Two crowns, two islands, one legacy

A royal family, torn apart by pride and its lust for power, reunited by purity and passion

The islands of Adamas have been torn into

two rival kingdoms:

TWO CROWNS

The Stefani diamond has been split as a

symbol of their feud

TWO ISLANDS

Gorgeous Greek princes reign supreme

over glamorous Aristo

Smouldering sheikhs rule the desert island of Calista

ONE LEGACY

Whoever reunites the diamonds will rule all.

THE ROYAL HOUSE OF KAREDES

Many years ago there were two islands ruled as one kingdom – Adamas. But bitter family feuds and rivalry caused the kingdom to be ripped in two. The islands were ruled separately, as Aristo and Calista, and the infamous Stefani coronation diamond was split as a symbol of the feud and placed in the two new crowns.

But when the king divided the islands between his son and daughter, he left them with these words:

“You will rule each island for the good of the people and bring out the best in your kingdom. But my wish is that eventually these two jewels, like the islands, will be reunited. Aristo and Calista are more successful, more beautiful and more powerful as one nation: Adamas.”

Now, King Aegeus Karedes of Aristo is dead, the island’s coronation diamond is missing! The Aristans will stop at nothing to get it back but the ruthless sheikh king of Calista is hot on their heels.

Whether by seduction, blackmail or marriage, the jewel must be found. As the stories unfold, secrets and sins from the past are revealed and desire, love and passion war with royal duty. But who will discover in time that it is innocence of body and purity of heart that can unite the islands of Adamas once again?

Dear Reader,

One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you - which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.

There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and…well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.

I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia to escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100th story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”

So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him… Wouldn’t you know it?

I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers.

Love,

Sharon xxx

Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

The Sheikh’s Virgin Stable-Girl
Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With special thanks to Charlie Brooks, Andrew Franklin

and Jenny Hindmarsh for making me understand why

people are so passionate about horses.

And to Gerald O’Rourke for his advice on gambling.

CONTENTS

Cover

Extract

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Acknowledgements

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Preview

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THERE was no reason why a scorpion shouldn’t be lying dead on the ground—but not when Eleni had only just swept the yard. She stared down at its curved black shape and a certainty which defied logic whispered its way in a cold chill over her skin. It was an omen, surely. An evil portent—coming moments before her father’s mysterious guest arrived. She swallowed. For wasn’t desert legend full of signs as ominous as this?

‘Eleni!’

Her father’s shout echoed through the hot, still air and Eleni tensed as she tried to work out what kind of mood he was in. At least the tone was steady, which meant that he was sober, but it was impatient, too and her heart sank—for that could mean only one thing. That he was eager to begin his game of cards—and that his fellow players were growing impatient. Loud, laughing men who were stupid enough to gamble away everything they had worked for.

‘Eleni!’ The voice had now become a roar. ‘Where in the desert’s name are you?’

‘I am here, Papa!’ she said, quickly kicking the scorpion to a dusty grave in a small pile of sand outside the stables and then hurrying towards the house, where Gamal Lakis stood waiting in the doorway. His wizened and sunburnt face was sour as he looked her up and down.

‘What are you doing that keeps you away from the house and your duties?’ he criticised.

It was pointless telling him that she had just come from the stables, where she had been speaking softly to his beloved horses. And that such constant care and vigilance kept them in prized and peak condition—making Gamal Lakis one of the most envied men in this desert kingdom. She knew from experience that there was no explanation that would ever satisfy this most discontented of men.

‘I’m sorry, Papa,’ she said automatically, lowering her gaze to the ground before looking up once more to flash him a reassuring smile. ‘I will come and bring refreshment to your guests immediately.’

‘No, no. We cannot yet drink, nor eat the food which has been prepared,’ said her father unexpectedly. ‘For we await the arrival of our guest of honour.’ His faded eyes glinted and he gave a rare and crafty smile. ‘And do you know who this guest is, Eleni?’

She shook her head. The visit had been shrouded in mystery for days now, but Eleni knew that it was not her place to ask. Women were told when men deemed that the time was right and not before, especially in households like theirs. ‘No, Papa, I do not know.’

‘No less than one of the most important men in the whole of Calista!’ he boasted. ‘I wonder if you would like to make a guess just who that might be?’

Eleni took her cue, asking him the question he clearly wished to be asked, though his wild extravagance was now making her wonder whether her father was quite as sober as she had first thought.

‘Won’t you tell me who he is, Papa—so that I may wait on him with due deference when he arrives at our home?’

Gamal’s thin lips gave another wet and triumphant smile, pausing like a man who held the trump card in a high-bidding game. ‘What would you say, my daughter—if I told you that a royal prince was coming to the home of your father?’

She would say that he had been drinking, after all. But never to his face, of course. If Papa was having one of his frequent flights of fancy then it was always best to play along with it.

Eleni kept her face poker-straight. ‘A royal prince, Papa?’ she questioned gravely.

‘Yes, indeed!’ He pushed his face forward. ‘The Prince Kaliq Al’Farisi,’ he crowed, ‘is coming to my house to play cards with me!’

Her father had gone insane! These were ideas of grandeur run riot! And what was Eleni to do? What if he continued to make such idle boasts in front of the men who were sitting, waiting to begin the long night of card-playing? Surely that would make him a laughing stock and ruin what little reputation he had left.

‘Papa,’ she whispered urgently. ‘I beg you to think clearly. What place would a royal prince have here?’

But she was destined never to hear a reply, even though his mouth had opened like a puppet—for there came the sound of distant hooves. The steady, powerful thud of horses as they thundered over the parched sands. On the still, thick air the muffled beat grew closer and louder until it filled Eleni’s ears like the sound of the desert wolves which howled at the silver moon when it was at its fullest.

Towards them galloped a clutch of four horses, and as Eleni watched, one of them broke free and surged forwards like a black stream of oil gushing out of the arid sand. For a moment, she stood there, transfixed—for this was as beautiful and as reckless a piece of riding as she had ever witnessed.

Illuminated by the orange gold of the dying sun, a colossus of a man could be seen, with an ebony stallion between his thighs as he urged it on with a joyful shout. The man’s bare head was as dark as the horse he rode and his skin gleamed like some bright and burnished metal. Robes of pure silk clung to the hard sinews of his body and as he approached Eleni could see a face so forbidding that some deep-rooted fear made her wonder if he had the power to turn to dust all those who stood before him.

