His Pregnant Desert Queen
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Maya Blake
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CHAPTER ONE
JAVID AL-JUKRAT NEVER made promises he couldn’t keep.
He accepted he had many and varied flaws. Hell, he thrived on his playboy reputation. More often than not, it fooled the unsuspecting into not taking him seriously until it was too late. But his word was his bond. And he had the clout to back it up.
It was why he excelled in diplomacy after all. Why his long-suffering brother, the ruling Sheikh of Jukrat, bit his tongue repeatedly and gave Javid the freedom to do the one thing he cherished and excelled at.
It was why Javid now dragged his head up from his three-thousand-thread-count silk pillow, cracked one bloodshot eye open and fixed it on the young, sharply dressed aide, standing at the foot of his bed, brimming with purpose and levelling a gimlet stare his way.
And delivered a new promise.
‘I will triple your Christmas bonus and guarantee you an aide post anywhere in the world if you go away and let me sleep for another hour. You, more than anyone, know I can make it happen.’ His voice sounded like churned gravel and felt like it, the result of too much drinking and too much enthusiastic celebration of the carnal kind.
Who could blame him?
He enjoyed female company and wasn’t afraid to vocalise his appreciation of a warm, willing woman in his bed. And last night’s activities had been particularly...athletic.
Speaking of which...
He cracked his other eye open, breathed a sigh of relief when he saw he was thankfully alone in the endless expanse of his Californian king-size bed. While he was enthusiastic about company, he was unyielding about guests staying over without his express permission. Which was rarely given.
Dragging his focus back to the undesired presence of his aide, he saw the man positively bristling and curbed a frustrated smirk. Somehow the young man had managed to locate an insult in his offer.
‘Your Highness, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ensure you were promptly informed of time-sensitive matters as and when they arose...’
Javid groaned, dragged a pillow over his head and happily drowned out the rest of the affronted speech. Quick on the heels of his relief that he was alone, he was wishing for the return of the vibrant and bendy redhead who’d kept him lustily occupied until the early hours.
He was absolutely certain Wilfred wouldn’t have interrupted him had she still been in his bed. What exactly was so important that he had to suffer the staid assistant berating him at—dragging an arm beneath the pillow, he peered at the Vacheron Constantin watch on his right wrist, and groaned again—five-seventeen a.m.?
Several minutes of blessed silence passed, but Javid knew better than to hope Wilfred had chosen discretion over valour and vacated his bedroom. Hell, he could feel condemning eyes boring into his naked back.
With another frustrated grunt, he tossed the pillow away and jackknifed upright, valiantly ignoring the stilettos of pain gleefully announcing the hangover from hell.
‘Think carefully before you plot your next move, Wilfred. Unless this matter concerns the welfare of my brother or sister-in-law, my mother or whatever straggles of blood relations I have remaining, you may very well find yourself unemployed before the half-hour strikes.’
To his credit Wilfred recognised Javid’s tone of voice. It was the one he used when he was done pursuing his beloved diplomacy and reached for the big guns. Several halls of parliament and councils around the world had heard this very timbre of voice, and those wise enough to heed its warning usually granted his wishes.
It was why his brother let him get away with murder.
It was why he’d seduced more than his fair share of female heads of states and CEOs.
‘Well?’ he barked, his patience ebbing.
A paler Wilfred swallowed, then again, to his credit, straightened his spine. That steely determination was the reason Javid had hired him. He never backed down no matter how much Javid barked and bit. Very few had been able to handle his moods. He’d learned it the hard way by going through six assistants in three years. So far Wilfred had lasted eighteen months.
He wouldn’t last much longer though, if he continued to stand there, mute.
As if he sensed the imminent explosion, the young man lifted his head.
In the second before he spoke, a curious rush of...something blew over Javid’s nape. He didn’t believe in premonition or fate or any of that nonsense. But he did recognise regret when he saw it. Same went for apprehension.
