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Or his beautiful lost love.
CHAPTER SIX
THE NEXT DAY, once again, the Sheikh was nowhere to be found. Still, he made his presence known by ensuring she had meetings with various advisors whose sole purpose was to groom her to become his perfect Sheikha. She took another more detailed tour of the palace and grounds, accompanied by guards, of course, and tried not to be completely overwhelmed at the prospect of memorising the various winding mile-long corridors.
The royal compound had to be at least twice the size of the palace in Monteverre and it was filled with a history that fascinated her. To her delight, her request for a few books on the history of Zayyar led to her being introduced to an entire wing of the palace filled with the royal collections of art, sculptures and, best of all, books. Thousands and thousands of books.
Still, she spent the afternoon looking over her shoulder, expecting to find him standing in a doorway or walking towards her with that dark unreadable gaze. Not that she was waiting for him, she told herself. Really, she was quite glad to have the time to adjust to her new surroundings without feeling as if he was scrutinising her every move. She dined alone in her suite, a simple meal of traditional slow-cooked meats and fragrant rice. Afterwards she took an idle stroll down the corridor towards the Sheikh’s wing, casually slowing as she passed the large gilded double doors.
‘His Highness has gone to Valar for meetings,’ her bodyguard said quietly.
‘Of course.’ She nodded, as though she knew exactly where her husband was and what he was doing. ‘I thought this was the way to the garden terrace.’ When she wa
s kindly redirected to her destination she spent barely a moment looking around the exotic plants before returning to her room, feeling utterly foolish for leaving in the first place.
Valar was the new city on the coast; she had read about it in her studies. It was where her ball was to be held at the beginning of next month. She felt her mild irritation grow into a more solid simmering displeasure at her new husband’s disappearing act. Was it so unrealistic to expect a single conversation with one’s husband? She set to practising in her mind what she would say when she eventually saw him.
The next day passed in exactly the same fashion; meals were taken alone in her suite, except for a pleasant mid-morning tea with Nia. Aside from that, the only company she had were the various people in the Sheikh’s employ, all of whom called her ‘Your Highness’ and did not make eye contact. Still, she took it in her stride, taking advantage of the pool of knowledge at her fingertips in the library and enjoying the heat of the sun on her face on a leisurely walk in the gardens.
After only two full days at the palace, she found herself longing for the calm of the evening when she could close the door of her private apartment and be completely alone. There were guards outside and a maid came to check in occasionally but, for the most part, she was left to her own devices. So far, that meant immediately changing into her pyjamas and camping out by the open balcony doors to read the books she had found on Zayyar’s fascinating history and traditions. Occasionally she would look up and catch sight of the sprawling desert laid out beyond the palace walls, further than the eye could see. It took her breath away every time, the raw beauty of this place and how completely untouched it was. She had not expected to feel so calmed by the desert, or so drawn to it.
Her current reading material consisted mainly of books on the history of Zayyar and its customs but she had also taken time to learn the language of her new home outside the formal tutor-led lessons. She had always enjoyed exploring a new language on her own terms, finding the true rhythm of it by herself. As Sheikha, she would be expected to be knowledgeable and respectful of her nation’s traditions but she did not necessarily have to become fluent in their language. She simply could not resist the idea of an entirely new tongue to perfect and actually have the chance to use it on a daily basis. It was something to keep her mind busy, she told herself, as her husband seemed to have zero interest in her company.
Despite her best attempts to fill her time, she felt loneliness begin to set in. She had always been comfortable with her own company, but suddenly being alone with her books didn’t feel the same. Perhaps it was the fact that she was in a new country, in a new routine and surrounded by people who barely spoke to her. It was as though she had stepped into a glass cage surrounded by people. She was alone.
Her mobile phone seemed strangely unable to pick up a signal since they had touched down in Zayyar. It felt like a lifetime ago since she had stepped off the jet in the heart of the desert, but in reality it had only been three days. She was by no means a techno junkie but still, it was very isolating not being able to just pick up her phone and send an email or call one of her sisters on the odd occasion. After a few minutes investigating, she discovered it was most likely that the number was no longer in service. Probably, her father had cancelled it, a passive aggressive punishment for disobeying his orders to return to Monteverre for the engagement announcement. She presumed he knew by now that she had eloped with the Sheikh, rather than follow his plan for a grand wedding. That would have been a sight to behold.
