Cressida smiled. ‘I adored every moment. I have not travelled much before so this is all so new, but in a good way.’ She took a sip of the strong brew, feeling it warm her through. ‘I’m impressed at how quickly your team arranged everything.’
‘The clandestine photographs will probably be making their way into the wrong hands as we speak,’ he mused, one corner of his mouth lifting.
Cressida noticed a tiny dimple appear in his cheek, but it was gone almost before it appeared. He never smiled fully, she realised. It was as though he did not allow himself to. She pushed the thought away, realising that he was still speaking of the ceremony, oblivious to how her thoughts had wandered.
‘They simply made some modifications where needed. This tent in particular was redesigned to be larger but the sanctity still lies in the markings on the cloth itself.’ He pointed upwards to the domed roof.
She looked up, squinting at a jumble of blurry shapes on the cloth. She could not make out a single thing at a distance without her glasses.
‘Looking for these?’ He extended the blurry outline of her glasses towards her. She took them quickly as though any prolonged contact might ignite the spark that she was quite happy to ignore.
Cressida adjusted the frames on her nose, craning her neck upwards. Sure enough, the pattern was made up of more than just an arbitrary design. Spread out above them were thousands of intricate symbols and markings painted in burgundy-coloured ink on the raw canvas material. An ancient language. Her mind soared to life, all other thoughts abandoned as she kneeled on the edge of the bed to get a closer look. ‘Fascinating...’ she breathed. ‘What do they all mean, I wonder.’
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ he said, shrugging. ‘The markings are very old; they can be traced back to the first Zayyari tribe that made their settlement in this exact spot. Spending the wedding night here is an ancient custom that goes back to the very dawn of my people.’
‘Absolutely fascinating,’ she said, mostly to herself.
‘Yes, you’ve said that already.’
She brought her gaze back to him. ‘I’m sorry but this kind of stuff is exciting for me. I’m trying my best not to get out my phone to research ancient symbols on the university library database.’ She paused, realising with a pang of sadness that she no longer had access to the database as she was no longer a student. Still, she forced a smile. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’
‘I’m thankful. What would my guards think of me if they walked in here and you were on your phone on our wedding night?’
‘Oh, I doubt the signal is strong enough in the middle of the desert, anyway.’ She smiled, hardly believing that they were having light conversation after the hyper intensity of the past two days. He still did not smile but his eyes seemed warmer at least, more inviting, like they had at the bar the first time they’d spoken. It seemed like another life, rather than mere days ago.
‘I can assure you the signal would be perfect,’ he said, offhand. ‘Zayyar trades in technology; it is the lifeblood of our economy right now.’
‘I read an article that called you an economic genius.’
‘The success of this kingdom is a result of the strength and knowledge of the members of government, the money that is put into educating our people and ensuring their quality of life. I believe that when you spend time on nourishing the foundations, growth is inevitable.’
‘My father seems to have a very different idea on the measure of economic success,’ Cressida said, tracing a circle on the embroidered bedspread. ‘When his advisors warned him that economic crisis was forecast, his answer was to buy a new fleet of tanks for the military. A show of wealth, he called it. As though pretending debt was not a problem would simply make it true.’
‘There are many leaders who think this way. My great-grandfather was one of them.’
She knew a brief history of the kingdom and the wars that had been waged two generations before. She could see it on his face, the tightness that settled around his eyes at the mention of his ancestor. ‘It must be hard, having that history to work against.’
‘Not as hard as it must have been for those who lived through it.’ He became quiet then, his features turning hard.
‘You care a lot about your kingdom,’ she said simply.
‘The same must be said of you, to have agreed to a marriage in order to save it.’
Cressida shrugged, studying the markings on the ceiling to avoid his knowing gaze. ‘There are not many things that third in line to the throne is expected to do, except remain free of scandal and marry according to the King’s wishes.’
‘And now King Fabian finds himself with only one direct heir...’ Khal mused.