Hesitancy. Caution. Pity?
All emotions that flashed across Wilfred’s face.
He dragged a hand through his dishevelled hair, his jaw clenching as Wilfred opened his mouth. Whatever was coming wasn’t going to be pleasant. At all.
‘It’s about Their Majesties, King Adnan and Queen Yasmin of Riyaal,’ Wilfred said, the tiniest waver in his voice.
An exhale exploded out of him, something tight and heavy easing within him. The only people he truly cared about in this world were his brother and, lately, his new sister-in-law, Lauren, and his brand-new nephew. He could stretch to caring about the people of Jukrat that his brother ruled over, but only because Tahir’s whole life was dedicated to caring for his subjects and, by association, Javid cared too.
Beyond that...his gut tightened as his thoughts swung to the father who’d died fully intractable in his disapproval and rejection of his second son. Who had never had a kind word or voiced encouragement for Javid. Ever.
He let loose a bitter smile.
Javid had repaid that injustice with a life of excess he knew would incense his father. And they’d been bitter and estranged long before the old man had breathed his last.
As for his remaining parent...
His smile evaporated. He knew where he stood with his mother. She didn’t pretend to love him, and he didn’t pretend to care. He allowed her to shamelessly use his name to advance herself in her Parisian social circles as long as he didn’t have to suffer the indignity of the sham dinners and get-togethers that she demanded of Tahir.
He hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of words with her in five years—most of those at his brother’s recent wedding—and he was more than fine with that.
He ignored the grating discomfort in his chest and narrowed his eyes at his assistant. ‘These past seven days in California have been a gift to myself after months of dealing with my cousin and the many problems plaguing his kingdom. You know this because you cleared my calendar and ensured the trip was work-free yourself, correct? And I gave you a few days off to enjoy yourself at a five-star hotel, remember?’
‘Of course, Your Highness.’
Javid winced. No matter how many times he asked him to use his first name when they weren’t in company, Wilfred refused. With grim amusement, Javid promised himself he’d remove the stick stuck up his assistant’s backside before their relationship was over, if it was the last thing he did.
First things first, though... ‘Then, by everything holy, why are you bothering me about Adnan and Yasmin again?’ he griped.
He’d fulfilled his promise to Tahir. Hell, he’d over-fulfilled. The six months he’d initially agreed to spend in Riyaal managing Adnan’s dire policies had turned into nine, the deplorable state of affairs a challenge few others would’ve risen to. Javid had walked a fine line between frustration, aggravation and diplomacy. He’d bitten his tongue so many times, he was stunned the organ still functioned.
But he’d done his duty and helped Adnan avoid several international incidents and crippling trade disputes with his neighbours and the world at large. He’d left several trusted individuals in high level positions to ensure his careless cousin’s kingdom didn’t end up on the brink of collapse, or, worse, of a possible coup d’état fuelled by his own disgruntled subjects, again.
Satisfied with a job well done, he’d hopped on his private jet to California to celebrate his success and freedom in style. And he’d got off—pun intended—to a great start.
Which left him at a loss as to why Wilfred was determined to—
‘Your brother has been trying to reach you for a few hours, Your Highness. When he couldn’t, he had his aide contact me at the hotel.’
Javid tensed. ‘Why?’
Wilfred cleared his throat. ‘King Adnan and Queen Yasmin were flying back from their summer residence when their helicopter went down. The wreckage was discovered in the early hours of yesterday morning. Your Highness... I’m sorry to report, there were no survivors,’ Wilfred said, his voice solemn.
The curious breeze blew again. Harder. Turning Javid’s whole body ice-cold. The hand in the process of raking through his hair dropped to his side, his insides sinking before turning numb.
As much as his cousin had been an obstinate and reckless fool with very little knowledge of practical rule, he’d been his blood. And Yasmin...had been pregnant with their first child.
Sorrow and regret churned through him, his uncharitable thoughts of moments ago flaying him open with shame.
