in his left. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or frightened by the pressure of the fingers that took hold of hers and nudged her forwards onto that last devastating step.
The cleric began to intone a long string of ancient words. Words that demanded obedience, fidelity, faith, companionship.
Love.
Niesha’s insides scrambled over that last word. She’d known none of it in her years. The occasional kindnesses that came her way had been from strangers. In her quiet moments, she’d dreamed of such a feeling, but never in her wildest imagination had she dreamed of it being uttered in such circumstances.
A glance at Zufar showed his face was a stoic mask, the words not having any effect on him save for the façade he’d put up for the public. When it was his turn to repeat his vows he did so in deep assured tones, not hurried, not in any way nervous.
The cleric turned to Niesha. Her heart lurched frantically.
Her fingers began to tremble, then her whole body was seized by vicious little earthquakes that just wouldn’t stop.
‘Repeat your vows,’ Zufar instructed with a grave whisper. ‘Repeat them now.’
Niesha swallowed painfully, forcing her dry throat to work. She opened her mouth, and with a sense of wild surrealism said, ‘I, Niesha Zalwani, take you, Zufar al Khalia, to be my husband.’
Shock waves rippled through the crowd, echoed outside the palace as the true identity of the bride was revealed. Through it all, Zufar kept his gaze fixed, haughty, regal and straight-ahead.
‘Proceed,’ he commanded the cloaked cleric.
To his credit, the old man did not hesitate. He recited reams of archaic, binding words.
And a mere half an hour later, Niesha was officially wed to the King of Khalia.
CHAPTER THREE
A THREE-MINUTE STATEMENT was issued by the official press secretary on behalf of Sheikh Zufar al Khalia immediately following the ceremony. That was all it took for the strange tale of the swapped bride to turn the atmosphere from scandalised confusion into roars of elation.
By the time Niesha stood beside Zufar’s side on the royal balcony above the Imperial Ceremonial Room, the whole kingdom was in a romantic frenzy. Social media went into meltdown at the idea that the King had followed his heart and married the bride of his choosing rather than the one arranged for him. The media, searching for dissenting views, had only been met with romantic sighs and tales about star-crossed lovers.
The little Niesha managed to catch only added to the surrealism of the whole thing.
A five-minute lesson in wedding protocol instead of the usual weeks of tutoring was all she’d been granted in between leaving the wedding ceremony and arriving on the balcony.
She was to stand to the right of her new husband, not the left. Her arm was never to rise above shoulder level when she waved to the crowd. And while she was allowed to show her teeth when she smiled, her demeanour should not in any way exhibit raucousness. Terse instructions whizzed through her brain, the dos and don’ts of being the new Queen streaking like lightning across her senses.
‘Look straight ahead and smile,’ Zufar instructed calmly. ‘I believe this is the moment when you should go to your happy place and think positive thoughts.’
With everything that had unfolded in the last few hours, Niesha was terrifyingly close to succumbing to hysteria. Lately, her happy place had been curling up with a book beside the fire in her tiny bedsit on the borders of the palace grounds. Oh, how she wished she were there now. Anywhere but here, where a million eyes gawked shamelessly, and the guests of honour who were no longer bothering to keep th
eir voices down openly speculated as to how she had come to be in these particular shoes.
‘My happy place?’ she murmured. ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea.’
Even though she’d kept her voice low, he heard her, and cast her a brief but hard glance.
‘Why not?’ he enquired. ‘Isn’t that what women do when they wish to escape their troubles?’ There was a bitter undertone that pulled her up short but his face displayed the same neutral mask he’d worn since the moment they were announced as husband and wife, and had turned to face their honoured guests.
‘I’m not sure I know what you mean,’ Niesha said.
‘That’s not important right now. All I care about is that you do not project anything other than utter bliss to find yourself in this position. Remember, the whole world is watching.’
He probably believed he was helping. This was his way of supporting her through an impossible situation. All Niesha could take in at that moment was the pounding of her heart and the boisterous jubilation of the crowd as they waved their flags and screamed congratulations across the royal park where they were gathered.
‘Do your best. That is all I ask,’ Zufar muttered. ‘It would please me greatly if you did it now, however. The others are joining us.’
That was all the warning she had before the doors behind them parted and the rest of his extended family flooded onto the balcony to join them.
Galila slid into place beside her, while his brother, Malak, took his position next to Zufar. Aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews slotted into their allotted positions and acknowledged the crowd with regal waves and salutes honed into place since childhood.
While each and every one of them cast lingering looks her way.
Niesha felt thankful, for the briefest moment, that Zufar had kept her by his side. One bold relative had attempted to pry out the reason behind his last-minute change in brides. Zufar had responded with a stern rebuke for him to mind his own business.
‘I will call a family gathering as soon as I have a moment to spare. But do not hold your breath. I intend to be occupied for a while with my new bride.’
His uncle had retreated with his chastised tail between his legs, while Niesha was left blushing furiously. Word had quickly spread that Sheikh Zufar was not to be questioned on the subject of his bride. Not today at least.
‘I suppose congratulations are in order,’ Galila murmured.
‘Thank you,’ Niesha replied.
‘I would love to know how this interesting outcome transpired,’ Galila continued. ‘I mean, I left you a maidservant. Two hours later, you’re my sister-in-law. Not that I don’t love a riveting story, but this—’
‘Watch it, Galila,’ Zufar warned beneath his breath, his hands positioned strategically in front of his face as he waved.
Galila easily maintained her graceful smile as she looked at her brother. ‘What?’ she asked softly. ‘So sue me if I’m dying to know what happened. One minute I was attempting to locate your elusive bride-to-be and the next I seem to have acquired a new sister-in-law altogether. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I’d slipped and fallen into a reality TV show.’