Cressida looked up, surprised that she had not thought of that fact. Now that Olivia had given up her place in line to the throne the duty fell entirely upon Eleanor to ensure there was a new generation of Sandovals to carry on the name. And the throne. ‘My father is not known for his excellent decision-making skills.’
‘Your sister will make an excellent queen,’ Khal said earnestly. ‘I do not doubt that the future of Monteverre is in competent hands.’
‘They just need to survive the remainder of my father’s rule.’ Cressida smiled ruefully, worrying at her bottom lip. ‘But thank you.’
She felt something bloom in her chest at his kind words. She had always looked up to her oldest sister for guidance as a child but she had never envied her position one bit. She had never harboured a desire to become Queen, knowing her strengths lay happily in academic work and keeping a low profile. Just look where that had got her.
‘I must point out that you said that it was your duty to remain free of scandal, and yet in London...’
‘I was not seeking scandal,’ she said, her shoulders straightening. ‘I just acted on impulse for the first time in my adult life. It made sense at the time.’
‘And now?’
She felt it humming between them again, that sizzle of awareness that she wished she could ignore. But the events in London had made that entirely impossible. She could not tell herself that the attraction was one-sided any more than she could tell herself that the earth was square. It was simply a fact, heavy in the air between them. Ever present in the tension that seemed to coil tight in her abdomen whenever she was in his presence.
‘Now it is irrelevant.’ She shrugged. ‘I am...your wife.’
Something darkened in his eyes at her words. ‘Indeed.’
The large bed suddenly felt too small, her body restless under his heated gaze. She turned her head away, murmuring a hasty goodnight as she tried to relax into the pillows. She was vaguely aware of him moving to extinguish some of the lamps in the tent before returning to the bed but she didn’t dare open her eyes. Feigning sleep soon became effortless as the activities of the day caught up with her and sleep claimed her.
* * *
It was too hot, Cressida mused, turning over onto her stomach and feeling a sheen of sweat on her skin. The air in her nostrils was white-hot and strangely heavy in her lungs, almost painful. Her eyes snapped open, seeing a strange glow illuminating the room like dancing lights through a fog. Not fog, she corrected herself, smoke.
She felt drunk, consciousness sliding away from her like desert sand through her fingers. Sleep pulled her back, the strange dream melting away.
A man’s voice shouted nearby in a language she could not understand, jolting her once more. Then she was being lifted from the bed into strong arms and carried at frantic speed. The strange fog suddenly became recognisable smoke in her lungs, the dancing lights the visible flames of a red-hot fire that was burning up one entire side of the tent. Suddenly the stars were above them and fresh oxygen filled her lungs, making her eyes water. She looked up and found herself eye level with Khal’s strong jaw, his powerful body carrying her in a zigzag path through the encampment to where a trio of bl
ack dune buggies lay in wait. He deposited her onto the back seat, taking her face in his hands.
‘Are you okay?’ he breathed, his voice hoarse from smoke and exertion. ‘Speak to me.’
‘I’m... I’m fine, I think.’ She coughed, shivering as realisation of what had just happened began to seep into her consciousness. The look on his face said it all—this was no accident. ‘Are we in danger?’
He did not answer her question. ‘We will be travelling under darkness but I will protect you. You will not step from my side until we reach the palace, understood?’ He turned but did not remove his hand from where it lay on her forearm, waiting for the guards to catch up before he began issuing quiet orders. The men simply nodded, obeying their leader and preparing to depart. Khal slid into the seat beside her, draping one arm over her as they set off, a guard at the wheel. His face was only visible for a few moments before the complete darkness of the desert engulfed them and she couldn’t help but grip him tighter. ‘I will protect you,’ he had said. And she believed him.
