From making the royal bed...

To carrying the royal heir!

It’s the day of the royal wedding, and everyone who’s anyone is in attendance—except the bride! Refusing to let being jilted disrupt his kingdom, duty-bound, coldhearted Sheikh Zufar commands timid maid Neisha be his stand-in queen. Their marriage is coolly convenient, but behind closed doors, their chemistry burns fiercely...and Neisha’s shock pregnancy will test Zufar’s iron control more than he could ever have imagined!

Get swept away by this royal marriage of convenience!

MAYA BLAKE’s hopes of becoming a writer were born when she picked up her first romance at thirteen. Little did she know her dream would come true! Does she still pinch herself every now and then to make sure it’s not a dream? Yes, she does! Feel free to pinch her, too, via Twitter, Facebook or Goodreads! Happy reading!

Also by Maya Blake

Brunetti’s Secret Son

A Diamond Deal with the Greek

Signed Over to Santino

The Di Sione Secret Baby

The Boss’s Nine-Month Negotiation

Pregnant at Acosta’s Demand

The Sultan Demands His Heir

His Mistress by Blackmail

Rival Brothers miniseries

A Deal with Alejandro

One Night with Gael

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Sheikh’s Pregnant Cinderella

Maya Blake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07249-6

SHEIKH’S PREGNANT CINDERELLA

© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

HIS EARS WERE playing tricks on him. They must be.

Otherwise they wouldn’t have relayed the unconscionable message to his brain that—

No.

‘Repeat yourself,’ Sheikh Zufar al Khalia, current occupant of the throne of Khalia, breathed softly at the short, bespectacled senior aide standing before him.

The man shrank back, very much aware that his King’s lowered, even tones were far worse than his bark. Not that Zufar al Khalia, much accomplished, master strategist and all-round frighteningly intelligent head of the exulted royal family, needed to lower himself to such unseemly actions as barking.

Marwan Farhat only managed to withstand his liege’s chilling tawny gaze for a handful of seconds before lowering his to the priceless Persian rug beneath his feet.

‘Now, Marwan,’ Zufar insisted.

‘We’ve been informed that your betrothed has disappeared, Your Highness. She’s not in her suite, and her maidservant thinks she’s been taken.’

‘Thinks? So there’s no actual evidence?’

‘Uh... I haven’t spoken to the servant myself, Your Highness, but—’

‘For all you know, my betrothed could be hiding somewhere in the palace, under the pretext of the foolish, pre-wedding nerves that normally afflict women on such a day, correct?’

Marwan exchanged glances with the other aides. ‘It is possible, Your Highness.’

Zufar heard the but not spoken, loud and clear. ‘Where is this maidservant? I wish to speak to her myself.’

The senior aide grimaced. ‘Of course, Your Highness, but I’ve been informed the girl is quite hysterical. I don’t think it will be useful—’

‘Useful?’ The cold disbelief trapped in his chest expanded. ‘Do you see what I’m wearing, Marwan?’ Zufar drawled in the soft, deadly voice that usually hushed his subordinates into fearful silence, as he rounded the massive teak desk that had previously belonged to his esteemed grandfather.

Marwan’s Adam’s apple bobbed again as he took in Zufar’s heavy burgundy-and-gold military uniform, complete with wide sash, epaulettes, and buttons made of solid gold. Where other men would have looked stiff and pompous, his King looked enviably elegant, his towering six-feet-plus height lending the uniform a regal stature few could emulate.

The accompanying cloak hung on its own specially made frame nearby. Together they formed the King’s ceremonial wedding attire, commissioned on his twenty-first birthday for this one momentous occasion. Zufar al Khalia had cut a commanding figure since he hit puberty, but on this day he rose above all men into an exclusive realm of his own.

‘Yes, Your Highness,’ he responded respectfully.

Zufar tossed the white gloves he’d been about to put on before he was interrupted onto the desk, and advanced towards the men. He had their attention, but he needed to make sure that not a single syllable that fell from his lips would be misconstrued.

‘Have you seen the dignitaries and heads of states currently making their way to the Imperial Room? The fifty thousand citizens who’ve been camping in the capital for the past seven days in anticipation of this ceremony? The three hundred journalists and innumerable cameras waiting on the south lawn to televise this ceremony?’

‘Of course, Your Highness.’

Zufar took a deep calming breath, certain that if he didn’t he would burst a blood vessel despite his supremely robust health. And that would be terribly unwise considering this was supposed to be his wedding day.

