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The scandal just waiting to be triggered by such a revelation struck him stone cold. But under no circumstances was he going to let that happen.
He shoved the piece of paper into his pocket and closed his mind to the burning gross insult against his kingdom and his crown. He would deal with his half-brother later. For now he needed an interim solution to this situation. One that did not involve calling off his wedding.
A quick glance around the room showed the suspended state of preparation.
The gown that should’ve been adorning his bride-to-be by was draped over a mannequin, the heeled slippers peeking out beneath its hem.
Detachedly, he inspected the rest of the room as he mentally ran through the list of other bridal candidates that had been presented to him when the subject of his nuptials first came up a year ago. Like most royal arranged marriages, although one choice had been favoured above the others, there were always contingencies in case of sudden unsuitability.
Three of those candidates were downstairs, ruled out as potential brides to the King and reduced to honoured guests at his wedding. Could one of them be elevated to the position that would turn out to be a dream come true for them?
Zufar’s lips twisted.
There was no way to execute that plan without announcing to the whole world that he’d been jilted. That would only result in frenzied tabloid gossip the media would feed off for years.
Not that any solution he came up with wouldn’t cause ripples. But keeping it under wraps until he was ready would control the beast.
Which meant he had to keep the circle of trust as tight as possible while he found a quieter, interim solution.
But to mitigate the uproar of impending scandal, he needed a bride; needed to ensure he was married within the next two hours before news that he’d been jilted got out.
His reason for choosing his new bride would need to be explained, of course. That would be a problem for tomorrow.
He turned away from the wedding gown and came face to face with the chambermaid. He’d forgotten about her. To be honest, she was barely breathing, striving to be as unobtrusive as possible. Zufar was surprised she hadn’t fled while his back was turned.
Her wide-eyed gaze fixed on him, watchful and wary as she followed his pacing figure.
He slowed to a stop on the next pass, an impossibly ludicrous idea taking root in his brain. ‘How long have you been in my palace?’ he asked.
‘All...um... Most of my life, Y-Your Highness,’ she stammered.
He gave a satisfied inner nod. She would know his customs, know the value of discretion.
Sweet desert stars, was he really entertaining this preposterous notion? ‘And how old are you?’ Zufar growled.
She swallowed, her nostrils quivering delicately as she inhaled. ‘Twenty-five, Your Highness.’
He stared at her for a full minute, then nodded briskly. There was neither chagrin nor prevarication in the decision his brain latched onto.
He needed a solution, and he’d found one. His gaze dropped down to her twisting ringless fingers. ‘Do you have a husband?’ he asked.
A deep blush flamed her cheeks, her gaze flitting away from his again as she shook her head. ‘No, Your Highness, I am unmarried.’
Just to be sure, he probed deeper. ‘Are you committed to another?’
Her mouth tightened for the briefest second, but she shook her head before she mumbled, ‘No.’
He wanted to demand that she repeat that. To look him in the eyes while she did so. But time was slipping through his fingers.
Zufar’s chest filled with grim purpose as his gaze sprang from the unsuitable woman before him to the wedding dress, and back again. She was roughly the same size as Amira, if perhaps a little bustier and wider of hip than his...former fiancée. Their heights too were similar and so, from what he could see beneath the blotchiness and drabness, was their colouring.
Of course, Amira had held herself with more poise than this maid, years of first-class schooling and a finishing school in Switzerland undertaken for the sole purpose of her future role as Queen. The woman in front of him was nowhere near as polished.
But he didn’t need a gem, just a polished stone to pass off as the real thing until he could resolve this situation quietly and on his terms.
‘Come here,’ he commanded evenly as he strolled to stand next to the wedding dress. Now he’d decided what to do, he couldn’t afford any more tears or, heaven forbid, tantrums that would further delay him.
She presented him with that rabbit-caught-in-headlights look again, the pulse fluttering at her throat racing faster.
Zufar bit down his exasperation. ‘You’re not deaf. I know you can hear me. Come here,’ he stated firmly.
She jerked into movement, stumbling to a stop two feet away from him.
He inspected her, noting that her eyes were in fact a dark amethyst, not the brown he’d thought, and that her eyelashes were far longer than he had initially noticed. Her mouth too was curved in a perfect little bow that, should it ever find its way into a smile, might salvage some of her dreariness.
His gaze dropped, took in the lines of her neck, and again experienced a tiny bolt of surprise at how sleekly it curved to her shoulders, how delicate and flawless were her collarbones and skin.