Rising from the bed, he strode to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Santa Barbara’s multimillion-dollar view, his jaw clenched tight. He now understood why his aide had disrupted his sleep. Tahir had wanted to break the news to him before Javid discovered it through unsavoury channels.
‘His Majesty still wishes to speak to you,’ Wilfred reminded him.
Javid exhaled again, a keen suspicion that his vacation was about to be cut woefully short whizzing through him. Tahir would want him at the funeral, of course. Perhaps even seek his advice as to who would be best placed to take up the mantle his young cousin had tragically and far too soon vacated.
Even as he turned from the window and headed across the master suite into his sumptuous bathroom, he was conducting a shortlist. Many would jump at the chance at the throne, but Javid knew only a handful would truly be up to the task without getting drunk on power and falling into the same pitfalls his late cousin had almost succumbed to.
‘Inform my brother I’ll be ready to speak to him in fifteen minutes. And organise the appropriate statements and wreaths to be delivered to the palace.’
‘Yes, Your Highness.’ Wilfred was already on the move, his strides purposeful.
Fifteen minutes later, Javid was dressed in a sombre, bespoke dark suit, his pristine white shirt neatly tucked into his trousers and dark tie in place. He’d shaved his week-long stubble and his hair was neatly combed, his fingers steepled before him as he waited in his private study for the digital connection to his brother.
In record time, the playboy prince was neatly tucked away, and the diplomat had re-emerged. Others had likened that switch to a chameleon. Javid liked to think it was clear-minded, uncompromising willpower. He knew what he wanted, when he wanted, and he made no apology nor had reservations about achieving his goals.
Tahir’s face flickered onto the screen and Javid held his breath, his gaze searching his brother’s, that curious knot still tied in his chest.
He knew why he searched.
They’d never had happy childhoods, he and Tahir. As the heir to the throne, his brother had had it much worse, he knew. In some deep dark place he didn’t like to explore, Javid suspected his shameless descent into excess had been his own way of taking the spotlight off his brother.
As a newly married, ostensibly happily, man, Tahir had displayed all the signs of marital bliss with the woman who’d markedly blighted his life for a long time. While he was willing to wish his brother every happiness, Javid couldn’t seem to find it in himself to truly believe Tahir was happy. Hence the need to search beneath Tahir’s steely gaze, to assess whether his purported bliss was real or the more familiar pseudo-affection he was used to from his mother. From the women who trailed through his life without ever being allowed to touch him because he knew they were after one thing only—a chance to bask in the spotlight of his royalty, his wealth, his sexual prowess, his brilliant mind.
His brother’s gaze narrowed, as if he was sensing and disapproving of Javid’s thoughts. Javid regretted the flash of anger that lit Tahir’s eyes before his brother neutralised his expression, knowing that questioning Tahir’s happiness would be considered a deep slur.
For a second, Javid lowered his own gaze, and when he raised it, he’d neutralised his own, his focus on the grave news that had necessitated this meeting.
‘We’re sure they both perished?’ he asked, his voice low.
Tahir’s nostrils flared as he inhaled audibly. Then he nodded abruptly. ‘It’s been confirmed. The official statement will be released later this morning, but the news cycles are already picking it up.’ The barest grimace clenched his features until control reasserted itself.
Allowing himself another bite of regret for the young lives lost, Javid leaned forward. ‘I’ll clear my schedule to attend the funeral. I’m drawing up a list of candidates to act as interim rulers until an official council forms to...’ His words trailed away when another peculiar look crossed his brother’s face.
‘The council has already been formed.’ Javid worked out the time zones and nodded as his brother continued. ‘We met first thing this morning. You would’ve been part of it if you’d been available.’
Just like with Wilfred, Javid felt the eerie sensation dance over his skin. But seeing as this was from the ruler of a formidable kingdom and the man who bore the same warrior blood that surged through Javid’s veins, the look was far more potent. Enough to tie several knots in his gut. Enough to capture and strangle the breath in his lungs.