‘Enough,’ Zufar growled. ‘Don’t forget there are lip-readers out there. If there’s discussion to be had, we will get to it later. For now, remember where you are.’
Beside him, his brother Malak snorted under his breath. ‘If you wanted us to behave, brother, you shouldn’t have offered us this salacious piece of adventure on your wedding day. If you’re trying to get into the history books, then bravo. No one will forget this day in a hurry.’
The only hint that Zufar wasn’t in complete control of his emotions was the small tic that throbbed at his temple. He continued to wave and acknowledge the crowd, and even at one point slid his hand around the Niesha’s waist as the royal military jets flew overhead.
Niesha was thankful for the deafening roar of the jet engines, as it swallowed the gasp that travelled through her body when his hand settled on the curve of her waist. Besides the moment when he’d helped her off the floor, and the moment he’d slid the wedding ring onto her finger, Zufar hadn’t touched her.
She’d been very thankful for that, she told herself, despite the humiliating stone lodged in her stomach when he’d lifted her veils and promptly stepped away without executing the customary newly-wed altar kiss.
But now, with his touch searing through the folds of the wedding gown right into her skin, Niesha couldn’t suppress the tingles that swarmed her body. The smile she’d pinned to her face froze as her every sense homed in on the sensation evoked by his touch. It was as if his hand were charged with a unique voltage that zinged through her bloodstream, firing up little explosions of fireworks. A handful of seconds passed, then more, and then all sense of time and space disappeared as Zufar looked down into her eyes.
Tawny-gold eyes seared right into her soul, as if he intended to possess her every thought. Somewhere in the distance the royal jets performed acrobatic loops, and then started their return journey. She knew it was only a matter of moments before millions of confetti pieces would be tossed from the sky and showered upon them.
It was the moment the crowd had been waiting for.
The moment when the King kissed his new Queen.
Never in her wildest dreams had she believed it would be her. Above that, never in her wildest dreams had she believed that a man like Zufar would be staring down at her with that intense look in his eyes.
It was all an act, she repeated to herself. But her hammering heart and the frenzied little cyclones whirling through her veins dared to suggest otherwise. His hand steered her to face him, an insistent move that told her that there was no getting away from this. Zufar, the man she’d harboured silly dreams about in her teenage years, was about to kiss her.
Far above her head, a gigantic burst of blues and golds rained from the sky. Niesha paid little attention. Every single cell in her body was focused on the head slowly lowering towards hers, the hand grasping her waist, and the firm, insistent tug as he pulled her close.
‘Relax,’ he breathed, his voice holding warning as well as rough reassurance.
But Niesha wasn’t reassured. How many women dreamed that their very first kiss would be witnessed by millions, if not billions of people across the world? What if she got it wrong? What if she made a complete fool of herself, more than she had before this whole debacle started? And what if—
‘Niesha,’ Zufar murmured again, his warning deeper this time.
‘I’m trying,’ she whispered back fiercely.
‘Try harder. You look as if you are heading for the gallows instead of your first kiss with your new husband. Is kissing me such a daunting prospect?’ he drawled.
‘Maybe it is. Have you considered that it may be the last thing I want?’
His eyes widened a touch with surprise at the spark of defiance in her voice.
Tawny-gold eyes gleamed an instant before the first shower of confetti drifted past her. Another landed on her cheek.
About to brush it away, she froze when he murmured, ‘Stop.’
He captured her free hand, the one not holding the bouquet, and laid it gently on his chest. And then, with a suave move, he brushed the tiny gold piece of tinsel from her cheek. Expecting his hand to return to her waist, Niesha gave a little gasp as his fingers stroked her jaw and then drifted to her neck.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She’d seen more than a few royal first kisses, had dreamed many years ago of how it would feel to be the recipient of one, just like any other girl her age.
Those embraces had been chaste, the exchanged gazes nowhere near this intense.
Zufar was breaking protocol.
But, of course, she couldn’t question his actions. Not without risking her lips being read. So she stood before him, attempting not to tremble
out of her skin as sure fingers drew down her neck to rest lightly on her collarbone. His thumb gently tilted her chin upward, causing her shiver to intensify.
‘How you tremble so, little one,’ Zufar murmured.
She opened her mouth—to say what, she would never know. Because in that moment Zufar closed the gap between them and sealed his lips on hers.
The roar and the call of trumpets were for this staged show, Niesha knew. But every sound intensified the thrill and sizzle in her blood the moment Zufar kissed her. She wasn’t sure why she closed her eyes, but it felt like the right thing to do. Perhaps because she was more than a little drugged from the effect of his mouth on hers.
It was like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life. Heat and magic and earth-shaking desire surged through her body, flowing from his lips right through to her very toes. He swallowed her tiny squeak of shocked delight as he deepened the kiss. His hand didn’t move from her throat but the one at her waist dug deeper, searing his fingers onto her skin. That tiny moan escaped again. The crowd roared louder. All through it Zufar continued to kiss her, his tongue swiping across her bottom lip, weakening her knees so she sagged against him.
He caught her easily, held onto her as he continued to gently ravage her mouth.
‘Enough, you two,’ Galila said with a chuckle. ‘There are children watching. Let’s not turn this into an X-rated show.’
With a muted grunt, Zufar lifted his head. His face reflected a hint of surprise, then irritated bewilderment. Both were quickly masked a moment later.
If it had been anyone else, she would’ve believed he was experiencing the same sensations cascading through her body, but his eyes studied her with piercing speculation that added apprehension to her already jangled emotions.
What was he thinking?
As if he caught the silent question, his hand dropped from her throat, and he faced the crowd. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth, as if he was acknowledging that he’d just shared a special moment with every citizen in his kingdom, and millions more around the world. A second later, he looked down at her, his eyes telling her that she needed to also acknowledge the crowd.