‘Tell me again why you think it would not be useful to discover the whereabouts of my betrothed as soon as possible?’

Marwan clasped his hands before him, a gesture of supplication that did nothing to appease Zufar’s rising temper. ‘A thousand pardons, Your Highness,’ he said. ‘I merely came to inform you that there might be a delay. Perhaps we can postpone the ceremony—’

‘No. There will be no postponement. You will find my betrothed immediately and this wedding ceremony will proceed as scheduled.’

‘Your Highness, the guards and all the servants have searched everywhere. She is not here.’

A red haze washed across Zufar’s vision. His collar began to constrict him, blocking his airway. But he didn’t raise his hand to undo a button or in any way indicate his discomfort.

He was the King.

Since birth, streams of instructors and governesses had drummed long-suffering poise and decorum into him, with swift and merciless punishment delivered for stepping out of line. As for rash displays of emotion like the bellow of frustration that bubbled inside him? Those came with a week’s banishment to the winter palace on the northernmost part of Khalia with nothing but the frozen mountains and endless reams of Latin recitals for company.

No, unfettered displays of emotion had been his father’s eminent domain.

For Zufar and his younger brother and sister, it had been an emotionless existence in the strictest boarding schools in foreign lands. And during the holidays when they were allowed home, they would spend hours being groomed into becoming the perfect ambassadors of the Royal House of Khalia.

On the rare occasion when his temper strained and attempted to get the better of him, like today, people took notice. And fled his presence at the earliest possible moment.

Zufar gathered himself until his spine was a steel column, and fixed his eyes on Marwan. ‘You will take me to this maidservant now. I wish to hear what she has to say for myself.’

The senior aide immediately bowed low. ‘Of course, Your Highness.’

The palace guards stationed on either side of the door sprang forwards to open the double doors for him.

The moment Zufar stepped into the hallway, he knew something was very, very wrong. The excited buzz that had charged the air during the final preparations for the royal wedding had altered.

Several staff members of the royal palace wore anxious expressions as they rushed back and forth. And while it was respectful to drop one’s gaze before the King, he noticed that every single one of the staff was actively avoiding his.

The palpable tension raised the hairs on his nape. Beside him, Marwan also avoided his gaze. In fact, the man was doing everything in his power to extend his short strides in the rush to put self-preserving space between himself and Zufar.

It would’ve been amusing had Zufar not felt in his very marrow that his impending nuptials were in jeopardy.

Whispers around him grew as he entered the main part of the palace. As with most royal palaces, the women’s quarters were separated from the men’s by several wings. His own private rooms were to the west of the sprawling palace that sat on top of Mount Jerra.

Quick strides took him across to the east wing. He ignored the bows and scrapes of his palace staff and extended family members as he walked, grim-faced, towards the guest suite that Amira, his fiancée, had occupied since her arrival at the palace three weeks ago.

She was a daughter of his father’s oldest friend, and Zufar had been aware of Amira’s existence since he was a boy. But she was several years his junior and had clearly found him intimidating to the point of speechlessness at the best of times. He hadn’t taken much interest in her until his father had informed him of the agreement he’d made with Feroz Ghalib, Amira’s father, for them to marry.

Even then, the wedding had been a distant future event, arranged by others and needing only a handful of meetings for the sake of appearances. Still, he’d taken his duty seriously and ensured during their meetings that she was at ease and not being forced into a union she didn’t want. Her assurances had satisfied him enough to accept that she would be his wife when the time was right.

The medical report that had confirmed that she was healthy enough to bear his children had sealed the deal.

Beyond that, he hadn’t given her much thought, although she’d been peculiarly distracted during their twice weekly dinners recently.

But Amira was close with his sister and Zufar was confident that Galila would have informed him if there’d been a problem with the upcoming nuptials.

Nevertheless, had he dropped the ball somewhere?

He frowned.

The burden of governing his kingdom was his first and only priority. It had needed to be, considering the chaos it had been left in by his father’s sudden abdication.

Tight anger knotted inside him as he strode faster towards the suite of luxury rooms that were reserved for the Queen and other female members of the royal family.

He wouldn’t think of his father today, or the fact that the ex-King had banished himself to the summer palace since his wife’s death and hadn’t spoken to his children in months. Zufar wouldn’t think of the sleepless nights and backbreaking work it had taken for him to keep the kingdom that had already been woefully neglected by his father from falling apart.

