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‘Me?’
‘You.’
‘But, do you love me?’
Why should it matter? Bemused, Zakari stared down at her. He was offering marriage, for this palace maid to be the King’s wife—every want, every need would be catered for. What was this love she demanded? This love that his brothers spoke of, the same love that saw Prince Sebastian renounce his right to the throne.
‘Do you love me, Zakari?’ she said again, and Zakari knew what his answer must be, knew for the sake of his people this lie was merited.
‘I love you.’ His voice was hoarse, the words unfamiliar. It was such a strange, strange thing to utter, but feeling her soften beneath his fingers, witnessing the magical effect of his words fade the trouble in her eyes, Zakari wielded his new power—an abracadabra that had opened her heart. When next he spoke his words were softer, pulling her towards him, and this time there was no resistance.
‘I love you, Effie.’
He kissed her trembling mouth, his hand snaking around the back of her head, and then blazing a trail with his fingers, stroking her throat as skilfully he kissed her.
And Effie could barely breathe. The magnitude of what he was offering, that she would be the King’s bride, didn’t spin her world, but that he felt it too, that the love she felt for Zakari was being returned tenfold.
‘Marry me.’
That Zakari loved her made the impossible easy. Effie gasped her acceptance as, dinner forgotten, he slipped her out of her dress, out of her shoes, out of her underwear, till she stood before him naked, wearing just her mother’s necklace, giving him a stunning view of what he treasured the most… The Stefani diamond.
She saw the flash of approval in his eyes as they roved her breasts, and mistook it as lust for her.
‘Soon…’ His mouth worked her throat, her neck, her breasts, his fingers holding a different prize now and how right it felt to possess it. ‘We will marry soon, before you have time to change your mind.’
‘Why would I change my mind?’ Effie gasped. His mouth was sucking her nipple now; her fingers were in his hair as he adored her all over again.
Sheikh King Zakari Al’Farisi loved her. It was more than she’d ever dared to dream.
‘Why would I change my mind, when we love each other?’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘YOU do not have to marry her, Your Highness.’ Hassan, his chief advisor, delivered the news with a smile. Since the helicopter had landed at the palace Effie, under Zakari’s brisk instruction, had been swept away to the royal quarters by bewildered staff. His aides and legal team had been huddled for hours in urgent talks as Aarif held the same urgent talk with his eldest brother, Zakari.
Aarif and his wife, Kalila, divided their time between Hadiya and Calista and were here now to prepare for a charity polo match that would be held in three weeks. A wedding, the King’s wedding, no less, had not been on their agenda.
‘Do not rush into this, Zakari,’ Aarif pleaded. ‘I understand about the jewel, about your desire to rule both Calista and Aristo, but to marry her…’ Aarif shook his head. ‘A few months ago, I would not even question your decision; marriage to me was about union , about duty, about a fitting bride—’
‘She will be fitting,’ Zakari interrupted, ‘once she has been suitably taught and groomed.’
‘You do not understand the point I am making,’ Aarif refuted. ‘You see how much happier I am?’ He only continued when Zakari, after a brief hesitation, gave a terse nod. ‘It was all about duty for me too—no pleasure. Now, with Kalila I am happy, I am playing my first polo match in a few weeks, I am doing things, for me…’
‘I am the King,’ Zakari retorted because, as close as Aarif could come to understanding, as a prince, he never fully could. ‘My first duty is to my people.’
Aarif screwed his eyes closed and rested his head in his hands for a moment. Zakari could see the savage scar on his face, the remnants of the rope burns on his wrists, and understood Aarif’s point; to see his brother, who had been so miserable, so riddled with guilt, finally at peace brought immense joy to Zakari—except the same rules didn’t apply to him. His first duty wasn’t to himself, it was to his people. ‘You have a right to be happy, Zakari,’ Aarif insisted.
‘I will be,’ Zakari said, ‘when the jewel is safely returned, when I rule the Kingdom of Adamas—then, I will be happy.’