He stayed by her side as they moved from buggy to helicopter, holding the woollen blanket around her the entire time. Preserving her modesty. She tried a few more times to ask what had caused the fire and was met with stony silence from both Khal and his guards. She was not to worry about that, they said. The lack of information only served to heighten her unease. The people of the tribe were peaceful; surely the fire had been accidental? And yet the look she had seen in Khal’s eyes as they moved away from the desert was not one of annoyance at someone’s foolish mistake. It was a look of absolute rage.
Soon the inky blackness of the desert below gave way to a sea of lights, main roads winding towards a large city. Once they had touched down within the old palace walls she felt Khal visibly relax beside her. Knowing that he had been worried the entire time gave her a sharp pang of anxiety.
An elderly servant appeared and offered, in perfect English, to settle Her Highness in the Sheikha’s apartments. The sudden noise that came from Khal’s mouth startled her. He gave a few commands in his native tongue and the servant nodded once and disappeared with quiet efficiency.
‘Where will I be staying?’ Cressida asked, surprised that her voice did not shake after the panic of their ordeal.
‘With me. Where you will be safe,’ he said simply. His hand was gentle but firm as he gripped her elbow, motioning for her to walk. The first pink fingers of dawn were beginning to snake across the darkness above them. She had barely got a glimpse of the courtyard of her new home before she was being led at speed along winding anonymous stone passageways, deeper into the heart of the palace.
Khal never let go of her arm. She was immediately aware when they entered a more modern wing, more refined and luxurious in its décor. The guards performed a quick sweep of the rooms around them before Khal motioned to dismiss them. He spoke one phrase to his own personal bodyguard; the large man nodded once and closed the door behind him with a soft thud.
‘They need to clear the rest of the wing,’ he said wearily, running a hand along the stubble on his jaw. ‘I would like the doctor to see you before you rest.’
‘I’m fine, Khal, honestly.’ She shook her head. ‘All I need is to sleep.’
‘You called me Khal,’ he said with surprise.
‘I suppose Your Highness just seems a little too formal now that we’re married. And you did just carry me out of a burning tent.’ She felt laughter bubble in her throat, along with the irrational urge to burst into tears at the realisation that this man had probably saved her life tonight.
‘You need to be seen by a doctor,’ he repeated. ‘There was a lot of smoke.’
Cressida nodded, remembering the thickness of the smoke filling her lungs, the burning heat prickling at her skin. Then she remembered how quickly she’d felt safe once she was in his arms, enveloped in his strength. Tears filled her eyes and fell down her cheeks before she even realised what was happening. She turned her face away quickly, not wanting him to see her weakness. But hiding was useless; he was by her side almost before the first tear fell, gathering her in his arms and holding her tight. A few choked sobs escaped her throat; she stifled them with her hand, embarrassed at her complete loss of control. ‘I never cry,’ she half sobbed, half laughed at herself.
‘It’s the shock,’ he murmured. ‘Just breathe.’
She obeyed his command, focusing on the warmth of his arms and the steady beat of his heart somewhere near her ear as she inhaled and exhaled. When she finally felt strong enough to step away, he surprised her by holding her still.
Cressida’s stomach flipped at the look in his eyes as strong muscular fingers cupped her jaw. He considered her eyes with such fierce intensity that for one crazy breathless moment she wondered if he might kiss her. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than his lips were on hers, hot and demanding. His hand fisted in her hair as he angled her to deepen the kiss while the other snaked around her waist to gather her against him.
Perhaps it was the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, or the reminder of her own mortality, but his touch was like kindling to a fire. She wanted to fall into the oblivion of desire and forget all the reasons why it was a bad idea. All she cared about was that there should be less robe between them and more touching. Much more touching. He pressed his thigh between her legs, pinning her to the wall as he kissed her so hard she was light-headed. But no sooner had she begun to sink into him than he was gone. He took two steps away, bracing one hand against the door as he got his breathing under control.
‘We have both been through a lot tonight,’ he said quietly, not meeting her eyes. ‘You should go and get some rest. There are three guest rooms to choose from in my wing; choose whichever you wish.’