Today, this hour, demanded his complete attention. His people yearned for a royal wedding. That was exactly what he was going to give them.

The footmen stationed outside the Sapphire Suite spotted him and immediately threw open the doors.

Zufar entered, then drew to a stop at the sight of the visibly distressed women in the living room. Two were babbling hysterically, and an older female servant was busy comforting another.

‘Which one is she?’ he demanded tersely. Eyes swivelled to him, followed predictably by shocked gasps and hurried comportment before the bows and scrapes and averted gazes commenced.

Marwan hushed them, and then uttered a sharp query to the junior aide behind him. The younger man shook his head, throwing a furtive glance at Zufar. Marwan approached the older attendant and questioned her. Clearly nervous, she pointed to the inner chamber.

Zufar strode towards smaller double doors, his temper frothing furiously in his chest. This time he pulled the doors open himself, bitter memories tossing themselves onto the pyre he was trying to contain as he walked into the huge, lavish chamber that had once been his mother’s domain.

His gaze didn’t linger on the priceless keepsakes, furniture or decoration. He didn’t know which items in this room his mother had treasured and which gifts from his father and her secret admirers had been less favoured. He didn’t know her favourite book or the preferred flower arrangement for her private sitting room because he had never been allowed in here.

On the rare occasions his mother had tolerated him, they had been in public where her pretended adoration could be captured for the world to see and praise and to provide moments of smugness as she perused the gossip rags. Beyond that, she’d never had a kind word for him or his siblings.

But he wasn’t here to dwell on the subject of his mother.

He trained his focus on the figure hunched over near the headboard of the vast bed. She was so slight he almost missed her.

Had it not been for the drab, body-shrouding beige clothes that painfully and distastefully stood out against the gold and cream bed linen, he would’ve mistaken her for one of the pillows or part of the rich drapery that decorated the four-poster bed.

As he advanced towards her he noticed that her slim shoulders were shaking. Another few steps and the small sniffles of her quiet sobs reached his ears.

Zufar stifled his curse before it ripped free.

He didn’t care for weak women. He cared even less for weak, crying women.

Behind him, Marwan clicked his tongue sharply.

The figure jumped up, stumbled over her long, shapeless skirt, and immediately tumbled to the floor in a graceless heap at Zufar’s feet.

He waited, impatient breath slowly spilling through clenched teeth, for her to rise. But she didn’t seem interested in regaining her feet. Instead, she was developing an almost mesmerised interest in his shoes.

He took a step forwards, hoping to dislodge her hypnosis. When that failed to work, he cleared his throat.

‘If that is a shoe fetish you’re exhibiting, may I suggest you indulge in it another time? When the reputation of my kingdom isn’t at stake, perhaps?’ Zufar drawled.

A sharp intake of breath, then, finally, she raised her head.

Large, tear-soaked dark eyes rose from his feet, and plotted an excruciatingly slow journey up his body. By the time they reached his face, her expression was creased into abject horror.

Coupled with a face blotched and bloated with tears and a mouth frozen in an unattractive O, she was the most unsightly girl Zufar had ever seen.

‘What is your name?’ he bit out, praying she could actually string enough words together to answer.

She didn’t respond. She simply stared up at him, her horror intensifying by the second.

‘Do you not hear your King addressing you, girl?’ Marwan demanded sharply.

Her mouth closed. She swallowed noisily, but still uttered no word.

Zufar’s fists started to curl. Almost a year’s worth of meticulous planning hung in the balance because of one tear-streaked, dumbstruck girl.

About to move, he paused as her gaze darted to his fists and she recoiled.

The sight of her naked fear struck an uncomfortable chord in him. He breathed out and slowly unfurled his fingers. There would be no coherent conversation with her unless he found a way to defuse some of her fear, he realised.

He sensed Marwan moving towards her and held up his hand. ‘Leave us,’ he instructed.

Marwan made a small sound of surprise. ‘Are you sure, Your Highness?’

Zufar’s lips tightened. ‘Leave. Now.’

The room emptied immediately. He kept his gaze fixed on the girl crouched before him, and slowly extended his hand towards her. Again, her gaze darted between his face and his hand, as if terrified he would do something unpredictable. Like bite. Or strike.

He frowned.

She reminded him of the skittish colts in his stable. The ones that demanded substantial time and patience to respond to his commands.