And a face so inherently beautiful that it was as if all the desert flowers had bloomed at once.

It was then that Eleni understood the full and daunting truth. Her father’s bragging had been true for riding towards their humble abode was indeed Prince Kaliq Al’Farisi. Kaliq the daredevil, the lover of women, the playboy, the gambler and irresponsible twin son of Prince Ashraf. The man, it was said, could make women moan with pleasure simply by looking at them.

She had not seen him since she was a young girl in the crowds watching the royal family pass by. Back then, he had been doing his military service and wearing the uniform of the Calistan Navy. And back then he had been an arresting young man—barely in his twenties. But now—a decade and a half on—he was at the most magnificent peak of his manhood, with a raw and beautiful masculinity which seemed to shimmer from his muscular frame.

‘By the wolves that howl!’ Eleni whimpered, and ran inside the house.

‘Highness!’ simpered Gamal, and as the Prince’s horse entered the battered gates he bent as low as his creaking bones would allow.

Kaliq dismounted with the same speed and grace as he would remove himself from the body of a woman he had just made love to. Jumping to the ground, his riding boots dusty beneath the fine, flowing robes which denoted his high status, he glanced around him, making no attempt to hide the faint curve of his lips as he took in his surroundings.

It was as he had thought—a hovel of a place! Lowly and rough—but a place which promised him something which he hungered for. Indeed, his heart’s delight. His gaze flickered over the stable door before returning to the grovelling figure before him.

‘Get up, Lakis,’ he ordered.

Gamal obeyed, rubbing at his back and wincing slightly. ‘May I say how honoured am I to have the most venerable prince partake of my—’

‘Cut the smarm,’ snapped Kaliq, with the arrogance he had learned at one of the many international schools he had attended. An arrogance which had been necessary to protect him from the greed and ambition of those who craved royal patronage. His eyes glittered as he tempered his curt reply with the silken charm which his sister Yasmine complained could lure the birds from the trees.

‘I have not come for your craven admiration, Lakis,’ he admonished softly. ‘But to play cards with a man—and this I have on good authority—a man who is unbeatable at cards. Are you that man, I wonder?’

Gamal smirked and puffed up his chest. ‘It has been said, Highness.’

Kaliq drummed an impatient finger on his riding crop. Was the fool not aware that a commoner should never boast of superiority to a royal prince? Idly, he tossed the crop to one of his bodyguards, who was only now just climbing down from his horse and looking a little shamefaced.

‘We shall see how unbeatable you are,’ Kaliq said carelessly. ‘And I am in the mood for good sport tonight—but first I wish to drink. Do you have nothing to offer to quench the parched throats of these travellers, Lakis—for we have ridden long and ridden hard across the desert from our royal palaces?’

‘Oh, forgive me, Highness, forgive me,’ stumbled Gamal. ‘You will please enter my humble abode and anything you desire shall be brought to you.’

The smoke-filled salon was lit by oil-lamps with a bright, spotlight glare over the poker table and Kaliq dipped his head as he entered the room, noting that one of his bodyguards had slipped in before him. The faint scent of incense mingled with the smell of tobacco and the deep voices grew silent as the assembled men sprang instantly to their feet.

Kaliq’s smile was wolfish as he waved at them to resume their seats. For wasn’t the number one rule of defeating the opposition to first give them a false sense of security? ‘No, no. Tonight you do not stand on ceremony; tonight we are as equals,’ he instructed softly. ‘For the cards cannot be played properly if one insists on hierarchy. Tonight I am not a prince of your land—I am simply a man, just like you, Lakis.’

Standing just outside the door and summoning up the courage to enter the room, Eleni wondered if her father knew what he was up against. Because as she listened to the prince’s drawled statement, it somehow didn’t ring quite true. As if this powerful prince would ever desire that these ruffians should be his equal!

‘Eleni!’

She was just about to call, ‘Yes, Papa,’ when she heard his next words.

‘My servant girl will bring us food and drink! Eleni—come now!’

In spite of her nerves, Eleni almost smiled. How wily her father was. Not only was he elevating his status in front of the prince by bringing in an extra, female servant—but by using his daughter he would guarantee absolute discretion. As well as not having to pay her anything!

Sucking in a deep breath, Eleni entered the room, keeping her eyes down and resisting the terrible overwhelming instinct which made her long to look at the prince again, which wasn’t easy since servants were never permitted eye-contact with a member of the ruling family of Calista. She knew too that protocol demanded she make a deep curtsey—not something she was used to doing.

‘Your Highness,’ she said softly, and, bending one knee behind the other, she made a sweeping kind of bow—glad that all her years of riding had given her a certain grace. ‘What does my master request that I should bring to his honoured guest?’ she added quietly.

Kaliq glanced over at her, his antennae automatically alerted by the sound of a woman’s voice. It was soft and soothing, he thought—like cool, running water running through this oppressive and stuffy room. And it was curiously fluent for a servant. His eyes narrowed, but he could not see whether she was plain or beautiful.

Her head was covered with a veil and the clothes she wore were drab and concealing—and while they were entirely appropriate for a woman of her class and status, he would have preferred to feast his eyes on something attractive. Some buxom young thing with her breasts half spilling out, who would pleasure him with the yearning in her eyes!

‘A drink,’ he ordered curtly, forcing his thoughts away from the subject because he was here tonight to play cards—not to lose himself in the delights of a woman.

‘You will drink some Zelyoniy with us?’ questioned Gamal hopefully.

Kaliq suppressed a shudder. As if he could bring himself to drink Zelyoniy! The potent green spirit made from cactus plants was banned in most of the country, though he knew that its use was still widespread in the rougher regions. But might it not assist his game if his partners were partial to hard liqueur? ‘Not for me,’ he answered silkily. ‘But the rest of you must drink what pleases you. Bring me pomegranate juice instead,’ he told the servant girl.

‘At once, Highness,’ said Eleni, and hurried off.

Kaliq leaned back in his chair as the dealer opened the new pack of cards and a familiar excitement began to steal over his skin. He wanted to win, yes, because he loved winning—but more important than victory was the risk involved. He shouldn’t really be here, associating with these low-life racehorse breeders and trainers—but that, of course, only added to the evening’s appeal. The sense of the unknown, the forbidden and the elicit.

