Royal Families Vs. Historicals

He didn’t care. He was quite annoyed with her.

With all that she made him feel.

She expected sex. Of course she did. She had been married before, and she had no reason to expect their relationship to deviate from what she considered normal.

Nothing about him was normal.

He considered himself the furthest thing from an innocent. After all, he had endured grief, loss, torture. He had taken the lives of enemies when necessary. There was no place for innocence when you had watched a man’s soul depart from his body at your own hand. No, no room for it at all.

And yet, while he considered himself devoid of innocence, the word virgin hung large as an accurate description for his state of being. Indeed, he had never even kissed a woman until that moment with Olivia. There had never been opportunity. Or perhaps there had been. There had been many women in the Bedouin camps, widows who probably would have appreciated a bit of comfort and company. But he had never allowed his focus to stray. Had never allowed the impulses of his body to control his actions.

That focus, that determination had been paramount to his survival. Releasing his hold on it was never an option.

Whether he was a virgin or not had never mattered until now. Sexual desire was simply another appetite he’d cast off.

But he was discovering that introducing the desire for sex, the appetite for it, was much different than an appetite for food. He had managed to find ways to keep himself fed without allowing himself to desire rich flavors. Without allowing himself to be controlled by specific cravings.

Now that he had tasted Olivia, he wondered if there was any way to satisfy sexual need in a basic way. One that wouldn’t consume.

He doubted it now.

Of course, part of the issue was that he remained uneducated on the subject.

He had seen a great many animals copulate. Knew what that looked like. Knew the mechanics. And yet, the way Olivia looked at him, the way she responded to his touch, the way he had watched his brother abandon all for the sake of hedonistic appetites, told him that there was much more to it than that.

And beyond that, the gnawing hunger that had taken residence inside him from the moment he had first seen Olivia told him there was more.

Preparation. That was what always helped a new soldier. Doing drills, learning everything there was to know about the enemy.

Preparation made events seem less remarkable.

Of course, there was no way for him to acquire physical practice. But when practical experience couldn’t be had, reading would suffice.

He walked across the room to the vast library housed in the other end of the chamber, certain there was a book here that would satisfy his curiosity. After all, his brother had purchased a great many of the books.

His brother had been a bit shorter than he was, so Tarek looked slightly lower than eye level scanning the center shelves for anything that seemed to pertain to the subject. He was not disappointed.

He opened the volume, his eye immediately drawn to the detailed sketches of anatomy on the first pages. Yes, he could see he had a great deal to learn. He turned the page and there was a drawing of a man caressing a woman’s bare breasts. He thought of Olivia, the way she had felt pressed against his body. The soft, feminine shape of her and how she had fitted so perfectly against him.

Need bloomed hot and low in his stomach.

In that moment, he had a great many of his own fantasies. But he wanted to know all of the possibilities. He wanted to miss nothing.

He squashed that thought. This wasn’t about him. It was about her. Fulfilling his obligations as a husband and nothing more.

More important even than fulfilling obligations was mastering his need. He must form a strategy so that when faced with his opponent, he would not waver.

She was so soft. And his hands, warrior’s hands, so rough. When he placed them over her body he had to be sure he would deliver only pleasure. Had to be certain he would not…break her.

Of course he knew the mechanics of sex. He’d been fifteen when he’d left the palace after all. But fifteen-year-old boys might nudge each other and talk about women’s bodies. But they did not discuss a woman’s pleasure. Did not discuss control.

He needed to understand both of those things. For Olivia had known the touch of another man. She deserved pleasure.

And he required control.

An hour later, he had made it halfway through the book and was not feeling at all like education had done anything to lessen his desire. Certainly, he had some ideas that were new. And very, very interesting.

But that had not been the plan.

There was a firm knock on his door, and he cast the book aside. Strange that this was something he felt the need to hide, but he did. He hated needing to admit his lack of mastery.

He stood, ignoring the vague ache in his groin and the tightness in his stomach as he made his way to the door.

He opened the door only to meet Olivia’s fearsome blue gaze. “Yes?”

“I am informed, by a member of staff, by the way, not you, that we are to be married in two weeks.”

“Yes,” he bit out.

He would not allow her entry. His head was entirely filled with the images in that book and the images painted by the explicit instructions. And if he allowed her to get too close, he would only be tempted to put his new education to practical use.

“That’s impossible. It takes months to plan an event of that magnitude. You forget, I have been through this before.”

Yes, she had. In this, and in the things he had just been researching, she had more experience than he did.

But he frightened people. And he found that was more effective than experience at times.

Not with sex, obviously, but in the planning of a wedding, yes.

“It is eminently possible. This will not be like your first wedding.”

“Well, it couldn’t be. Good luck getting five hundred live doves this late in the game.”

