She Will Be Queen
Autorzy
Carol Marinelli
Lektury
18,7K
Rozdziały
16
She Will Be Queen is a forbidden, forced proximity, royal sheikh romance. Claimed by the man Crowned by the king? Future king Sahir is required to marry for duty, not emotion. But after an unforgettably raw night with beautiful stranger Violet, he craves more. Then they're caught on camera and Violet is whisked straight to the desert for royal damage control! Violet is infuriated…especially by her body's traitorous response to being isolated with the only man who's ever touched her. Sahir's proximity is pure, delicious torture. For Violet knows her family's checkered past means she's not queen material, unless their deepening connection can convince Sahir to rip up his kingdom's rule book…
PROLOGUE
‘SLOW DOWN, SAHIR...’
Sahir turned. He’d been a little relieved that the ancient steps carved in the bedrock were so narrow that there could be no conversation, and Mother was some considerable distance behind.
Queen Anousheh of Janana was unsuitably dressed for a rugged walk.
The wind was blowing her black hair into her eyes and her elegant robe was clearly a hindrance. Naturally, his delightfully eccentric mother was in full make-up. Even her footwear was jewelled.
It didn’t usually slow her down, though.
Sahir retraced his steps and offered his hand for the steepest incline. ‘Why are you wearing palace slippers?’
‘They are my walking shoes.’ She smiled.
Sahir had not been looking forward to this. It wasn’t just that at thirteen he felt a little old for the annual picnic his mother insisted upon. It was more the fact that when they eventually got to the top there was an awkward conversation to be had.
Sahir, much like his younger brother and sister, had grown up vaguely aware that their mother had a confidant—whatever that meant.
As heir to the Janana throne, Sahir spent his summers being tutored in protocol and Janana’s intricate laws—and a few years ago he had discovered that their mother had a lover!
Sahir had kept that knowledge to himself, but this particular summer their mother’s disinhibition had meant his younger siblings had worked things out for themselves.
Something had to be said.
‘It has to be you,’ Ibrahim had said, always happy to avoid a task and volunteering Sahir. ‘You’re going to be King one day.’
‘Mama’s going to leave Papa!’ Jasmine had sobbed dramatically. ‘Oh, poor Papa.’
‘She is not going to leave him.’ Sahir was firm with his sister. Even if he was cross with Mother, he felt defensive towards her. ‘As Queen, she’s done nothing wrong—the law states that she can take a confidant—and anyway, Father might have—’
He’d halted abruptly, deciding not to reveal that the King was allowed a haẓiyya, or second wife. Not only would Sahir prefer not to deal with more drama from Jasmine, he could not begin to fathom his austere father invoking such a rule.
‘Papa should be kinder.’ Ibrahim had been indignant. ‘He’s miserable and always cross...’
‘He has a lot on his mind,’ Sahir had reminded him sharply. ‘These are troubled times. The King has to focus on peace for our land—not dramas within the palace walls.’
Growing up, they’d all heard their mother taunting the King whenever she felt she was being ignored—telling him that she would take it up with her confidant...saying that at least he listened to her, at least he noticed what she wore...
It had all come to a head this summer.
Ibrahim had seen her one night, all dressed up in lipstick and jewels, and their mother had urgently warned him not to tell.
And Jasmine, after a bad dream, had tried to get to her mother’s bedroom. But the entrance to the syn wing had been locked...
‘There were no maidens and she took for ever to answer,’ Jasmine had sobbed to Sahir. ‘Then she wouldn’t let me in...just sent me back to bed...’
More worryingly for Sahir, he had seen the sour expression on Aadil’s face when a lavish delivery had arrived for the Queen.
Aadil was Sahir’s protection officer, but Aadil’s father was the King’s senior advisor, and if this reached the King’s ears there would be trouble.
Sahir knew every rule, and he knew that while a confidant was allowed, all parties must be discreet.
Increasingly, Queen Anousheh of Janana was not.
‘Oh, Sahir...’ Mother was breathless as she reached the top. ‘Give me a moment.’ She caught her breath as Sahir spread out the rug and blankets he had brought up earlier. ‘It looks wonderful.’ She smiled. ‘Look at all the treats you have brought. It is good for you to learn to do this without servants...’
‘I make my own bed at school,’ he said, opening the hamper he had carried up the cliff steps and pouring her some iced tea. ‘Here.’
‘Thank you.’ She drank it thirstily. ‘What I am saying is that it is good to know these special places.’
Sahir resisted rolling his eyes. Last year they had climbed dusty palace stairwells, the year before they had explored caves... ‘The places you take me to are practically inaccessible.’
‘Exactly.’ Mother smiled. ‘So you can do things without others always knowing. You might want a little privacy one day...’
Mother was a fine one to talk about privacy, Sahir thought as they sat drinking iced tea and eating the delicacies Sahir had sourced while they made small talk. Or rather, while Mother attempted to squeeze conversation from her thirteen-year-old son, talking about his life in London and his school subjects, trying to find out about his friends.
‘It’s a shame Carter didn’t come this year.’
‘He’s spending the summer in Borneo with his grandfather.’