Except he was in gross negative supply of either today. His marriage ceremony was scheduled to commence in less than two hours.

Zufar leaned down and extended his hand further. ‘Stand up,’ he instructed, firming his voice.

She placed her hand in his, scrambled upright, and immediately gasped and dropped his hand as if she’d been scalded.

He ignored her reaction, his gaze moving over her, confirming that the drabness indeed extended from the top of the dishevelled tufts of dark hair peeking out of her beige scarf to the soles of her feet.

Except, she wasn’t a girl as he’d initially surmised.

She was long past adolescence, if the pronounced swell of her chest and the hint of curves beneath the clothes were any indication. She came up to his chin in her flat, tasteless shoes, her covered arms slender and her jaw holding a delicate strength.

His eyes were drawn to her chest again. It was just her agitated breathing that was snagging his attention. Nothing else. He stepped back, folded his hands behind his back and assumed a gesture of ease that never failed to work on his horses.

‘What is your name?’ he asked again in a lower voice.

Her gaze dropped to the ground and she mumbled.

‘Speak up,’ he said.

Her chin jerked up a little, but her gaze remained, once again, on the tips of his shoes.

‘Niesha Zalwani, Your Highness,’ she repeated.

Her voice was soft, smoky and lyrical, if a little too timid for his dwindling patience. But at least he was getting somewhere. He had a name.

‘What is your role here?’

‘I—I’m... I was a chambermaid until last week, when I was added to Miss Amira’s personal staff.’

‘Look at me when I’m addressing you,’ Zufar drawled. It took an interminable age for her head to rise once more. But eventually, her gaze met his, then promptly flitted down to rest on his nose. Zufar prayed for strength and continued, ‘Where’s your mistress?’

Immediately her lower lip wobbled, her wide eyes grew haunted and her breathing turned agitated again. Zufar forced himself not to stare at the soft globes of her breasts or the pale creaminess of her throat as she trembled before him.

‘She...she’s gone, Your Highness.’

Zufar’s fist threatened to ball again. Resisting the urge was difficult. ‘Gone where?’ he managed through clenched teeth.

‘I don’t know, Your Highness.’

‘Very well. Let us try another way. Did she leave alone?’

Another frenzied twisting of her fingers, and then she cleared her throat. ‘No, Your Highness. She...she left with a man.’

A detached, icy sensation stroked his nape. ‘A man? What man?’ he asked softly.

‘He did not tell me his name, Your Highness.’

‘But you are certain she has been taken against her will by an unknown male?’ he pressed.

The woman before him bit her lip, drawing his attention to the plump, reddened curve of her mouth as she nodded. ‘Yes...well...’ Her distress grew.

‘Tell me what you know,’ he insisted.

‘I may be wrong, Your Highness, but she didn’t seem...unwilling.’

The possibility that he’d been jilted arrived with ice-cold anger. Except, curiously, Zufar wasn’t enraged on his own behalf. Rather, the impending disappointment for his people, the chaos for his kingdom, was what caused his fists to clench behind his back.

‘Did she say anything? Did he say anything to make you think this?’

‘It—it all happened very quickly, Your Highness. But...’ Her hand disappeared into the folds of her skirt and emerged with a folded piece of paper. ‘He...he instructed me to give this to Princess Galila to hand to you.’ She held out the piece of paper, her slender fingers trembling.

Zufar took it from her, his insides frozen as he unfolded the sheet he recognised as a torn piece of his own royal stationery.

He read the message once. Then again.

With a thick curse, he crumpled the heavy, embossed paper between his fingers, his fist clenched tight until it shook with the force of his emotions. The red haze of fury returned, deeper, steeping his lethal mood as he crossed to the window and pressed his fist against the wide pane.

Before him, the palace grounds sprawled in sun-dappled splendour. Beyond the windows, the muted buzzing of an expectant crowd rolled over the horizon. Excited citizens and eager tourists who’d flown in especially for this occasion were anticipating a fairy-tale royal wedding of their King to his chosen Queen. The whole kingdom had been gripped in wedding fever for months.

Only to have his heathen bastard of a half-brother claim in writing that he’d seduced and stolen his betrothed!

In another life, perhaps, that tiny sliver of emotion piercing through his fury could’ve been called relief from yet another responsibility. But Zufar gave it absolutely no room whatsoever, because he now faced a monumental problem. Aside from the humiliation of announcing that he was no longer in possession of his fiancée, this arrangement had held great economic advantages for Khalia.