Because sometimes Kaliq grew bored with his privileged life—a life which took him to cities all over the Western world. Cities where he could slip easily into the role of the playboy sheikh—as the international newspapers were so fond of calling him. Impossibly rich from the wealth of his country’s diamond mines, he could have anything he wanted—and mostly he did.

But sometimes he wanted harsh contrast and that was what brought him to places like this. Where the hardships and toughness of desert life made the fleshpots of Europe fade into insignificance. As the cards began to be dealt around the table Kaliq felt the familiar thrill of expectation.

‘You will take food, Highness?’

Kaliq glanced up. The servant girl was standing before him and putting a goblet of pomegranate juice before him. He shook his dark head impatiently. As if he would eat with people such as these!

‘No. I have no appetite for food.’ And then he glanced at the drink. ‘But my thirst is great. Taste it,’ he instructed the girl.

Eleni’s heart raced in confusion. Surely the prince did not intend her to drink from his glass? ‘But—’

‘I said, taste it,’ he repeated softly. ‘Or I will begin to worry that you are trying to poison me.’

With nervous fingers Eleni lifted the heavy cup—her father’s best—to her lips and sipped at the sweet, tangy juice, the tip of her tongue automatically removing its sticky trace from her lips. How horrible for the prince to have to live with such terrible fears, she thought, her heart giving an automatic little tug of compassion. Did he have to watch his back, wherever he went, she wondered—afraid that some unknown assassin was lurking in the shadows?

Aware that his piercing black eyes were fixed on her, she felt as if she had been turned to stone. What was she supposed to do now? And how long did they have to wait to see if she had been poisoned?

‘Well?’ Kaliq shot the word out.

Eleni swallowed as she stared down at the goblet. ‘I think the drink will please you, Highness.’

‘Then give it to me,’ he ordered silkily.

At this, she was forced to lift her gaze upwards as she held the juice towards him and as Kaliq stared into her face he felt the first shimmering of astonishment. For she had green eyes—pale green and glittering! The fabled green eyes of Calista—a throwback to warriors from Persia who had briefly conquered this land and its women many centuries ago, before being defeated by one of his ancestors. Legendary eyes—rare and lovely and spoken of in the palaces and tea rooms—but he had never seen them before now.

‘By the desert storm,’ he murmured beneath his breath, a strange wild beating in his heart as he sipped some of the juice and stared into them. ‘Such beautiful eyes.’

But then the cards began to fly from the dealer’s hands and Kaliq turned his attention to the game, the servant dismissed from his mind, her eyes forgotten.

There was a lot of money at stake, but it soon became clear to Kaliq that he and Gamal were playing to a different agenda from the other men, and soon their natural aggression ensured that there were only two of them left in the game. But Gamal was drinking too much alcohol—and Kaliq knew that there was one place in the world where you could not afford to be drunk, and that was at the poker table.

As the dealer skimmed them each two cards he saw Gamal try and fail to hide his smile of triumph and Kaliq sensed that his moment was drawing near. He looked up to find that the green eyes of the servant girl were fixed on the table with a look of terror. Was she perhaps worried that her master would gamble away all his livelihood, and her job into the bargain?

Glancing down at his own cards, Kaliq leaned forward. ‘A thousand to play,’ he said softly to the soft gasp of one of the onlookers.

Gamal immediately pushed a pile of hyakim notes into the pot. ‘Three thousand,’ he croaked, licking his lips.

Kaliq leaned back in his chair, sensing the man’s greed and certainty that he was going to win and the prince smiled with the confidence of a man who held an unbeatable pair of cards in his hand. ‘You look as if you’d like to bet more, Lakis,’ he said silkily. ‘Shall we raise the stakes? I’ll allow you to make a larger bet if you wish.’

Gamal’s eyes gleamed. ‘How much?’

Kaliq shrugged. ‘Well, as you know, I have no use for money—but if you want to sweeten the pot with that Arab stallion of yours that I’ve heard so much about, then I’ll put in a million. What do you say to that, old man?’

Unable to believe what she was seeing, Eleni dropped a spoon in an attempt to bring her father to his senses but the atmosphere in the room was so tense that nobody even noticed it clattering to the ground. This was like a bad, bad dream—her drunken brute of a father threatening to use his prize stallion as a wager. Her own beloved horse and just about the only thing which kept her sane in the harsh environment in which she lived.

‘A million, you say?’ questioned Gamal greedily.

‘A million,’ agreed Kaliq.

Eleni wanted to scream at her father not to persist with this foolishness—for even she could see from the prince’s demeanour that he must hold the winning cards. But how could she possibly boldly assert herself in this company of men, and in front of their royal guest? Why, Kaliq would probably have one of his bodyguards carry her from the room and slapped into the jailhouse in Serapolis!

‘Would…would you care for another drink, Highness?’ she questioned desperately, hoping to shatter the mood with her inappropriate question.

‘Do not dare speak to me when we are engaged in play,’ snapped Kaliq.

‘Yes, yes. I’ll wager the stallion!’ butted in Gamal wildly, triumphantly slapping two kings down on the table.

Eleni bunched her fist into her mouth. ‘No!’ she whimpered, but nobody heard. She could hardly bear to watch, but it was as inevitable as watching the sun sink down over the distant mountains. Her father was going to lose, or rather, the prince was going to win—that much had been apparent from the moment he had first galloped up on his own magnificent stallion.

Slowly, Kaliq laid down his two aces—the only hand which could beat Gamal’s—and there was a collective gasp in the room. ‘My game, I think,’ he said softly.

Eleni honestly thought that she might faint, and on shaky knees she staggered to the door, not caring if it was discourteous to their royal guest to leave without being dismissed, not caring about anything—because to all intents and purposes her life was over.

She took one last look at Kaliq’s beautiful hard face and the cruel smile which curved his lips—and her fingers itched to pick up the heavy spoon she had dropped and to hurl it at his arrogant royal head. How dared he try to rob them of the one thing in their lives which brought them income and prosperity?

Half stumbling out into the now-dark night, Eleni ran to the stable block before letting herself into the stall of her beloved Nabat, who whinnied with pleased recognition when he saw her and came nuzzling around her hand for a piece of sugar.

‘Oh, Nabat,’ she whispered as she put her arms around his sleek neck and buried her face in his sweet-smelling fur. ‘Darling, darling Nabat—how will I ever be able to cope without you?’ She pulled her face back to look deep into the horse’s face, seeming to see bewilderment written in the creature’s eyes. Or was she doing that age-old thing of animal lovers and transferring her feelings onto Nabat?