‘Poor Carter. To lose all his family like that...’ She gave a pensive sigh. ‘Does he speak of them?’
‘No.’ Sahir shook his head. ‘He never has.’
Years ago, his friend Carter’s mother and baby brother had been killed in a crocodile attack—his father had perished attempting to save them. Sahir only knew what had been said at school or in the press. His friend had never discussed it. Not even once.
‘Sometimes it’s as if he’s forgotten them.’
‘He hasn’t,’ Mother said with certainty. ‘Be there for him, Sahir. Always invite him to join us for holidays and celebrations. Speak their names...’
‘I’ve tried.’
‘You’ll know when the time is right.’
The desert was like an orange fire behind the palace, and the ocean was pounding on the rocks below. Sahir looked to the city skyline beyond.
Janana was a land of contrasts...beautiful and fierce, delicate and wild, mighty yet conversely fragile.
Sahir knew his history, and even if his father was distant and remote he was fiercely proud of him. King Babek of Janana had fought long and hard to have a thriving capital and CBD, with state-of-the-art hospitals, hotels and designer shops, even though the elders and council had been strongly opposed.
For his mother, Queen Anousheh, it was the ancient city and the desert that were her passion.
They both gazed towards the palace, taking in the magnificence of the ancient citadel. From this vantage point the setarah—star structure—was evident, but not so the hidden passages and stairs that led to the unroofed centre tower—outwardly bland, glorious within—with its view of the night sky the jewel.
The palace, though a sight to behold, bore the scars of history. Centuries ago an earthquake had devastated Janana, razing buildings, wiping out villages. The fracture had stretched to the palace, where an entire wing had been reduced to rubble, killing the then Queen as well as many palace staff.
Shortly after the earthquake the King had taken his own life, throwing the beleaguered country into further chaos and turmoil. In consequence the lineage had changed, and so had some of the marital laws. New legislation had been put in place to ensure such a tragedy could never befall the country again. Any future king or queen must have but one passion—the Kingdom of Janana.
Love was for commoners, not their rulers.
‘It is such an eyesore,’ Mother said, following Sahir’s gaze to the destroyed wing.
‘It serves as a reminder,’ Sahir responded, repeating his teachings. ‘A ruler’s heart can belong only to his country.’
‘Well, once your father brokers peace I am going to fight to have the wing rebuilt and the palace returned to its former glory.’
Mother always had grand plans.
‘Sahir,’ she ventured, perhaps attempting a gentler approach with her very self-contained son. ‘I know that love is forbidden for a monarch, but I do believe that a heart is for sharing.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘A king’s heart is divided equally amongst his subjects.’
‘I want you to listen to me.’ Mother put down her refreshments to speak. ‘Just because you are going to be King, that doesn’t mean you have to agree with everything the elders—’
‘I don’t always agree,’ Sahir interrupted.
This topic was one he wrestled with himself. He knew his mother must be lonely, even if she smiled and laughed. And yet he could understand the demands placed upon his father.
‘I am learning, and not yet King,’ he said. ‘Until that time I shall abide by all the teachings.’ He turned to face her. ‘You do!’ At thirteen he had not quite mastered being as aloof as his father. ‘Especially the ones that suit you.’
‘Pardon?’ She blinked.
It had to be said, and it fell to him. ‘Your discretion is lacking.’
‘Sahir...?’ Her head was cocked to the side, her hazel eyes curious. Perhaps she was unsure about the warning being given. ‘What are you saying?’
Sahir held her gaze and refused to blush. Nor did he allow a glimpse of his agony at having this conversation. His voice was deep, that of a man, and he held on to his trust that it would remain steady now.
‘There is no place in the palace for an imprudent confidant.’
To his surprise, she laughed. ‘Oh, Sahir.’ She laughed so much she wiped tears from her eyes. ‘You can be so staid at times—just like your father.’
‘He is King!’
‘Yes...yes.’ She took a breath, pressed her lips together and composed her face. ‘You are right.’
‘Mother, please...’ Now his voice croaked...now fear surfaced. Sahir had done his best to reassure Jasmine, but he too was scared of what might happen. ‘Be more careful.’
‘Sahir...’ She held his chin. ‘You were right to speak to me. It will be addressed. Now, let’s enjoy the rest of our picnic. Tomorrow you fly to London, and soon you’ll be back at school.’
Sahir nodded, but then frowned. ‘Mother?’ There was a trickle of blood coming from her nostril. ‘You’re bleeding.’
‘It’s the climb,’ she said, reaching for a napkin. ‘Is there any ice in the hamper?’
‘Of course.’ He felt dreadful, even if it was quickly sorted. ‘I should not have said anything.’
‘Sahir,’ she reassured him. ‘I’m fine.’ She put her arm around his tense shoulders, as if she knew how much this conversation had killed him. ‘I know it took courage to discuss this with me.’
‘You’ll be more careful?’
She nodded. ‘Everything shall be fine.’
Three weeks later he was summoned from class and told his mother was gravely ill.
Mid-flight home, Sahir was informed that Queen Anousheh was dead.