“I cannot tell if you’re joking or not.”

“I’m not. My first wedding was ridiculous. Beautiful, but ridiculous.”

“I cannot promise this wedding will be less ridiculous. Less extravagant, certainly.”

“Two weeks?”

He arched a brow. “Did you want more time?”

She shook her head resolutely. “No. I am decided. But I’m doubtful that you can pull this off in two weeks.”

“Why would you doubt? I have you to help.”

“I can’t decide if I feel complimented or put upon.”

“Why choose one? You are a woman, and I’m quickly learning that means you can be both.”

“You do learn quickly,” she said.

He hoped so.

“Two weeks,” he reiterated.

“Two weeks,” she said. “But, Tarek, next time, tell me yourself when you set our wedding date.”

He nodded, attempting a smile, because this, he was confident, was a joke of sorts. “Next time.”

* * *

Two weeks passed quickly. Were Tarek a beloved monarch who had been on the throne for years, he could see the point of creating a spectacle out of his wedding. For the media, for the citizens. But as he was not, he felt there were better ways to spend his country’s money than on a lavish event they had not chosen, and one he and Olivia certainly didn’t need.

He had, in the past few weeks, spent time looking at photos of Olivia. It was easier than talking to her to gather information. Perhaps not the most up-front way of going about getting to know her, but he had been avoiding her since the kiss.

During that research he had seen photos of her at many social events. And he had seen her first husband. Polished, as blond as she was. He had seen their wedding. An intricate event that had lasted two days and commanded the attention of the media worldwide.

And then Tarek had seen pictures of her with himself. Mainly unsmiling, definitely not polished.

There was a photo of her holding his face, just after the speech. Her hands were so very pale on his dark skin. Highlighting the differences between them. She had said she did not think of herself as being part of her first husband still, and yet, looking at the pictures, he could see that she had been. They blended.

Whereas he…he did not look as if he belonged with her.

Of course, that was immaterial. They were marrying each other anyway. Today, in fact.

Which meant that tonight he would be out of excuses for not consummating the attraction between them. He gritted his teeth. They were not excuses. He had valid reasoning for resisting the heat that fired in his blood whenever she touched him. What he had said to her about his brother was true. Malik had been a man entirely ruled by his own desires. Tarek was a man made entirely of resistance. A man who had learned to shun everything unnecessary.

Seeing to his wife’s physical needs now fell under the banner of his responsibility, he could not deny that. But giving in to temptation in his bedroom after the speech seemed a violation of everything he was.

He had wanted her then. Hard, and fast. He had known it would be fast.

Heat lashed him like a whip.

He was more prepared now than he had been then. He had read not just one, but several books on the subject. And he had learned a great deal about female anatomy. He was grateful that he had, because he’d had no idea just how intricate the mechanics of the act could be.

Neither had he anticipated just how much his body would be captivated with the promise of it.

He had spent thirty years denying his impulses. His needs.

The prospect of no longer denying certain impulses loomed large. The thought, the very idea, had worked its way under his skin like a bullet, traveling through his body, blooming outward slowly, looking for a place to land where it might destroy whatever it touched.

Not the most delightful analogy. But then, he wasn’t surprised, considering he was rarely delightful.

Olivia’s first husband had been delightful. All of Tarek’s research had brought him to that conclusion. He wondered how quickly she would tire of being with a man who wasn’t. Though he had not coerced her into this. Far from that. She had been the one to come to him. The one to present a case for why he needed her.

Not for the first time he wondered what she was getting out of this. If she had thought to replace what she had lost, to recapture what it was to be royalty, she had most certainly come to the wrong place. Her life in Alansund had been filled with parties, glittering affairs, delightful excursions on the lake, picnics with her husband, the king.

Tarek could honestly say he would not be engaging in any of that.

Sex, however, would not be something he denied her. He was ready now. Preparation always brought a clearer head. Now that he had a plan, he would remain in command of his body, of his impulses when the time came. And in that way, he was determined to please her. Because it certainly seemed more desirable than throwing an increased number of parties.

For a start, it only required there to be two of them in the room. For another thing, Olivia would be naked.

He could not deny that added incentive.

He ignored the tightening in his gut. He could not focus on that. He had to focus on getting through this day.

He turned and faced the mirror, tightening the black tie he wore. When given the option, he had chosen a Western-style suit for the day, seeing as he was marrying a Western woman. He had thought hard about it. Because he cared deeply for his people and for their traditions.

But in the end, it was Olivia he had dressed for.

He had no idea of what she might wear. Part and parcel to his avoidance of her, both in the past couple of weeks, and completely today, as she had informed him coolly during their last brief encounter, that it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the day of the wedding.