He needed to find Amira. Confirm for himself that his half-brother’s claim was the truth.

But how could he, when he had no idea where he’d gone? The dossier he’d collated on Adir when he’d first made his unforgettable appearance at his mother’s funeral had revealed he had no fixed abode, or, if he did, he’d kept it very well hidden.

Even if Zufar knew his whereabouts, he had no time to go chasing after him. He acknowledged with a bitter laugh how well timed Adir’s revenge had been. His half-brother knew that doing this now would cause the most humiliation. The most uproar.

Zufar wasn’t about to hand him that victory. Not in this lifetime.

He whirled to face the young chambermaid. ‘When did they leave?’

Her throat worked again. But this time she wasn’t silent for very long. ‘I brought her tea, and left her alone for just ten minutes.’ Her voice was wracked with nerves and anguish. She began to wring her hands again. ‘I had gone to get the royal jewellery when I heard the commotion.’

‘So you saw them leave together?’

Her head moved in a shaky nod. ‘Yes.’

‘And you’re sure he didn’t harm her?’ Zufar demanded.

‘She—she didn’t appear in distress, Your Highness. She seemed...willing.’

The tightness in his chest eased a tiny fraction. ‘How did they leave?’

She pointed to the very window where he stood.

Zufar’s jaw clenched tight. They were on the second floor, with nothing outside the windows but climbing vines. Granted, they were over a century old and sturdy enough to hold a horse, but had his barbarian brother really whisked his betrothed out of a second-floor window?

‘Did anyone else see them?’

‘Only Her Highness, the Princess, but they were almost on the ground when she came in.’

Zufar frowned. Why hadn’t Galila informed him?

Had she tried to stop them and been unsuccessful? Most likely Galila was keeping well out of Zufar’s way because she knew how he would take the news.

‘How soon after did you raise the alarm?’

Guilt flickered across her face and her lower lip trembled once more.

‘Seconds? Minutes?’ he snapped.

She paled. ‘I—I’m sorry... I thought... I thought it was a prank.’

‘It wasn’t. And your failure to raise the alarm in time may have aided his getaway.’ Zufar was sure of it.

She shrank further into the wall. He whirled away, tension threatening to break his spine.

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

‘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.

Not so glad when several gasps echoed through the room and his forbidding expression tightened even further.

‘I have made my decision. You are my choice. So, do you have any other objections?’ he drawled.

Niesha was stunned by his question. Did that mean he would listen if she objected? What further objection could she voice other than telling the King of Khalia that he was utterly, stark raving crazy? The mere thought of doing such a thing made the blood drain from her head.

‘By your silence, I assume you do not.’

‘Please, you have to reconsider,’ was all she could manage.

‘This discussion is over,’ he declared. ‘But, rest assured, you will be adequately compensated for your role.’

He turned away.

Niesha knew she shouldn’t trust the tiny burst of relief that spiked through her after being released from the force field of his stare. Her emotions had been on the edge of severe agitation ever since she’d walked in to find Amira and that towering barbarian of a man climbing out of the window.

She’d lost precious minutes frozen in place, unable to believe her eyes. After she’d screamed and sounded the alarm, she was sure she’d been incoherent in the first few minutes. Guilt surged anew beneath her skin.

She should’ve done more to stop them from leaving. Or raised the alarm quicker, as Zufar had said.

This was her punishment for not acting swiftly enough. If she had, this...insanity wouldn’t be happening.

Because...marriage? To him?

Sweet heaven, she couldn’t do it.

She took a faltering step closer to where he stood issuing clipped instructions. ‘Your Highness, please, can we talk about it?’ she ventured.

‘We don’t have time for a discussion,’ he stated. His voice was soft and even, but she wasn’t fooled. He was seething. ‘This is an emergency requiring an interim solution. Any long-term resolutions will be thrashed out later, including whatever concerns you might have.’ He went back to issuing instructions.

Heads bobbed up and down, unlike her shaking head and her quivering body, everyone poised to move the moment he finished speaking.

Moments later, firm hands reached for her, fingers tugging insistently at her clothes. She was going to be undressed in front of him? A bolt of rebellion fired through her, and she pushed the attendants away. ‘No!’

Everyone in the room froze.

‘No?’ Halimah whispered in horror. ‘You’re saying no to your King?’

