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KHAL MADE A point of eating with Cressida each morning, inwardly congratulating himself as he noticed her mood lightening with each passing day. He told himself that it was simply in his best interests to ensure that she was comfortable at the palace, but truthfully he looked forward to their morning conversations. Soon, he began to forget to take his usual notes from the political broadsheets, abandoning the task to one of his secretaries in favour of occupying his time hearing about Cressida’s progress in her studies. She showed a remarkable aptitude for retaining information, relaying some of her difficulties with the Zayyari language with humour and a total lack of self-consciousness.
On the rare evenings that he did not have meetings or functions to attend, they dined together in the apartment. It was far from an effort to keep his mind focused on the conversations that flowed with surprising ease between them; he enjoyed the new perspective of seeing his beloved kingdom and all of its traditions through her eyes. But still, beneath the iron of his control he fought the urge to let his gaze wander over her tempting curves or to linger when he bid her goodnight at the door to her room.
It seemed that married life made the time pass quickly and he found himself thinking less of his investigations into the fire at the encampment or his suspicions about who might have started it. Exactly two weeks had passed since their wedding when Khal found his good mood completely thrown off course by a single piece of information let slip by one of his secretaries. He called for his Chief of Security immediately, sitting behind his desk with clenched fists as he waited for Sayyid to arrive.
‘You wished to see me, Your Highness?’ Sayyid entered, a heavy look in his eyes.
‘Close the door.’ Khal spoke slowly, taking every ounce of his effort to control the temper that threatened to spill over at any moment. He gestured for the other man to take a seat before he stood and paced to the other side of his desk.
‘Is there a problem, Sire?’
‘One might say that, yes,’ Khal gritted. ‘If you would describe finding out that there has been yet another incident a problem.’
‘If you mean the small situation that was contained last week...’
‘I will decide what situation is considered small,’ Khal growled. ‘What makes you believe that your King should not be informed of any kind of threat in his own kingdom? That I should find out a week after the fact that there was an intruder apprehended in the middle of the night, scaling the palace walls?’
‘With the utmost respect, Sire, there have been instances of people trying to climb the palace walls in the past. The man did not breach the security fences and did not carry any weaponry; therefore it was classed as a non-dangerous incident.’
‘Was he questioned? Did he have ties to any rebellious factions?’ Khal felt pressure build in his temples as he noticed Sayyid’s mouth tighten.
‘We questioned him and ascertained that he was a youth on a foolish dare. Even Lazarov agreed that it was best not to make an incident of something so mundane.’
‘Roman was informed of this incident, was he?’ Khal fought the annoyance that rose in his chest at the mention of his friend’s name. Roman’s security firm had trained the entire palace guard; of course they would go to him if there had been an attempted breach. No one dealt with high profile risk assessment and security better than The Lazarus Group. Khal had called upon Roman himself within hours of the fire in the encampment. It had been Roman who had informed him that the private investigation had been classed as one hundred per cent accidental, with no sinister or deliberate intention.
In that same phone call his friend’s tone had become concerned as he had reminded Khal of instances in the past where his need for heightened security had been extreme. Of how he needed to trust his team to do their job and stop looking for threats where none existed.
Khal felt anger rise within him once more as he heard that same tone of concern in Sayyid’s voice.
‘Sire, I can assure you that the Sheikha is safe—’
‘I have not mentioned the Sheikha once,’ Khal fumed. ‘This is about your complete insubordination in not reporting a potentially dangerous matter to your King.’
Sayyid stood suddenly, open defiance on his face. ‘There was no danger; that is what I am trying to make you see. What many have tried to make you see.’
Khal turned and took a few steps away, feeling the anger within him reach its peak. Truthfully, perhaps he’d been thinking of Cressida’s safety when he’d imagined the unknown intruder scaling the walls in the dead of night. But this was not just about possible danger to his wife. This was about Zayyar.
His father had always made a point of reminding him how quickly rebellion could resurge when one rested in a state of peace. It was his duty to ensure his staff did not take that peace for granted and make mistakes. He inhaled deeply, his jaw pulsing with the effort of keeping his tone measured. Of keeping his control. ‘You will take a leave of absence from your duties to account for this error in judgement. One week, effective immediately.’
Sayyid’s eyes narrowed. For a moment Khal wondered if the line was about to be crossed. If the other man would openly defy his King’s orders.
‘As you wish, Your Highness. I’ll make the arrangements,’ Sayyid finally said. He bowed low before turning and exiting the room without another word.
Khal paced the floor of his study for what felt like hours in the aftermath of the confrontation with his trusted employee, feeling the pressure in his head pulse and thrum with every step. He sat down in a high-backed armchair, resisting the urge to fling the nearby coffee table across the room. He would not allow his staff to decide what he could and would not be told. He had the right to know everything that happened within his own palace. Roman’s calm voice popped into his head once more. Was this one of those situations he’d referred to? Was he seeing danger where it did not exist? Should he simply trust his security team to do their job and sto
p trying to control every single thing in his orbit? He did kick out in frustration then, his foot making hard contact with the heavy marble leg of the coffee table in front of him.
‘Having a tantrum?’
A quiet voice shook him from his brooding; he silently hoped it was not Cressida but at the same time knew that it was. She stood a few feet away, wrapped in a pale pink silk robe. He leaned his head back, allowing himself a moment to take her in before he spoke. ‘Sheikhs do not have tantrums. We have momentary losses of composure.’
‘Ah.’ She hovered nervously in the doorway. ‘I came back down to get a book and I saw your light still on. Am I interrupting?’
‘Come in. Though I might not be the best company.’
He stood up, taking a long languorous stretch and covertly watching as her gaze rose to follow his movements before darting away. Khal felt the beginning of a smile tease his lips. It dawned on him that this was the first time she had set foot inside his office.
Her eyes wandered to his desk, where a handful of professional photographs of their wedding ceremony were scattered. Khal had just received them that morning and hadn’t quite decided what to do with them yet. She moved closer, her fingertips trailing over the images delicately.