This was the horse who had arrived as a long-legged young foal and even then she had seen the beauty, strength and potential inherent in the animal. But it had been an unhappy horse. She didn’t know how her father had managed to acquire the fine Arabian stallion and she hadn’t wanted to know—all she did know was that it had been badly in need of some tender loving care.

In those early days when Nabat had been fretful and rearing and baring his teeth whenever anyone went near him, it had been Eleni who had soothed him, who had taken the time to coax him to eat.

‘The animal is too highly strung!’ Gamal had complained on more than one occasion, his hand straying towards the large whip he loved to carry. ‘Maybe we should beat some manners into it!’

But Eleni had sprung to the helpless creature’s defence. ‘No, Papa!’ she had pleaded. ‘Let me try to school him for you, to settle him down so that he’s happy here.’

‘He had better be happy soon enough!’ her father had snarled. ‘Or he will find himself for sale on a kebab stand in Aquila!’

So by nights Eleni had slept in the straw at the other end of the stable—like a mother attending to a fretful newborn—and in the end she and her father had both been rewarded. For her had come the kind of unconditional love she had never been shown by a human since her mother had died. And for her father—well, he began to revel in the riches which came as a result of the horse blossoming into a soon-legendary winner of every race he was entered into.

Was that why the prince wanted him? To reap some of Nabat’s athletic glory onto his worthless and spoilt royal head?

Her arms tightened around the Arab’s neck. ‘Well, I will not leave you, Nabat,’ she said fiercely. ‘That I promise you. I’ll stow away in the very straw that transports you away from me. And when I get the opportunity, we will escape together—to find a life of peace and quiet.’

She wondered when the sheikh would come to claim his spoils. Presumably, he would need time to arrange for Nabat to be taken to the royal palace. Which gave her time to arrange how best to hide herself and the few meagre belongings she would need to take with her.

But at that moment she heard the sound of men talking—and in particular the arrogant and autocratic drawl of the sheikh’s voice carrying across the yard. And it was heading this way!

Her heart racing, she sprang away from the horse’s neck but it was too late—for the soft light of an oil-lamp spilled its light across the stable, illuminating her in its golden glow.

She could see little of the man holding the lamp—save for the hard glitter of his eyes and the pale shimmer of his silken robes—and Eleni stood there, frozen with all kinds of conflicting emotions, feeling as guilty as if she had been found in the arms of a lover.

‘You,’ said Kaliq damningly as his eyes swept over her. ‘What in the falcon’s name are you doing here?’

CHAPTER TWO

HER fears banished by the harsh reality of what was about to happen, Eleni stared at the sheikh with sheer hatred in her eyes—choking out the words as if they were sour berries.

‘I was just…just saying goodbye to my horse.’

‘Your horse?’ He stepped closer. ‘I think you forget yourself in more ways than one, girl. This is the horse I have just won from your master in a card game—and do you not curtsey when your sheikh appears before you?’

Her hurt was such that Eleni was tempted to defy him—to tell him that she would rather curtsey to a camel than curtsey to him—but what would that achieve? Because—as her father himself had boasted before he had been taken for a fool—Prince Kaliq Al’Farisi was one of the most powerful men in the whole of Calista. Why tempt the fury of a man like that?

‘Highness,’ she murmured as she sank briefly downwards.

Kaliq ran his eyes over her. There was something in her attitude which perplexed him. Something which did not quite add up. Why was a mere female servant bothered about what happened to her master’s horse?

‘Explain yourself!’ he commanded.

His voice cracked out like a whip and instinctively Eleni flinched. He was no different from her cruel father, she thought bitterly. No different from all men with their harsh and domineering ways. Did he really expect her to speak freely to him? He, who was a man and a stranger and a royal prince—especially when one of his bodyguards was hovering in the background?

‘What is it that you wish me to explain, Highness?’ Eleni questioned woodenly.

Kaliq had seen those huge eyes darting over at his bodyguard. And he remembered their alluring colour, too… As bewitching a colour as he had ever seen. ‘Be gone,’ he said, dismissing his bodyguard peremptorily.

‘But, Highness—’

Kaliq turned to the burly minder, a look of contempt curving his lips. ‘You think that I need your protection against this tiny lizard of a girl?’ he questioned, elevating his black brows in arrogant query. ‘Or perhaps you think that she needs mine?’

‘No, Highness!’

‘Quite right—for a sheikh does not concern himself with scruffy little urchins like this! So be gone,’ Kaliq repeated, with an edge of anger to his voice, and the man slipped out of the stables.

Eleni stood there, waiting for the interrogation to begin, but the sheikh was nothing if not unpredictable. Completely ignoring her, he walked over to study the horse, running his experienced eyes over the animal’s gleaming flesh and lithe limbs. Kaliq gave a slow smile of satisfaction. Up close the creature was even more magnificent than when he had seen it from a distance on the racetrack last week.

He took a step forwards but Nabat gave a nervous whinny and jerked back into the corner. Anxiously, Eleni watched and waited to see whether the prince would show the same dominance and aggression as he had exhibited at the poker table, but to her surprise he did not. Instead, he turned around and subjected her to a long, slow scrutiny which suddenly made her feel very peculiar indeed. No man had ever looked at her in such a way before. And no man should, she thought weakly, wondering what had caused her heart to pound so distractingly, or her skin to tingle and glow.

‘Stroke the horse,’ he instructed.

‘But—’

‘Do not question me,’ he cut in icily. ‘Never question the sheikh—did they not teach you that in school, girl?’

Of course they did. Basic instruction in protocol was part of the Calistan history course and taught in every village school in the country. And these days even lowly servants went to school—by order of Queen Anya, who had overhauled the outdated system and insisted that every child in the land should have the opportunity to acquire a rudimentary education.

But, unsurprisingly, Eleni’s history lessons had not included a section on how a lowly commoner should behave when she was alone in a stable with a sheikh! And not just any sheikh, either—but the arrogant playboy who was about to take from her the only thing in the world which she had ever truly loved.

‘Forgive me, Highness,’ she said unconvincingly.

Kaliq’s eyes glinted. In his thirty-six years he had heard enough variations on deference to know that such respect was distinctly lacking in this girl’s attitude. In fact, her whole manner simmered with a kind of suppressed anger. How dared she? And what lay behind such intolerable insolence?