‘I’m not talking about duty…’ Aarif argued, and though he knew it was hopeless to try and persuade his brother when his mind was made up, still he tried. ‘Kalila and I wanted you to be the first to know—she is expecting a baby…’
A smile broke on Zakari’s face. ‘You are going to be a father?’ Seeing Aarif, who had struggled so much, so alive and happy, Zakari embraced him. ‘This is wonderful news.’
‘I want this for you too!’ Aarif pleaded. ‘I don’t want you to live in a marriage of convenience or duty, Zakari. I want you to feel the happiness love brings. Life is too short for it all to be about duty and power. Listen to what the advisors say—there are surely other options.’
There were.
‘The jewel belongs to the palace. Aegeus, technically, had no right to give it to her,’ Hassan explained as Aarif and the aides smiled at the good news. ‘We will, of course, offer a generous payment for her distress at losing what she thought was her mother’s necklace. However, as we will clearly explain, it never actually belonged to her mother—which means in turn it does not belong to Effie Nicolaides.’
It was the first time he had heard her surname. The palace maid they were discussing was becoming more and more of a person as with every passing word Hassan dismissed her as less.
‘If she argues, or protests too loudly, we can demand the sale of her home to go some way to covering the cost of the jewels her mother has sold over the years.’
‘It might not be so straightforward…’ Zakari responded calmly, though his stomach was churning, imagining Effie’s reaction to the news, imagining these suits that sat before him intimidating her into submission.
‘Then it is our job to make it straightforward.’ Hassan smiled. ‘You do not have to concern yourself again with her, Your Highness.’
‘I slept with her.’
‘No problem…’ Hassan didn’t flinch at the news—half his job seemed to involve sending flowers and trinkets to the King’s ex-lovers. Occasionally he had to handle a threat to sue when a particularly bitter ex went to the newspapers in Aristo with her story—the Calistan journalists wouldn’t dare print it. Not that the scandalous gossip that sometimes flared dinted Zakari’s popularity; if anything it inflamed it. ‘I will talk with her myself,’ Hassan crooned. ‘Perhaps we could arrange a nice necklace as a suitable replacement. A personal gift from you would, I’m sure, help soothe raw wounds! And naturally we will have her moved from the palace. You will not have to face her again.’
They had it all worked out, Zakari realised, except for one small detail!
‘I slept with her without protection.’ Zakari remained supremely calm as the meteorite hit the room. Hassan’s eyes practically bulged as he digested the news—it was unheard of, just unheard of for a man of Zakari’s status to even think of sleeping with a woman without taking the necessary precautions! The legal advisors whispered furiously amongst themselves, and Aarif closed his eyes and ran a worried hand over his forehead as Zakari spoke assuredly on. ‘It would complicate matters enormously if we were to find out in a few weeks’ time that she was pregnant.’ Zakari’s haughty voice broke the frantic chatter. ‘Arrange the papers immediately. We will be married before sunset.’
Staff abruptly dismissed, Zakari sat with his brother.
‘What were you thinking?’ Aarif’s voice was hoarse with shock. He, as much as Zakari, knew that sex without protection, for a man of their ilk, was just unthinkable.
‘Clearly, I wasn’t thinking at the time.’ Zakari gave a dry smile as he stood up. ‘I have made my bed, now I have to lie in it with her…’
The only thing was as Zakari stalked out to the sound of his brother offering his sympathy, as he swept past his worried staff now huddled in the corridor, as the palace shot into frenzied action to prepare for the ceremony, the only person who wasn’t fazed, the only person who wasn’t daunted by the prospect, was Zakari himself.
Lying in bed with Effie would, he knew, be a pleasure.
Instead of entering the staff quarters, Effie had been whisked away to a private suite where she had sat nervously for a couple of hours, until Zakari had swept into the room and told her the plans.
They were to be married that day.
There would be a private ceremony at the palace, Zakari had rapidly explained, followed by a formal ceremony in thirty days’ time, where the people would officially welcome her.
For now it was about making things legal, he had added, before abruptly removing himself from her quarters, leaving Effie mouthing like a goldfish. Endless questions swirling in Effie’s mind were all put on hold as staff suddenly appeared, bathing her, arriving with robes and dresses, fiddling with her hair and applying her make-up, all the while talking in hushed tones.