A row of shocked eyes stared back at her, one in particular lasering her in place. She realised Zufar also awaited her answer. And the expression on his face was telling her everything she needed to know. There would be hell to pay if she didn’t obey him. She was the one who had let Amira get away. She was the one who hadn’t sounded the alarm in time. When she’d eventually done so, she’d been hysterical and inadvertently alerted the whole palace that the bride-to-be had fled.

She might not have aided his fiancée, but Amira’s disappearance might have succeeded partly because of her.

Sheikh Zufar slowly retraced his steps until he towered over her. ‘I too am waiting for an answer,’ he breathed.

Niesha swallowed, accepting in that moment that she had very little choice. She’d helped cause this state of chaos. It was up to her to fix it.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I...I mean yes,’ she amended hurriedly when his face turned to stone. ‘I will be your interim...your stand-in bride,’ she whispered, her mouth bone-dry.

Niesha wasn’t sure why her gaze darted to the window just then.

Sheikh Zufar followed her gaze, and, unbelievably, his face hardened even more.

‘If you’re thinking of going the same way as my previous bride-to-be, think again. Halimah and her companions will stay with you. They will help you to dress. You will not be left alone until you are by my side at the altar in one hour. Is that understood?’

Her world spinning ever faster on its axis, Niesha barely managed a nod of agreement.

It must’ve sufficed because he and his aides exited the room, Sheikh Zufar striding with the regal, animalistic grace infused in his bones since conception. There were sources that said Zufar al Khalia carried the essence of life itself with him when he moved in and out of a room.

The truth of it hit her hard as her breath was expelled in a mighty rush.

At the outer door, he paused, slashing her with golden eyes once more. ‘There will be guards placed outside the doors and along every path you take today. Just to ensure that you make it from this room to the wedding ceremony without impediment.’

Niesha wanted to laugh, but she was absolutely certain that she would end up sobbing. And even she couldn’t attend her wedding ceremony in tears.

Her wedding ceremony!

How on earth was this happening?

She had no time to dwell on it as the women sprang into action, tugging her to the centre of the room before proceeding to disrobe her. Minutes later, she found herself immersed in the rose-scented bath she had drawn for Amira only an hour or so ago.

The water was still warm, luxury gels and shampoos uncovered and ready to be used for the pre-wedding pampering the bride-to-be deserved.

The bride-to-be. Her.

Niesha closed her mind to the whispers swirling around her. Her emotional tank was dangerously close to full capacity for further distress. She was fairly sure Halimah and the women were speculating wildly about her. A lowly servant without a past attracted either awkward conversation or derogatory comments, no matter one’s age.

Over the years, Niesha had learned to harden herself against the pitying and sometimes callous comments, but somehow the barbs always found their way to her heart. It was why she’d stopped attempting to make friends with her colleagues.

Right now, she was rawer than she’d ever felt in her life. It was almost a relief to sink into the water and let the numbness overtake her. To ignore the awkward silences and the intense loneliness drowning her and pretend this wasn’t happening.

She barely felt the hands washing her body or the fingers weaving through her hair as she was cleansed from head to toe. Somewhere in the dark tunnel of despair, she realised she was still shaking, that she couldn’t stop trembling even after she was bundled into a thick, luxurious robe and seated at the bridal make-up station. She stared unseeing into the middle distance as her make-up was applied and her hair dried and fussed with.

It was as they nudged her towards the wedding gown that Niesha finally woke up.

‘No...’ It was a feeble attempt, one a small, wounded animal seeking a last pass for mercy would make.

Of course, there was no reprieve.

‘Yes,’ Halimah insisted. ‘For whatever reason the cosmos sees fit, you have been chosen for this role. You will not dishonour our King by disobeying, and I will not have my head on the block because of you. Now lift up your arms so we can put this exquisite garment on you.’

Interim.

She was just an interim solution. A stand-in for today only.

Tomorrow, Zufar would go into the desert or wherever Amira had been spirited off to and bring her back.

This was temporary.

Remember this.

This time next week, she would be back in her old, familiar clothes, in her rightful place, with this terrifying incident tucked away to retell to her children and grandchildren in years to come.

They would probably not believe her, she mused numbly. She could scarcely believe it herself.

She lifted her arms and let them slide the undergarments over her body before the layers of the specially commissioned wedding gown were added. The skirt was a bit tight at the hip but the snugness wasn’t uncomfortable. She held her breath as the zip was tugged up and the delicate buttons fastened.