No, not a diamond, but perhaps a better quality stone than he’d first surmised.
A quality stone, but still rough around the edges, he modified, when he noticed she was still twisting her fingers into an agitated mess. ‘Be still, little one,’ he commanded.
She made a strangled little sound under her breath but her body stilled and her fingers stopped moving. He suppressed a need to tell her to straighten her spine and look him in the eye when he spoke to her.
Such training was unnecessary for what he had in mind. All that would be required was for her not to collapse into a useless heap before he’d achieved his goal. And he had a way to ensure that happened.
Decision made, he whirled away from her. As if they were in tune with his thoughts, a brief knock sounded on the door before Marwan and the rest of his aides rushed in.
‘Your Highness? Have you any news you wish me to relay to the royal guard? A starting point for the search for your intended, perhaps?’
‘We are past that, Marwan,’ Zufar said coldly, noting absently again that Amira’s absconding didn’t sting as much as it should. If anything, it was his half-brother’s insult that grated harsher.
‘Oh? Does that mean the ceremony is off?’
Zufar glanced at the woman standing shell-shocked in the corner of the room.
She looked even worse, as if a fresh bolt of lightning had hit her. His decision didn’t waver as his gaze objectively raked her.
The wedding bouquet would occupy her skittish hands, veils would shroud her face, and heels would elevate her height and hopefully correct her posture.
Beyond that, very little mattered.
‘No, it does not. The ceremony is still going ahead.’ He slashed his hand through the shocked murmurs echoing through the room. When he achieved silence, he continued, ‘I fully intend to be married in two hours’ time. Niesha Zalwani is to be my bride and everyone in this room will ensure that my wishes are fulfilled.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ufb50758e-86d0-5dad-b860-4652cecbf0ed)
‘TELL YOUR BROTHER I’ve not only seduced his precious bride but that she runs away with me willingly. Tell him I’m stealing away his future Queen, just as he stole my birthright.’
Those were the most scandalous words Niesha had expected to hear today, and possibly for the rest of her days. A day that should’ve been one of intense joy, but which had taken a wrong turn to hell about an hour ago.
With the Sheikh’s appearance in his intended’s bedroom, she’d harboured hope that everything would be resolved.
Except King Zufar al Khalia had just spoken words that simply didn’t make sense. For a moment Niesha wondered whether the shock of watching Amira Ghalib disappear from right under her nose had dislodged a few million brain cells.
The man in front of her, the formidable, extraordinarily captivating tower of masculinity who prowled through his kingdom with harsh authority and power, commanding and receiving the loyal adulation of his subjects because he was simply that breathtaking, had just said—
No. You did you not hear him right. It was impossible.
Her thoughts were clearly echoed by Marwan, who sprang forwards. ‘Your Highness?’ His voice was ashen with disbelief.
The King—her King, since she too was a subject of the Kingdom of Khalia—moved another step closer, bringing his earth-shaking life force even more dangerously into her space. He stalked so close she could almost see the ice crackling in his eyes, the contained fury vibrating his body.
Niesha shrank away from the elegant folds of the wedding gown, the sheets of icy shock thawing into a cauldron of panic. She glanced around the room, selfishly wishing Princess Galila were still here.
King Zufar’s sister barely noticed Niesha most of the time, but her kind smile when she did was far better than the fiercely domineering glower of her brother, and the tableau of horrified expressions spread in panorama before her.
Perversely, those expressions were what hammered home the fact that she’d heard correctly. He’d used her full name. In connection to marriage. His marriage. Today. Shock gurgled in her throat.
Her fingers moved then, connected with the soft, warm folds of the most extraordinary wedding gown she’d ever seen in her life. The gown that, finding herself alone in this room three nights ago, she’d secretly indulged in one insane moment’s fantasy of wearing herself to marry the ephemeral man of her dreams.
The gown that Zufar al Khalia wanted her to...to—
‘I’m sorry, Your Highness...’ she whispered, but his voice overrode hers.
‘Time is of the essence,’ he growled, without raising his deep voice. ‘I suggest we begin preparations immediately.’
‘Your Highness, this...this will be highly unprecedented,’ Marwan said.
‘I should hope so, or there would be something seriously disturbing with my reign,’ Sheikh Zufar stated without looking the old man’s way. ‘But make no mistake. This wedding ceremony will happen. She is the one who will take Amira’s place,’ he uttered with a finality that drove a bolt of fear down Niesha’s throat.
Aware that she had to get herself together very quickly or risk being flattened by the force of nature bearing down on her, she straightened her spine and raised her head.