‘Stroke the horse,’ he repeated silkily.

This time she could not refuse him. Eleni approached Nabat, who immediately came trotting out from the corner, making little snorting sounds of delight as he began to nuzzle at her hand for sugar. And the warmth of his dear breath on her fingers was enough to dispel Eleni’s nerves and for her to momentarily forget where she was, and with whom.

‘No, no, my sweet!’ she laughed. ‘I have no treat for you today!’ She heard the intake of the sheikh’s breath and she looked up to find him watching her as a snake might fix its eyes on the charmer.

‘Who are you?’ he questioned slowly.

‘My name…is Eleni.’

He shook his head impatiently. ‘Your name is of no interest to me.’ Staring deep into her distractingly beautiful eyes, he lowered his voice. ‘I want to know why you are so familiar with a creature of such value as this.’

‘Because…’ Eleni bit her lip. She could see the hard and forbidding lines of his face and her heart sank. What a fool she was. Did she really think that she would have been able to stow away and be smuggled into the royal stables in order to be near her beloved horse? Couldn’t she imagine how formidable this man’s anger would be when he discovered her, as discover her he inevitably would?

No. So could she not risk telling him the truth?

‘Because I have cared for this horse since he first came to these stables!’ she declared. ‘When Nabat was little more than a badly treated young foal!’

‘Nabat?’

‘The stallion’s name. It means sweetness—like the pieces of yellow sugar you crush between your fingers on market day. He answers to that,’ she added stubbornly.

‘Go on,’ said Kaliq in an odd kind of voice.

‘I washed and brushed him and coaxed him to take food from my hand. It was I who first mounted him bareback,’ she said, a strange warmth glowing in her heart as she remembered that glorious day when she had ridden him around the yard. ‘And I who first put the saddle on his back.’ Eleni swallowed. ‘At first he did not like it—this is a breed of horse who instinctively wishes to be free. But, gradually, he allowed himself to become comfortable with it. And I…I—’

At this, her voice broke as she tried to imagine a world without Nabat and suddenly all restraint left her as she forgot the rank of the dark-eyed man who stood before her. ‘I love this creature,’ she whispered, and her heart ached so much that she completely disregarded the first tear which slid slowly down her cheek.

But Kaliq stared at her incredulously. A servant daring to show emotion in front of her sheikh! How dared she? ‘Dry your eyes,’ he ordered harshly, steeling his heart to the sparkle of tears which made her eyes look so huge and so brilliantly green. ‘And then answer my question as I wish it to be answered!’

‘But I just have,’ objected Eleni as she swiftly wiped the rogue tears away.

‘No,’ he said witheringly. ‘You have not. You have failed to satisfy my curiosity to know why you, a poor and humble servant girl who waits on the table of drunken gamblers, should be given access to care for such a valuable commodity.’

She wanted to tell him that Nabat was not a commodity but she sensed that such an indulgence would add fuel to an anger which was already growing more ominous by the minute. He wanted the truth, did he? Then very well—she would give it to him in pure and unvarnished form.

‘Because I am not a poor and humble servant girl, Your Highness.’ Eleni sucked in a deep breath. ‘I am actually the daughter of your host, Gamal.’

His daughter? Kaliq’s jaw tightened with disbelief. ‘So what was that charade I have just witnessed in there with you waiting on me?’ he demanded, his eyes searing over her with scorn. ‘And did you dress dowdily to make yourself look like a servant?’

Eleni said nothing for she would rather die than admit these were her normal clothes.

‘Did you beg your father for the privilege of waiting on one such as your sheikh?’ he queried arrogantly. ‘Did you wish to feast your eyes on a true man for once?’

Never in all her days had Eleni heard such an outrageous example of self-love. And no matter what his position in society—he had no right to cast doubts on her integrity and her purity as a woman.

‘No, Highness, I did not,’ she replied, staring angrily at the ground. ‘For such behaviour would not be fitting.’

‘Then why?’

‘Because—’

‘Look at me!’ he demanded. ‘When you speak to me.’

Slowly, she lifted her eyes, feeling as if she were struggling to free herself from a heavy weight which had been pressing down on her—for how could you suddenly abandon a lifetime’s teaching in one instant? To abandon the demureness which was drummed into every female and to stare into the face of one of the mightiest and most daunting in the land. But what choice did she have? ‘As you wish, Your Highness,’ she said reluctantly.

Kaliq found himself sucking in a deep breath as she obeyed him. He would never normally have told a woman to look at him and particularly not a woman such as this, but wasn’t there some inexplicable and insistent yearning to grant himself one more look at those incredible eyes? Like a man who had been given a fleeting glimpse of paradise and wanted reassurance that he had not simply imagined it…

He expelled the breath from a throat which suddenly felt dry and scorched as the light from the lamp illuminated the glittering eyes. They were the most remarkable hue he had ever seen—pale green as the strange colour which streaked the arctic skies and which were called the Northern Lights.

‘Explain to me your motives for pretending to be Gamal’s servant instead of his daughter,’ he said, and for a moment his voice was almost kind.

There was a pause. Their lives were so different—would he understand, even if she attempted to explain? ‘We do not keep many servants,’ admitted Eleni shamefacedly—for was not a family’s worth assessed by the volume of staff they employed?

‘Oh? And why is that?’

Was he deliberately wishing to make her squirm? Couldn’t he work out the reason for himself without her having to draw the words on the sand for him? What a cruel and arrogant man he was. ‘It is a question of finance, Highness,’ she said proudly.

‘Is it now?’ Kaliq wondered softly as he looked around him. Although in need of work and renovation, the stables were a good size, as was the living accommodation. He suspected that there had once been money enough for servants, but that Gamal had drunk and gambled most of it away.

He moved a step closer towards her and Eleni was suddenly aware of the raw and potent aura of his masculinity and her heart began to thunder with fear, and with something else, too—something terrifying and unrecognisable.

‘So what are you doing here?’ he questioned. ‘Why did I find you with your arms around my horse, and looking so guilty?’

It almost broke Eleni’s heart to hear that drawled and possessive question. My horse, he had said—and he spoke nothing but the truth. For Nabat was his horse—given up as a prize in a common game of poker! And soon he would be gone to a life of luxury in one of the royal stables and she would never see him again. Couldn’t he—even if he had a lump of stone for a heart—guess how much she was hurting at the thought of having to say goodbye to the only thing in the world that she loved?