He had not told her then that he didn’t believe in luck. Because she very clearly did, and he did not want to hurt her feelings again. He’d been very put out by the fact that he had. In addition to lacking sensibilities, Tarek also imagined that he lacked feelings. His soft, pretty fiancée most certainly possessed more than he did.

Naturally, he did not know how to consider them, as nothing inside him reflected her internal workings. Which meant he would simply have to watch. And he would have to try. He could not trust his dealings with the woman to be intuitive.

The door to his chamber opened slowly and his advisor appeared. “It is time, my sheikh.”

For the first time in memory, Sheikh Tarek al-Khalij felt fear. For today, he would not face down an enemy, but a bride. His bride.

However, much like an enemy attack, it was not something that could be waylaid.

“I am ready.”

* * *

Olivia adjusted her heavy veil, trying to quiet the pounding of her heart she readied herself to walk down the aisle. To pledge herself to a man she still felt she barely knew.

Strange that she was so conscious of that with Tarek. She had to confess, standing there now in her ornate gold-and-white gown, that she wasn’t entirely certain she and Marcus had known each other any better.

What Tarek lacked was the ability to let those around him see just enough that they might be fooled into thinking they knew him. She and Marcus had shared certain things freely. Smiles, their bodies, small talk. Easy conversation. Neither of them ever asked difficult questions. Neither of them had ever asked questions at all.

She shoved that thought aside. This was not the time to think about Marcus.

Though, really, it was inevitable that she would. Think about the other man who had been her husband on the day she was ready to marry another. Maybe, if she was in love with Tarek, she wouldn’t.

As it was, it was difficult not to draw comparison. To grasp at something to make the situation feel less foreign. To recall her other wedding day in an attempt to make this one feel less significant. It was a cheap trick that even she saw through, and yet, that wouldn’t stop her from trying it.

She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and her heart sank down low. This was so different in every way. There was no way she could use the fact that this was her second wedding to calm her nerves. If anything, highlighting the differences between the two only made this feel more terrifying.

She recalled the bespoke gown she’d worn the first time. It had made headlines around the world. Had set a trend for weddings for the next year.

This gown was weighted down with the tradition of the nation. Long sleeves, intricate embroidery, a thick belt just beneath her breasts, also gold. In so many ways the difference in gown symbolized the difference between the two unions. The other, light, showy, focused on the couple. This one heavy. Focused squarely on the need of Tahar.

And of yourself. Let’s not start pretending you’re too altruistic.

All right, she wouldn’t pretend she was being completely selfless. She quite wanted a place in life. A little bit of security. A purpose.

And then there was…him.

She was so attracted to him. But now that sleeping with him wasn’t a spontaneous thing, she found she was quite nervous about it. Now it was the finish line to a marathon of the day, and that put it in a slightly different light than the natural progression of a kiss, or a touch.

Also in keeping with the theme. Everything concerning Tarek was weighty.

“Sheikha?”

Olivia turned, surprised that Melia was already addressing her as such. The servant inclined her head, betraying no nerves in spite of the import of the event.

“They are ready for you.”

Olivia nodded, wishing she had opted to carry a bouquet. Something, anything to do with her hands.

Alas, she had nothing. So she gripped the front of her skirt, lifting it slightly as she walked through the halls toward the small sanctuary that was in a different wing of the palace.

Her throat suddenly grew tight, a pulse beating in her head. She had to close her eyes against it.

She had no connections in there. Her parents…well, they weren’t coming. Not a huge surprise, but the phone call last night had still left her nearly hollow with pain.

Emily wasn’t well. Emily couldn’t stand the heat and the dust. It was hardly fair to leave her…

And Olivia had said she understood, of course, because it was all she had said for years.

Only once had she fought back.

Her fifteenth birthday. She’d told them she would make the cake; she would make dinner. They just had to be there.

But they hadn’t been. Because Emily had been hospitalized and they’d visited her instead. And she’d been so angry. They’d stayed with Emily all evening. She’d been broken over it. Something in her shattering that had never quite been repaired after.

When she breathed in too deeply, she swore she could still feel it. Lodged like a barb deep in her chest.

How dare you miss this? I asked for this. Just this!

It isn’t as though we want your sister bedridden in a hospital, Olivia. Have some sensitivity. You will have all of your birthdays. You’ll grow up. You’ll marry. What will Emily have? How long does she have?

They’d been right. And whatever she’d been feeling… She hadn’t had any right. And as isolated as she’d felt before she’d poured her emotions out in front of her mother and father, she’d felt even more so after.

Because when they looked at her after that, all they saw was her selfishness. They had an ill daughter. They’d needed her to carry the weight. To be as happy and self-contained as she could be, and she’d failed.

She’d stepped outside her position, and after that had found no place at all.

Olivia swallowed hard.

She faced a room empty of her own connections. The only person there she knew would be the man she was pledging her life to, and as she had only just been thinking, she barely knew him.