He was watching her with the savage, mesmerising golden eyes of a hawk. Before she could summon any words, Marwan beat her to it. ‘Your Highness, perhaps we should discuss this—’
‘You are risking insubordination by questioning my command. The subject isn’t up for discussion. Get the bridal attendants in here now.’
Niesha realised her head was moving from side to side, a pendulous action she couldn’t stop. Shockwaves that hadn’t stopped rippling through her since she witnessed Amira and the stranger’s extraordinary flight now threatened to drown her. Another sound ripped from her throat.
Dark, tawny eyes zeroed in on her.
‘You will not pass out,’ Zufar commanded tersely, as if just by issuing the edict, her body would follow. ‘Bring her a glass of water,’ he tossed over his shoulder.
A cut-crystal glass instantly appeared.
With elegant fingers and an unwavering gaze, he handed it to her.
Niesha took a sip, swallowed it along with the hysterical laughter bubbling up. This wasn’t happening. She wanted to go back to an hour ago, when she was the least significant person in the room, no different from the straggly orphan without a past she’d been some twenty odd years ago, the one who’d been absorbed by the state orphanage that bore the royal family’s name.
The hand-me-down clothes she wore were two sizes too large, and really should have done their job of hiding her better, she mused dazedly. She’d chosen them out of prudence, not fashion. It had simply meant she wouldn’t have to worry about new clothes any time soon.
Except, even covered from head to toe, she felt more naked now than she’d ever felt in her life.
‘Drink some more,’ he decreed.
Her hands shook wildly, but she managed to take another sip without spilling it. He promptly relieved her of the glass. Still dazed, Niesha watched as it was spirited away.
Then her eyes clashed with his, and the words he’d spoken rose like a horrifying mirage before her eyes. Beyond the space filled out by his broad shoulders and his overwhelming presence, Niesha spotted movement as the bridal attendants entered.
He flicked a wrist, and Halimah, the head attendant of the women’s wing, who’d barely tolerated Niesha before today, approached.
Zufar acknowledged her presence with a single glance. ‘I do not take your loyalty for granted. But I demand your discretion in this matter.’
‘Of course, Your Highness,’ Halimah replied.
Zufar nodded. ‘My new bride has been selected. You will ensure Niesha is ready at the allotted time. Is that clear?’
Halimah’s eyes widened as she stared up at her King.
‘Is there a problem?’ he demanded.
Her head lowered immediately. ‘No, Your Highness.’
Another tremble swept through Niesha as he continued, ‘You will dress her and present her to the Grand Hall ready for her royal parade in one hour.’ The deep, dark, ruthless timbre of his voice brooked no argument.
No. This wasn’t happening.
She was just a maidservant. An orphan with no past. A nobody. She wasn’t even worthy of wearing Amira’s cast-offs, never mind her wedding gown!
‘Please,’ she started. The word emerged as a weak, scratchy sound. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Your Highness, I beg your pardon, but I cannot.’
Pure thunder rumbled across his impressive eyebrows. His eyes, so direct, so hypnotic, drilled right into her bone marrow.
‘Yes, you will. Unless you prefer to suffer the consequences of disobeying your King you will go forwards with this.’
Niesha balled her hand and placed it over her racing heart, desperate to calm it before it burst out of her chest. A long time ago, she’d sworn allegiance to him and his family. It had been one of the conditions of inhabiting the palace, and she’d done so willingly. And although he had no inkling who she was or her very small insignificant role his life, she’d done everything asked of her, for him.
In her own way, she’d given him moments of comfort, she liked to tell herself, by making sure that the food she was tasked to serve him in his private dining room was the right temperature, by ensuring his favourite wines were on hand when he returned to his royal apartments after long days away from the palace.
On one occasion, she’d taken it upon herself to purchase a bottle out of her meagre savings when the palace delivery had been delayed.
And when his personal cleaning staff had come down with the flu, she’d volunteered to work in his private quarters. To this day, tucked away in her mind, Niesha had a memory of the scent of his sheets and the unique cologne he wore on his skin.
Those tiny, insignificant but intense moments had made her blush for weeks afterwards on recollection. Still made her blush.
So, yes, like everyone else in this room, she would do anything for Sheikh Zufar al Khalia.
But not this.
The oscillation of her head grew faster as her alarm escalated. ‘With respect, Your Highness, you don’t want me. I’m nobody. Th-there are others far more suitable for this role. You’re making a mistake.’ She was a little glad that her voice held firmer than before.