The words burst out of her mouth as if she had no control over them. ‘I could not bear the thought of being without my…your horse,’ she corrected painfully. ‘And so I concocted a plan to ensure that I wouldn’t need to be.’

At this, Kaliq’s lips curved into an indulgent smile. ‘Oh? And do you want to tell me what your plan is, little lizard?’

She hated his sardonic tone, the mocking expression in those dark and glittering eyes, and she hated the way he had looked her up and down, as if she were some invisible lump of rags.

‘I was going to hide myself away—so that when you came to take him away, you would have to take me, as well,’ she told him, her brittle words daring him to taunt her, but to her surprise he did not—merely narrowed his eyes in thought as if she had said something entirely unexpected.

‘You do not think that you would have been discovered? That one of the palace guards would not have found you out and driven a sword through your heart, thinking that you might be about to make an assassination attempt on my life?’

She remembered him making her taste his juice in case it was poisoned and once again Eleni thought that, for all his wealth and power and status, his must be a very lonely and frightening position to be in sometimes.

‘I was not thinking of myself,’ she answered.

‘No. I can see that.’ He raised his hand to rake his fingers through his thick black hair and once again the horse gave a nervous whinny.

‘He doesn’t like men,’ said Eleni helpfully.

‘He will soon learn to like them.’

Eleni thought that he meant to use the whip, as her father had threatened to do so often. ‘And he doesn’t respond well to harsh treatment, either!’ she defended.

For a moment, Kaliq almost smiled. Standing there in her plain and dowdy clothes—barely higher than his chest—she nonetheless made him admire her courage. Few would have spoken to him with such candour and such passion unless it concerned wealth or ambition.

‘Horses are like women,’ he said softly. ‘And neither respond well to harsh treatment.’

And to Eleni’s horror she began to blush—from where her veil touched her scalp, all the way down to the tips of her toes. Not that blushing was a crime and nor was there anything in the protocol books which suggested that it might be discourteous, but to blush as a result of such a statement made it look…look…as if she were imagining how she would respond to the sheikh as a woman! And wasn’t she? Wasn’t she?

Now Kaliq did smile. ‘Do not worry, little lizard,’ he drawled. ‘You will be perfectly safe with me.’

The meaning behind his words was abundantly clear—even to someone of Eleni’s inexperience of the ways of men. Of course she—a humble girl from the country—would be safe from the attentions of the powerful and experienced sheikh. She would not have expected anything else. Yet stupidly and unexpectedly, it hurt—that he should be so openly dismissive of her. As if he would sooner cavort with one of the desert ravens than entertain the thought of being with a scruffy servant girl.

But Eleni forced herself to put such idle musings out of her mind. She suspected that he was mulling something over in his mind—something to do with Nabat, and perhaps to do with her, too. And something which she had thought had died many years ago began to flicker into life.

Hope.

Instinct told her to remain silent—as if her words might shatter possibility as she waited for the sheikh to speak.

‘You have nurtured the horse,’ observed Kaliq slowly.

‘Yes, Highness.’

‘He knows you and responds well to you.’

‘Yes, Highness.’

‘And how do you think he’ll behave without you?’

She was tempted to embellish and paint a dramatic picture of how Nabat would play up without his mistress—but Eleni realised that she didn’t have to do anything except speak the truth.

‘He will hate it, Highness.’

‘He will go off his food, you mean? Pine?’

‘Yes, Highness.’

‘Like a lovesick fool?’ he scorned.

Briefly, her eyelids shuttered her eyes before she remembered his command and lifted her gaze to his face. ‘I wouldn’t know about that, Highness.’

‘You think perhaps that he will die without you, little lizard?’

She wished he wouldn’t call her that—just as she wished that she could make herself sound completely indispensable. But that would be a lie and she guessed he would see right through it.

‘No, Highness,’ she said softly. ‘I do not, for the desire to live overpowers everything—indeed, it is the strongest force in all the world.’ She wondered why his hard face had suddenly tightened into a harsh mask and she rushed on, afraid that she had somehow angered him but still determined to state her case. ‘The horse will not die but he will be miserable without me, and a miserable horse does not win races.’

He nodded. ‘So what do you suggest as a solution for this particular problem?’

It was strange how fear could give you courage. Or maybe not so strange at all when you considered that Nabat was her only friend in the world. ‘The only solution you have, Highness,’ she said boldly. ‘You take me with you.’

It would have been almost funny if it had not been so preposterous. ‘You? A tiny upstart of a girl? Why, your mother would never forgive me.’

There was a pause. Her gaze flew to a zig-zag of hay which lay on the stable floor and she stared at it with fierce concentration. ‘But I have no mother, Highness.’

At this, Kaliq stilled—for was there not a more brutal and defining bond than the loss of a mother? He had been just nine when his own mother had died giving birth to his brother Zafir, and that first and terrible loss had seemed to bring tragedy in its wake for Kaliq and his twin brother. His mouth hardened.

‘What happened?’ he questioned softly.

Eleni shrugged her shoulders as if she was trying to shrug away the intrusive question. It was funny—you could tell yourself that you had come to terms with something which had happened years ago, but still that rogue little edge of abandonment could make your heart catch with pain. ‘My mother died,’ she said woodenly.

Kaliq’s eyes narrowed. ‘Died of what—a desert fever?’

‘I don’t believe so, Highness.’

‘Then what?’

Eleni hesitated. He was very persistent—but when had anyone last shown this kind of interest in her? Come to think of it—when had anyone last bothered to mention her green-eyed mother who had found it so difficult to adapt to married life? Her father certainly never did—he had obliterated her from his memory, and, even if he hadn’t exactly banned the use of her name in the Gamal house, Eleni didn’t dare to speak it for fear of his reaction.

‘My father was displeased with his dinner,’ Eleni began, vaguely recalling the noise and the drunken shouts and the mess of lentils splattered all over the floor. ‘He sent my mother to market to buy a chicken and on the way back she stumbled, and fell.’ Eleni swallowed. ‘They think that she was bitten by a snake—but by the time they found her, she was dead and the vultures had long taken away the chicken.’

By the muscular shafts of his thighs, Kaliq’s hands clenched into two tight fists. He had been accused by women of having not a shred of compassion in his hard body but for once he found himself touched by this urchin’s plight. ‘And how old were you?’ he demanded.

‘I was…ten.’