The sensation of being sealed into her temporary prison threatened to choke her. She hurriedly blinked her prickling eyes before tears fell. Halimah wouldn’t welcome her handiwork ruined, and Niesha needed to get herself back under firmer control. The quicker she was done with this, the quicker she could retreat into her shell, and life could go on again.

She placed her feet in the shoes when instructed, angled her head so the magnificent diamond and sapphire tiara could be put in place, and held her hands out for the two dozen bangles that came with the outfit. Precious gems of all shapes and sizes gleamed from her wrists, throat and ears as she was tugged forwards to stand in front of the giant gilded mirror.

Niesha only managed to hold her expression for a split second before her gaze dropped to her feet again. She didn’t know the woman in the mirror. And that was a good thing. She could remove herself completely from this situation, retreat to the numb place where she was safest, away from the whispered gossip and the stunned glances. The place where the soft, kind voice lived in her head, the one she didn’t recognise but had accepted over the years as her merciful companion, clinging to it the hardest when she felt her lowest.

The carers at the orphanage had offhandedly dismissed the voice she’d unwittingly confessed to as her imaginary friend. Some had ridiculed her, but Niesha had felt no shame in embracing the gentle susurration telling her she would be all right.

You’ll get through this.

She was repeating those words to herself as Marwan, his aides, Halimah, and six ceremonially dressed guards escorted her down a wide private staircase towards the Rolls-Royce Phantom idling in a courtyard at the north wing of the palace. The safety of the three veils shielding her from direct view of everyone else was a welcome presence.

Still, she heard the furtive murmurs as she slowly glided forwards. Behind her, hands fluttered over her train and helped her into the car. Niesha uttered no words as Marwan slid in beside her. The part of her brain that wasn’t suspended in disbelief understood his presence.

Amira’s father, Feroz Ghalib, had been primed to take this role with his daughter. Even though tongues would wag at Marwan’s presence beside her, it would delay the ultimate revelation of exactly what was going on.

Nevertheless, her hands trembled around the stem of the exquisite bouquet made up of diamond-studded cream roses as the car began to roll forwards.

For a wild moment, Niesha contemplated flinging open the door and fleeing as fast as her legs would carry her. She knew every nook and cranny of the royal palace, having spent all her free time exploring it over the years. She could find a hiding place within minutes.

Even as temptation seeped through her, she was dismissing it. The recent death of the Queen had devastated Khalia. The kingdom was still in mourning when its bereaved King dropped the bombshell of his abdication. Though his people had accepted Zufar wholeheartedly, aftershocks still echoed throughout the kingdom.

He’d been right when he’d said that this wedding needed to happen. Galila had said as much last night when she’d voiced her worry over Amira’s curious indifference towards her wedding, leading to an exchange of words Niesha had overheard as she’d tidied up Amira’s room.

There were larger implications besides a simple marriage between two people who’d known each other since childhood.

The simple truth was that Khalia could ill afford another scandal.

‘Wave,’ Marwan instructed tersely. ‘You need to wave to the people.’

A startled glance out of the window showed they were already on the street outside the palace. She hadn’t been privy to the protocol of the ceremony but, from watching other televised royal weddings, she knew there was a brief ride to acknowledge her future subjects and show her gratitude for their goodwill, before the actual wedding ceremony began.

Slowly, she lifted her hand, her movements woefully stilted, and waved.

Screams of joy pierced the thick windows of the car, forcing home the reality that she’d become a symbol of hope to the people. She...the orphan from the poorest part of the capital, the woman with no past and no name save for the one the carers had given her.

Light-headedness clawed at the fringes of her consciousness. A garbled sound echoed from far away but she knew it had come from her throat.

‘You will pull yourself together, girl,’ Marwan said.

Again hysterical laughter bubbled up. How very easily everyone told her to pull herself together, to rise up to the occasion. To obey. But no one knew the terrifying depths of her emotions. No one knew how she’d secretly watched Zufar move around the palace, on TV, stared at his pictures in magazines for years. No one knew of the secret awe she held for the man who sat on the throne.

For a brief moment in her youth, she had even fancied herself in love with him! She’d grown out of that foolishness, of course, but the unfettered awareness and awe he drew from her had never dissipated.

If she’d been performing this task for any man other than the King of Khalia, she would probably have summoned something other than terror. But he wasn’t any other man. Zufar al Khalia was in a stratosphere of his own, over and above the royal blood that ran through his veins and the crown that sat on his head.