‘Well, I’m available now,’ he said tightly, resenting the mild rebuke. He’d done his diplomatic duty, and he’d happily walked away.
Yes, it grated that he’d missed the council meeting, but, in the long run, didn’t it mean one less thing for him to do?
He’d craved freedom ever since he’d recognised that being around his parents meant having front-row seats to rejection and recrimination. Excelling in his studies in diplomacy had been the perfect avenue to serve his royal duties while removing himself from his father’s presence. At a mere twenty-one, he’d left Jukrat and rarely went back.
He’d made homes in California, Cairo, the South Pacific, and half a dozen more destinations around the world. With a private jet and unlimited funds at his disposal, he’d carved out a specifically ‘solitary unless company was needed’ life for himself. One he didn’t intend to change or apologise for.
So what if waking up next to a different woman with cringing frequency was beginning to lose its pall? It was just a passing phase. His appetite was plenty healthy enough to withstand the odd fallow period. He simply needed to revisit old stomping grounds or discover new ones. Or both. Hell, perhaps it was time to buy the new mega-yacht he’d been promising himself and leave terra firma for the open seas with a blonde or three in tow.
He gritted his teeth as his brother leaned back, his dark gold eyes boring into him. Seeing far too much. ‘Are you?’
The hairs at the back of his neck stood up. Again, he ignored it. ‘If you didn’t call to request my help in forming the new council, then why did you call?’
‘Because certain decisions have been made that you need to be aware of.’
A flash of ire whipped through him. ‘If my input wasn’t necessary, why do I need to know after the fact?’
The barest hint of a smile tugged at Tahir’s lips. ‘I didn’t say it wasn’t necessary. On the contrary, it’s vital now.’
‘Stop dancing around the issue, brother. If you don’t need me, I have several meetings I need to be getting on with.’
The smile evaporated and he held his breath again as his brother leaned forward. ‘I need you, Javid. Perhaps now more than ever. Because you were the only candidate in contention.’
‘Candidate in contention for what?’ His voice was razor-sharp and he didn’t apologise for it. Because that premonition he didn’t believe in? It was burrowing its way through the conversation, positioning itself in the centre of his consciousness in a way that hugely unsettled him. ‘Actually, no. Do not confirm what I think you mean, brother,’ he warned, a heaviness shaking through his voice that drew even weightier contemplation from his brother.
‘It’s impossible for me not to.’
Six words. Six earth-shaking words.
‘You know Adnan had no other close blood relations besides us. And I’m out of the running, for obvious reasons. Which means—’
‘No!’ Javid jerked to his feet, pivoting from the wide screen as if placing distance between him and his brother would halt the inevitable juggernaut heading his way. ‘Not today. Not tomorrow. Never!’
Tahir’s face hardened. ‘It’s already been decided.’
Javid whirled around, baring his teeth in what he knew was a mirthless smile. ‘You know better than to pull that stunt with me, brother. Remember who you’re talking to. Nothing is ever definitively decided, especially when one party actively resists.’
Tahir gave a brisk nod. ‘I remember who I’m talking to. You’re the ultimate rebel with the Midas touch. You scandalise with one hand and perform diplomatic miracles with the other...when you wish to. Is that the threat here? That you’ll destroy everything you’ve helped build in Riyaal just to prove a point?’
‘I’m saying you should’ve known better than to present me with what you think is a done deal,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Especially one you know I don’t want. Ruling was your destiny, not mine.’
His brother’s face twisted but his expression wasn’t as hard or as embittered as it’d been once upon a time. For a single moment, Javid wondered if that was Lauren’s doing. Then he shook the thought free. Whether it was or not didn’t matter. His immediate goal was disentangling himself from the ropes his brother was attempting to bind him with.
‘You’re wrong.’