Ten? Almost the same age as he had been when his mother died in childbirth. Kaliq turned away from her troubled and trembling face, unwilling to acknowledge another fierce spear of recognition which burned through him—because some things were better buried away, deep in the dark recesses of memory. Royal and commoner—united by a strange bond. Each and every one of them had their burdens, he recognised bitterly—it was just that some were darker than others. With an efficiency born out of years of practice, he pushed his thoughts away.

Logic told him to dismiss this motherless little stable girl with a curse in her ear for her presumptuousness. As if she would have any place in his stables!

And yet undoubtedly she spoke the truth about the horse. Would he not perform better if she were taken along, too? Would not it be infinitely more preferable to spare his stable staff the trouble of having to break in a highly strung horse who might still sulk and refuse to race properly?

He turned back—seeing that this time she had not dropped her gaze, but was meeting his with a steady question in her eyes. The little lizard grew brave for the love of her horse! ‘Your father will miss you,’ he commented.

‘Yes, Highness.’

He observed her involuntary wince at an observation he suspected was untrue, but noted that she did not blacken the man’s name. So she was loyal, too. That was good. In fact, it was a quality he required above all others. He guessed that her drunken oaf of a father was unkind and worthless, but he also suspected that there would be no real role for the girl now that his most precious asset had been gambled away. And what would she do in the horse’s absence? Continue to care and to wait on him and his useless friends until her youth had fled and she was a wizened old crone?

‘You wish to come with me? As my stable girl?’

Eleni stared at him, scarcely able to believe what he was saying. Her heart was beating so loud that it seemed to fill the stable. ‘Oh, yes, please, Highness,’ she whispered urgently, and dropped her gaze to the ground once more, ‘Please, yes!’

‘Then I want you to look at me at all times when I’m talking to you,’ he told her harshly.

‘But…’

‘If you’re going to be working for me, then you will be treated just the same as the stable boys. Sometimes if a horse is troubled then it is necessary to communicate silently—through eye-contact. And in any case, I don’t like having a conversation with the top of someone’s head—is that understood?’

‘Yes, Highness.’

Kaliq’s mind began to skate over the practicalities of such a step. Would such a decision to bring a woman back with him excite comment in the fevered courtrooms of the royal palaces? Very probably—but didn’t he thrive on his maverick reputation? He gave a brief, hard smile as he called out for his bodyguard, who slipped into the stable with the stealth and speed of dark light. ‘We are taking this girl with us,’ Kaliq said.

The man’s face remained impassive. ‘We are, Highness?’

‘She is to be my stable girl—with sole responsibility for the new stallion. Arrange a price with her father,’ ordered Kaliq. ‘Whatever you think she is worth. And then bring her to my royal palace.’

He swept from the stable in a shimmer of silken robes, without another glance or word in her direction, and once again Eleni bit her lip—this time to keep the useless shimmer of tears away from the hostile glance of his bodyguard.

Because, yes, in a way—the royal sheikh had come to her rescue. She would not need to be parted from her beloved Nabat after all, and she would be free of this dark and dingy world in which she had existed ever since her mother had died.

But let it never be forgotten that Prince Kaliq Al’Farisi had just ordered his bodyguard to buy her—as if she were a sack of chickpeas on sale at Serapolis market!

CHAPTER THREE

‘BY THE desert’s storm!’ murmured Eleni with a sense of wonder as she gently drew the horse to a halt. Her arduous journey over the inhospitable desert terrain was forgotten as she gazed up at Prince Kaliq’s magnificent palace—easily visible from the magnificent stable block where she had been taken and which was to be her new home.

She still couldn’t quite believe she was here—that her father had let her go so easily. He had simply shrugged his shoulders when she’d gone to say goodbye.

‘You are just like your mother.’ He had scowled. ‘I shan’t miss you.’ Then he had spat a piece of tobacco onto the ground and Eleni had shuddered. She suspected that he would miss her more than he anticipated—and wondered how he would feel about having to pay someone to cater to his every whim. The sheikh must have given him a princely sum, Eleni realised—for her father to accept her leaving the family home without trying to give her a beating.

And now she had a new home. A sheikh’s palace—surrounded by gardens of unbelievable splendour which seemed to make a mockery of the harsh desert which lay outside its high walls. Again, Eleni shook her head in wonder.

‘It’s so beautiful,’ she blurted out.

‘Indeed, it is famed for its loveliness,’ agreed the bodyguard, who had accompanied her on the long ride from her father’s home. ‘Sometimes the people arrive at the gate to pay homage to His Highness—they leave flowers for him and sweetmeats, too. And naturally the women come—to gaze upon his face.’ He turned to Eleni. ‘You have never seen the prince’s home before?’

‘No, never,’ Eleni said shyly as she dismounted Nabat and stroked his gleaming flank.

She had seen the main Calistan palace of course—in its strategic position which overlooked the busy Port of Aquila. She remembered her mother taking her there once on Flag Day—which was Calista’s biggest national holiday.

And what a bright and colourful day it had been—just the two of them—and the last such trip before her mother’s death. Maybe that was why it was etched for ever in Eleni’s memory.

The streets had been bursting with throngs of people who had flocked from all over Calista—all waving their flags and eager to see the royal procession as it passed through. To a young girl who was a stranger to the city, Eleni had been excited for days beforehand.

She had worn her best tunic with the matching trousers which Calistan women of all ages wore, and her long, thick hair had been woven with a pale green ribbon the same colour as her eyes. Beneath the wide, shady canopy of the date-trees which lined the route, her mother had given her sugared almonds and dried melon to eat. They had drunk the sweet juice of pomegranates while one of the court performers had sung the Destan, which was an epic poem sung in honour of the royal family.

As the coaches had gone by, Eleni remembered thinking how serene Queen Anya looked—and what a wonderful woman she must have been to have taken on Sheikh Ashraf’s seven motherless children. Seven! Imagine that. And she remembered her eyes being drawn to the ruggedly handsome Kaliq and wondering why his twin brother Aarif was nowhere to be seen.

Now she stared at the blue and golden palace which glittered in the afternoon sun with a faint sense of disbelief clinging to her skin. Who would ever have thought that she—Eleni Lakis—would one day stand in front of that same Kaliq’s home, employed as his stable girl! That his home was to be her home?

‘You will be shown to your quarters,’ said the bodyguard, but Eleni shook her head.