It was no big deal; surely she could simply ask Khal’s team what the protocol was for obtaining a new phone? A small laugh escaped her throat at the realisation that she was the Queen of an entire kingdom and she couldn’t even obtain her own phone without permission. The restlessness that had plagued her all day intensified and she stood, stretching the muscles in her back and looking towards the clock on her bedside table to check the time. It was almost midnight, local time.
She calculated the time zones for a moment. Last she had heard, her sister Olivia was in New York. It was still a semi-reasonable hour there... She hadn’t spoken to Olivia at all since recent events had begun to transpire. There simply hadn’t been an opportunity. Unable to resist, she took a quick peek into the corridor outside her apartments and bit her lip as she found it deserted. Perhaps the guards switched shifts at midnight. She knew there was a phone in the small office beside the library. She could wait for permission...or she could just go. She was an adult, after all.
Not able to shake the sensation that she was a naughty teenager breaking the rules, she set off quickly for fear she might change her mind. Heart beating fast, she moved soundlessly in her bare feet, so eager she made a few wrong turns and wound up hopelessly lost. She cursed her own sense of direction, wishing she had paid more attention to the corridors in daylight. Still, it was a rather nice change from the monotony of the past few days. She actually felt a little bit free, wandering unchaperoned in the semi-darkness.
By the time she found her way back to the library, she had a little bounce in her step. She had forgotten what it felt like to walk around without guards following her every move like shadows. Even in university, she had been free to move about the campus by herself for most of the time.
Disappointment coursed through her when Olivia’s phone number also turned out to be cancelled. Not wanting to waste her time alone, she turned on the computer on the desk. It had always been occupied by a guard on her previous visits to the library. Miraculously, she found the option for guest mode with a decent Internet connection and hurriedly set about signing into her email server. To her surprise, her inbox was flooded with concern from some of the members of her research team at university. With horror, she realised she had never said goodbye before unenrolling from her courses.
She made quick work of finding the number of the head of her research team in London and breathed a sigh of relief when he answered on the first ring. He brushed off her hurried apology at the late hour and seemed genuinely relieved to hear that she was well. He told her of the rest of the team’s efforts to get in contact with her; naturally, all of their enquiries to the palace in Monteverre had been met with silence.
After a few minutes she learned that the team was coping quite well in her absence; it seemed she wasn’t quite as indispensable as she had believed. She ended the call with a fond farewell, promising to try to arrange a trip to London in the future, although deep down she knew that if she did return it would be so far in the future that they would probably have all moved on further in their careers and forgotten her completely.
She turned to exit the office, stopping with a squeak at a looming figure leaning against the doorway.
‘Thought you were all alone?’ Khal drawled.
* * *
She was just as beautiful in her pyjamas as she had been in her wedding dress. That was Khal’s first thought upon finding Cressida sneaking gracefully through the library in semi-darkness. It had been late when he’d returned to the palace so he had opted to wait until morning to alert his new bride to his presence. He had been sitting in a corner alcove, taking in the mountains of books she had been studying, when she’d entered, oblivious to his presence. He’d had every intention of leaving to allow her to complete her phone call in private... Until he’d realised the person she was speaking to in such hushed tones was another man. He had found his fists clenched tight as he’d stalked soundlessly closer to the office doorway.
‘You startled me,’ she breathed. ‘I didn’t know you had returned.’
‘Do you usually wait until the middle of the night to call your friends?’ he asked calmly, ignoring the knot of tension in his abdomen.
Her eyes widened slightly at his tone. ‘I never said goodbye to some friends in London. I was just checking in...with my research team.’
‘You are the Sheikha of Zayyar.’ His voice clipped each word out like a gunshot.
Cressida’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘I am quite aware of my own title by now, thank you,’ she said tightly. ‘You sound angry. Why do I feel like I’m being scolded when I have not done anything wrong?’