Cressida did not trust herself to speak, nodding once as she readjusted the front of her robe to cover herself. Clearly that kiss had just been the result of shock; she knew not to read too much into it. He had been more than clear that they would not behave as man and wife. But it seemed that her body had not received that message. She raised a hand to her face, feeling the blush creep as far as her forehead. The enthusiasm with which she’d kissed him made her blush deepen even further.
Her heart pounded furiously, the remnants of such a sudden flare of passion ebbing slowly away. He, on the other hand, seemed to have regained his composure with complete ease. Anger crept into the corner of her vision. How dare he be so cool and collected while she felt completely turned inside out? It wasn’t fair.
A firm knock on the door dissipated what was left of the intimate moment and Cressida spun on her heel to pull her robe tighter around her. She didn’t dare to look to see if Khal showed any physical signs of unfulfilled lust, focusing her gaze downwards to take in the patterns on the tiles under her bare feet.
‘The adjoining rooms have been cleared.’ Sayyid’s voice came from behind her, in English for her benefit. ‘Come with me, Your Highness.’
Khal made no move to speak or meet her gaze as she passed him; she tried not to feel hurt or rejected at his distance. He probably had many things to attend to other than escorting his new bride to her room. He was King, after all.
Steeling herself, she followed Sayyid to her bedroom and tried to ignore the sense of loneliness that rose in her with each step.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘WHAT ON EARTH was His Highness doing sleeping in a tent in the first place? It’s utterly ludicrous!’ exclaimed the Minister of Defence. ‘That encampment was likely filled with thugs and ruffians.’
‘It is tradition. Part of the family legacy,’ someone at the back of the room added.
Khal made his arrival known by clearing his throat, the sound seeming to cut through the unusual din in his official chambers. The emergency dawn meeting had been assembled by Sayyid, his Chief of Security, who currently looked as though he might like to tear a chunk out of the rather elderly Defence Mi
nister.
‘Gentlemen, take your seats,’ he commanded, in no mood to deal with the squabbling that ensued with this many egos in one room. He hadn’t slept since the encampment; the stench of smoke still clung to his skin, even after showering.
‘Your Highness, we are deeply troubled to hear of this unfortunate incident,’ the Chief of Police offered respectfully. ‘I have assembled a team to investigate the site; they are en route as we speak.’
‘Do we really need the police involved?’ the minister intervened. ‘I mean, we aren’t sure of the origin of the fire. For all we know, it could have been a tribesman tripping over a lamp.’
‘The King has expressed his wish for a thorough investigation,’ Sayyid said loudly.
All eyes moved to him. Khal nodded once to confirm and watched as the men’s attitudes changed instantly to rapt attention, some even taking notes as Sayyid outlined the security measures taken and the times of guard check-ins throughout the night.
‘Your Highness, are you worried that there is unrest amongst the old orders?’ An elderly man, one of his father’s long-time advisors stepped forward. ‘You once expressed the belief that they were behind the death of the late Sheikha Priya.’
‘His Highness made those statements while experiencing enormous grief,’ another advisor said pointedly. ‘The Sheikha’s death was deemed accidental.’
Khal felt the casual mention of his wife’s death like a punch to his gut. He stood before he had the sense to rein in his anger. ‘The investigation into my wife’s death is still ongoing,’ he hissed.
The elderly man shrank back visibly, realising he had overstepped the mark.
The Minister for Foreign Affairs spoke softly, addressing each of the men around the oval table in an effort to calm matters. ‘Have a care for the language used in this chamber, gentlemen. All it takes is one whiff of scandal to cause an international spectacle.’
Khal turned from the table, unable to stand one more minute of their so-called politics. ‘This meeting is over. Any questions about the incident will be addressed to my personal security team.’
Claiming His Replacement Queen (Monteverre Marriages Book 2) Page 6