‘Thank you, but that must come later. First, I must settle Nabat into his new home.’

‘One of the lads will do that for you.’

‘No.’ Eleni shook her head firmly. She was aware of her responsibilities and aware too of how important it was for her to remain valuable to the sheikh. Because what would happen if she displeased him? Might he not send her packing straight back to her father?

She shuddered. Surely he would not do that. Hadn’t she sensed that the sheikh understood her relief to be away from the repressive and limited future which had lain ahead of her—or was that just wishful thinking on her part? No matter. She must now show him that he had made a wise decision to bring her here with him. She would be loyal. She would work her fingers to the bone. Up at first light and last to bed—she would make herself so indispensable that the sheikh would wonder how he had ever managed to run a successful stable without her!

‘I must do it myself,’ she said stubbornly.

The bodyguard shrugged. ‘Then I will return in half an hour with a female servant who will show you to your quarters.’

But Eleni barely noticed him go as her eyes drank in the royal stable complex. Here was everything a horse could possibly want—comfort, space and security—and for the first time she appreciated what a wonderful time Nabat was going to have.

Hosing him down until he was good and wet, she scraped him off, then gave him some hay and a drink. She was just putting a rug on his back when she heard the sound of footfall behind her and some instinct made her turn round and a strange shiver whispered its way over her skin when she saw just who stood there.

It was Kaliq.

He was standing in the doorway, the illumination of the magnificent sky behind him throwing his tall figure into silhouette. But the dark outline only seemed to emphasise his muscular physique and dominating presence—as vibrant and as powerful as the stallion itself.

A strange tremble began to whisper its way over her skin and her heart began to pound in that way which made Eleni feel very slightly faint. She wanted to seek sanctity from that blazing black gaze by looking at the ground as she had been taught over a lifetime of lessons in modesty and subservience. Yet had not the sheikh himself forbidden her to do that?

Ignoring the girl completely, Kaliq stood staring at the horse, just admiring the sheer magnificence of his latest acquisition until something untoward caught his eye. His lips curving with distaste, he walked over to the horse and lifted a corner of the worn rug which lay over the animal’s back. ‘What is this?’ he questioned acidly.

‘A rug, Highness,’ said Eleni helpfully. ‘I brought it with me. I always cover Nabat’s back with straw after I’ve hosed him down and then put this rug straight on top—you can see I have punched holes in it, so that the excess water can escape during the night. It is an excellent method of keeping the horse comfortable and dry.’

Kaliq was now staring at her in disbelief. ‘You mean, that you’ve brought this filthy old blanket with you all the way from your father’s house?’ he demanded.

She willed herself not to react to the insult. ‘Yes, Highness.’

‘But what about your clothes? Your belongings?’

‘They’re in that holdall over there,’ she said, pointing.

He scowled at the modestly sized and threadbare carpet-bag which was sitting on the straw. ‘And that’s all you’ve brought?’

‘Yes.’ Shamefully, Eleni felt a blush begin to stain her cheeks.

‘But you’re supposed to be here for good!’ he exploded. ‘Not for an overnight stay!’

‘There is no problem—I can wash my clothes out by hand every night, Highness. It is what I am used to.’

The irony did not escape him. One moment she was modestly looking at the ground—and yet now she was telling her prince about washing out her most intimate garments! Kaliq felt a slow rage begin to simmer in his blood—and not simply because she had been insubordinate. No, because that flush of pink to her cheeks had made her eyes look as green as pistachios and as bright as new leaves—and, unwittingly and inappropriately, he could feel the sudden hot stir of lust at his groin.

It was a familiar ache. An appetite which demanded to be fed. Desire could sometimes be all the more powerful when it was indiscriminate—and Kaliq was a highly sexed man.

Part of him wanted to throw her down onto the straw and have done with it. For there was no surer way of losing desire for a woman than to take your fill of her. But he sensed that Eleni might be slow to realise that her duty was to please her sheikh in every aspect that he demanded. His mouth curved into a smile. She would soon learn.

‘You may be a stable girl with nothing in the way of social engagements—but you are also a representative of the royal house of Al’Farisi,’ he bit out as he forced his mind away from the hard ache at his groin. ‘And as such—you will not be dressed in rags and looking like a scullery girl! Is that understood?’ ‘Y-yes, Highness.’

He clapped his hands and a young, veiled servant appeared from the shadows. ‘This is Amina,’ he said briefly. ‘She will settle you in and ensure that you have something suitable to wear.’

Pleased that his irritation seemed to have disappeared, Eleni gave an obedient nod. ‘Thank you, Highness.’

His black eyes raked over her critically. ‘And make sure you wash that straw out of your hair.’

Her cheeks still stinging, Eleni dropped to a deep curtsey but he had already swept out and her heart began to pound nervously. Didn’t he realise how formidable he could be? How an inexperienced young woman could be daunted by the powerful mix of man and majesty?

Her fingers flew nervously to her hair. Did she really look such a fright, then? And she wasn’t quite sure how she was supposed to judge. Appearance had never been number one on Eleni’s list of priorities—there simply hadn’t been the time, quite apart from anything else.

Amina led the way through the back of the palace and even though Eleni knew that these were the servants’ quarters—it was still a brand-new experience for her. She could not imagine finding a scorpion here—or having to boot a rogue rat away from the back door.

And when at last Amina opened a door and indicated that Eleni should precede her, she thought that there must have been some kind of oversight.

‘What…what is this?’ she stumbled.

‘This is your room,’ said Amina, but Eleni shook her head and did not move.

‘There must be some kind of mistake,’ she told Amina as she took in the wide divan, the cool tiled floors and the intricate lamps which hung from the ceiling. Unshuttered windows looked out onto a serene rectangle of water where a fountain played soft, soothing music. It was like an illustration from one of those poetry books she used to read in school. The ones which used to send her off into an unachievable world of longing. Eleni swallowed. ‘These can’t be my quarters.’

Amina nodded. ‘But they are.’

‘And will I have to share the bed and the room with another servant?’

‘No, Eleni,’ said Amina gently. ‘You are in the royal palace now and that means you are to have your own room.’

Eleni’s heart beat faster with a kind of puzzled fear. ‘But…but I am just his stable girl!’

Amina’s expression remained closed. ‘My role here is simply to obey instructions, not to question them,’ she said. ‘And since the sheikh values his horses more highly than diamonds themselves—those who tend them are also highly valued.’

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