The ornate doors to the sanctuary were closed, and Olivia paused in front of them, waiting for them to swing open, as she knew they would. She had discussed this briefly with the wedding coordinator. She knew already there would be very few people in attendance. Nobility, members of the Bedouin tribes, a few approved members of the press and palace staff. It would be nothing like that first wedding with thousands of attendees, where the world had been watching.

But there had been something insulating about that. So many people it had seemed surreal. They had all blended into one.

She had been floating on a cloud that day, insulated by her happiness. There was no insulation today. Only the stark reality of the cold stone walls around her and the imposing doors in front of her.

Doors that suddenly parted, revealing the small crowd, and the man that she was meant to bind herself to.

What surprised her was how immediately everyone else faded. Her eyes were locked on Tarek. He owned her focus, her attention. He was the reason she took that first step forward, and the next. She was certain of this, she realized, looking at him. But this wasn’t the giddy certainty of a girl imagining she had finally found that sense of love and belonging she had always fantasized about. This was different.

He was different.

She locked eyes with him, drawn ever nearer by the black flame burning there. He was magnificent. A modern-day warrior born of the desert sand. He was strength personified. And yet again, he was in one of those maddening, perfectly tailored suits that made a mockery of the entire concept of civility. Showed it for what it was. A cloak, a weakness. A construct used by those too frightened to reveal their true selves.

That was, she realized in that moment, one of the things she admired most about Tarek. He did not hide himself. She doubted he even knew how.

She arrived at the front of the room, and the clergyman presiding over the ceremony began to speak in Arabic. She had only a base understanding of the language, allowing the words to wash over her in a wave, the gist of them penetrating, but not the fine meaning. She had read a transcript of what would be said today, so she had a fair idea of what would be asked of her in terms of vows, of what those in attendance were hearing now.

She would have to learn her new language. Would have to become a part of this nation as she had become part of Alansund.

In many ways, she felt it had already become a part of her. She felt the change.

She repeated her vows slowly, in the phonetic Arabic she had memorized while reading the ceremony, with help from Melia. She kept her eyes focused on the ground as she did, her lungs tight, growing tighter still whenever she looked up and met Tarek’s gaze.

When she finished speaking, it was his turn.

But he did not repeat the vows they had learned. And he did not speak in Arabic.

“I am a man of the sword,” he said slowly, the grave intent in his words drawing her focus upward. “And I now pledge this blade to you. I will empty my veins before I allow one drop of your blood to be spilled. You are one of mine now, as this country is mine. And I will give all to defend and protect, and to destroy any who should seek to destroy you. Just as you belong to me, now I belong to you. I pledge my loyalty, my body, to yours. And never will I share what is meant to belong to us with any other. I shall honor your gift, the gift you give of yourself, and never misuse it. I have sworn to protect, to uphold the honor this country was founded on. Thus, I shall protect you. Thus, shall I treat you with the highest honor.”

He reached out and took her hand in his. She was conscious of how small, how pale it looked, concealed entirely by his. He held her tightly, his black eyes never leaving hers, cementing the vow, one she felt all the way down to her soul.

Suddenly her promises seemed so shallow. So empty. What had she done but repeat words spoken to her? Words she barely understood.

That was very like her first marriage.

A marriage where she had chosen the thinnest facade of connection over any sort of true intimacy and all the deep, exposing terror that came with it.

So she’d stayed on the surface. And she was ashamed now in the face of his sincerity.

What Tarek had said, those were vows. A pledge from the depth of his being.

She was honored. She was not worthy.

But she wanted it. Wanted it with a ferocity that shocked her.

Maybe it was time to stop being shocked by how many feelings Tarek seemed to call out of her with effortless ease.

Then he released her, and as a blessing was pronounced on them she found herself being led back down the aisle she had just come up, all eyes in the room on them, somber expressions all around. She’d been told to expect that, too. The reception would be the place for festivities. This ceremony was treated with all seriousness.

When they exited the sanctuary, Melia was waiting for them.

“The feast will be served in the grand hall,” she said. “If you go there now, you can take your seats and await the celebrations.”

Olivia took hold of Tarek’s hand and they started to walk down the corridor together. A sense of belonging filled her. She looked to the side, at the man who had become her husband, and her heart felt as if it had grown two sizes. This was something deeper. Something more.

The sort of thing she’d been afraid to reach for all these years. Right here. Right beside her.

He looked at her, his brow raised. “Yes?”

“Just letting it sink in.”

“That we are married?”

“Yes. That this is my home. That you’re my husband. All of it.”

He stopped, taking hold of her other hand and turning her so that she was standing facing him, his expression fierce. “Why? What is it you want? I spent the past two weeks looking at pictures of your old life and Alansund.”