All too soon the ride was over.

Trumpets sounded as the Rolls stopped in front of the Imperial Ceremonial Room where she would be taking her vows before the hour was out. The breath she drew into her lungs did nothing to offer sustenance or clarity, and, even though the senior aide highly disapproved of what was going on, Niesha was grateful for his presence as he alighted and held out his hand to her. She was certain she would’ve fallen into a wretched heap if he hadn’t offered his support just then.

The hand she placed on his arm trembled wildly.

Flower girls she’d never met giggled and danced in front of her, throwing handfuls of scented flowers in her path as she slowly glided up the twenty-one steps to the wide doorway and down a gold-edged, royal blue carpet towards the centre of the exquisite ballroom reserved for the sole purpose of conducting official ceremonies.

Outside, several dozen more trumpets joined the heralding around the kingdom, crowds roaring where they were watching on giant screens across the city.

Inside, Niesha moved towards the man who stood tall, regal, and devastatingly handsome at the altar, her heart firmly wedged in her throat.

When Marwan winced, she realised her fingers had dug into his skin.

An apology tripped on her tongue but was immediately strangled by her nerves.

The murmurs in the congregation escalated, heads beginning to turn as speculation grew as to why Marwan walked next to the bride.

Niesha had no chance to dwell on that. Her sole focus was on Sheikh Zufar as he swivelled on his heel to watch her progress down the aisle.

His face gave nothing away. Years under the spotlight had honed an ability to ruthlessly school his features. But the many interviews that Niesha had watched of the Crown Prince, now turned King of Khalia, had clued her into the nuances of his expressions.

Right now, he bristled with fury, still incandescent at the atrocity that had been perpetrated against him. That fury was ruthlessly caged, the greater calling of duty and responsibility taking priority. He meant to see this through, come hell or high water.

Niesha cursed her senses for choosing that moment to flare back into life. The bright colours of the Imperial Ceremonial Room, the hushed voices of the guests and the laser focus of Zufar’s eyes all pierced her consciousness, grounding her mercilessly in that moment.

You will be all right.

How? she railed at the soft voice. She wanted to scream, turn and flee from the room, but there was nowhere to go. They were almost at the altar. Marwan was lowering his arm in preparation to step away.

The moment he did, Galila stepped close. Zufar’s sister’s face was pale, her mouth pinched as she cast a searching, bewildered glance at Niesha. Unlike the others in the room, she knew why a maidservant stood in Amira’s place.

‘The bouquet,’ she said gently.

Niesha reluctantly handed it over, mourning the tiny support being stripped from her.

Before she could dwell on it, Zufar extended his hand. They were to take that last single step to the altar together.

Niesha stared at the long elegant fingers of her soon-to-be—temporary—husband. Automatically, she lifted her right hand and placed it in his left. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or frightened by the pressure of the fingers that took hold of hers and nudged her forwards onto that last devastating step.

The cleric began to intone a long string of ancient words. Words that demanded obedience, fidelity, faith, companionship.

Love.

Niesha’s insides scrambled over that last word. She’d known none of it in her years. The occasional kindnesses that came her way had been from strangers. In her quiet moments, she’d dreamed of such a feeling, but never in her wildest imagination had she dreamed of it being uttered in such circumstances.

A glance at Zufar showed his face was a stoic mask, the words not having any effect on him save for the façade he’d put up for the public. When it was his turn to repeat his vows he did so in deep assured tones, not hurried, not in any way nervous.

The cleric turned to Niesha. Her heart lurched frantically.

Her fingers began to tremble, then her whole body was seized by vicious little earthquakes that just wouldn’t stop.

‘Repeat your vows,’ Zufar instructed with a grave whisper. ‘Repeat them now.’

Niesha swallowed painfully, forcing her dry throat to work. She opened her mouth, and with a sense of wild surrealism said, ‘I, Niesha Zalwani, take you, Zufar al Khalia, to be my husband.’

Shock waves rippled through the crowd, echoed outside the palace as the true identity of the bride was revealed. Through it all, Zufar kept his gaze fixed, haughty, regal and straight-ahead.

‘Proceed,’ he commanded the cloaked cleric.

To his credit, the old man did not hesitate. He recited reams of archaic, binding words.

And a mere half an hour later, Niesha was officially wed to the King of Khalia.

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