‘Excuse me?’ he breathed, basking in the fresh anger that whipped through him. Anger he understood. Frustration, too, was a familiar bedfellow. What he didn’t relish was this foreboding that kept dogging him. As if this conversation was already a foregone conclusion. That whatever he said or did, it would only end up one way.
‘You walk into a room and change opinions. You leave a room and lives around the world change for the better. You fool yourself into thinking you’re removed from your actions but everything you do alters destinies. Tell me, brother, what is that if not a form of rule?’
Javid felt his jaw sag before he brusquely took control of himself. ‘Don’t be absurd.’
Tahir didn’t respond, merely returned his livid stare with a steady one of his own.
‘I have four perfectly good candidates for interim rule,’ Javid snapped, then reeled off the names he’d collated even before he’d taken his shower.
Tahir nodded. ‘All brilliantly positioned to form part of your council of advisors.’
Javid pinched the bridge of his nose, the hangover initially blazing at his temples now turned into a pounding pain throughout his whole body. ‘You’re not listening,’ he growled.
‘I’m listening, brother. To the instinct that tells me no one but you is best suited for this. You resolved the trade deal and steered Riyaal from an impending free-falling economy in a matter of months. You’re better skilled than all the candidates put together.’
‘But you’re wilfully overlooking one thing—I. Don’t. Want. The. Job.’
Tahir’s eyes hardened, and in that moment Javid saw their father. Sure, his brother’s eyes didn’t contain the permanent censure and contempt his father’s had held, but a shiver lanced down his spine all the same. It was enough to hold his tongue, to lock his knees as Tahir leaned forward.
‘But you’re blood, Javid. And Riyaal needs you. After fighting so hard to help Adnan’s people, are you truly going to let them down now?’
It was a low blow. But in many respects, Javid respected his brother for his ruthlessness. It was a trait they shared; one he wasn’t above exploiting when it suited him. He would’ve been more disappointed if Tahir had tried to cajole him.
Of course, his fury intensified as he watched his brother nod to someone off screen. And when a knock came at Javid’s study door and Wilfred walked in, he didn’t need to open the leather-bound folder placed in front of him to know what it contained.
When his aide activated another screen that showed one of the very men Javid had intended to handpick for the interim ruler position, he felt the claws of inevitability sink deeper into him.
Eyes narrowed, he glared at his brother. ‘What is he doing here?’
‘Your aide and soon-to-be chief of staff are bearing witness so they can get the relevant balls rolling.’
‘You may think this is a foregone conclusion, but I have demands of my own. Several, in fact,’ he grated out.
Tahir’s lips twisted. ‘Read the document. You’ll find I’ve anticipated a few of them.’
Javid turned his attention to the document in front of him, his gaze darting over the words crafted to seal his fate as ruler of a kingdom he didn’t want.
Halfway through, his gaze flew to his brother’s. ‘Fifteen years? You want me to commit to fifteen years before another ruler is even considered? You’re joking, right?’
‘How long do you propose?’
‘Five,’ he snapped, already thinking he was being more than generous.
‘Twelve,’ Tahir countered.
‘No. I’ll give you seven. That’s more than enough.’
‘Ten. You of all people know how long it takes to entrench good, lasting governance.’
Javid clenched his jaw. Ten years was usually his own recommendation during diplomatic negotiations. Talk about being hoist by his own petard. ‘Fine. Ten. Not a second longer.’
Tahir smiled and Javid knew he’d been played like a Jukrati fiddle. Fighting his temper, he returned to reading. Only to choke on his shock on the next page. ‘A bride? You expect me to marry, and you’ve already picked a bride for me?’ he snarled in disbelief.
Tahir was no longer smiling. But there was a flash of sympathy in his eyes when he answered. ‘Unfortunately, brother, the council deemed that part non-negotiable. As much as I don’t agree with it, it’s been decided. The day before your coronation in three weeks’ time, you’ll marry the late Queen’s cousin.’
