The Royal House of Karedes: The Desert Throne: Tamed: The Barbarian King / Forbidden: The Sheikh's Virgin / Scandal: His Majesty's Love-Child

She’d slept against his shoulder on the helicopter journey from the desert. He could still feel her, somehow still smell her intoxicating scent of oranges and cloves against his body, though he’d showered and changed out of his clothes and into white robes at the royal palace.

The moment he’d set foot back at the palace, he’d wanted to take her to his bedchamber; but she’d demurred, glancing at the endless secretaries and assistants waiting for him in the hallways. “Later,” she’d whispered, and with a sigh, he’d let her go. He’d told himself he’d be able to cut his meetings short and return soon to her little room in the servants’ wing.

That was ten hours ago. His elderly vizier, Akmal Al’Sayr, was still tearing his beard out at the days Kareef had missed. It seemed even being lost and halfpresumed dead in the desert wasn’t enough to excuse a monarch from his duty.

It was now twilight, and he hadn’t seen Jasmine since they’d arrived at the palace. His entire day had been wasted. A day devoted to cold duty in a palace full of hidden corridors and sly whispers of gossip.

His hands tightened. He hated all this secrecy. He had to convince her to give up the marriage. He would smooth things over with Hajjar somehow. Once she agreed to call off her wedding, Kareef would be willing to divorce her. When she agreed to be his longterm mistress.

How could my parents ever hold up their heads in the street, if I let myself be branded as your whore?

The word made him flinch. No. Damn it, no! If any man dared insult her, Kareef would throw him into the Byzantine dungeon beneath the palace. He would exile him to the desert without food or water. He would—

You would kill your own subjects for speaking the truth? He heard the echo of Jasmine’s whisper in the cave. Let me go. Set me free.

Clenching his jaw, he pushed the thought firmly from his mind. He would keep her as long as he desired her—whether that took ten years or fifty. He was young yet, only thirty-one. He would keep her for himself, and put off his own marriage as long as he could.

He quickened his pace down the hall, growling at any servant who dared to look his way.

Was Jasmine awake yet? he wondered. Was she naked beneath the sheets, with her dark hair mussed across the pillow? He felt rock-hard, aching for her. He went faster, almost breaking into a run.

“Sire, a word?”

In the hallway near the royal offices, he saw his vizier hovering in the doorway.

“Later,” he ground out, not stopping.

“Of course, my king,” the vizier said silkily. “I just wanted you to know I’ve begun negotiations for your marriage. You needn’t worry about it. I will present your bride to you in a few weeks.”

Stopping dead in the hallway, Kareef whirled into the reception room and closed the door behind them.

“You will arrange nothing,” he said coldly. “I have no interest in marriage.”

“But sire, these things take time. And you are not getting any younger…”

“I’m thirty-one!”

“After all the chaos caused by your cousin’s abdication, your subjects need the comfort and security of seeing the line of succession continue. A royal wedding. A royal family.” He pulled on his graying beard. “It might be difficult to find the right bride, a young virgin with the correct lineage and a perfect, unsullied reputation—”

“Why must she be a virgin?” Kareef demanded.

“So no one can ever doubt that your children are yours,” he replied, sounding surprised. “You must have an undisputed heir.”

Kareef clenched his jaw. “You will not negotiate a bride for me. I forbid it.”

The vizier returned his look with gleaming, canny eyes. “Because your interests are elsewhere?”

Kareef looked at him narrowly, wondering how much he already knew. The vizier’s spies were everywhere. He cared so obsessively about the security of the country, personal privacy meant nothing to the man. “What do you mean?”

His dark eyes affixed on Kareef. “It would be a grave mistake to insult Umar Hajjar, my king,” he said quietly. “I’ve heard he is returning from Paris tonight.”

Paris. So Kareef’s suspicions had been right. Hajjar had been spending time with his French mistress.

And Kareef was expected to give up Jasmine to a man who did not even care enough to be loyal to her?

Too angry to be fair, he clenched his hands. “I have no intention of insulting Hajjar. He is my friend. He saved my life.”

“Yes. Quite.” The older man cleared his throat. “The royal banquet begins soon, sire. Ambassadors and foreign princes have come from all over the world to celebrate your impending coronation. You will not wish to be late.”

Kareef ground his teeth. Making small talk with people he didn’t care about? “I will attend in my own time.”

The vizier tugged his beard. “It’s just a pity you don’t have your future bride on your arm for such a social event,” he sighed, then brightened. “Princess Lara du Plessis is attending with her father. She is a possibility as well. She’s very beautiful—”

“No marriage,” Kareef barked out. His mind already on Jasmine, he turned to go.

“You will find her in the royal garden,” the vizier called sourly behind him. “Where she does not deserve to be.”

Kareef whirled to face him.

Jasmine was right. There were no secrets in the palace. Akmal Al’Sayr knew them all.

Except one.

He did not know Kareef was already married.

“You will call off your spies,” he said grimly. “Leave her in peace.”

Akmal’s mouth twisted sharply downward, his lips disappearing into his long gray beard as he fell into dutiful silence.

“And find her a place at the banquet.”

The vizier looked unhappier still, his slender body drooping like a frown. But he hung his head beneath his sovereign’s decree. “Yes, sire.” He looked up, his beady eyes glittering. “But she can never be more to you than a mistress. The people would never accept such a woman as your wife, a woman who’s had so many lovers she threw herself from a horse to lose her nameless, ill-gotten child—”

Red covered Kareef’s gaze. In two strides, he’d grabbed the other man’s throat.

“It was an accident,” he hissed. “An accident. And as for her many lovers, she’s had only one. Me. Do you understand, Al’Sayr? I was her lover. The only one.”

The older man’s eyes started to bulge before Kareef regained control. He let him go. The vizier leaned over, holding his throat and coughing.

“Never speak of her that way again,” he spat out. With a growl still on his lips, Kareef whirled away in murderous fury, striding down the hall in his robes.

His heart was still pounding with rage when he found Jasmine in the royal garden in the twilight, sleeping on a cushioned seat in a shady, quiet bower. A book was folded upside down unheeded in her lap. He stopped, staring down at her, marveling again at her beauty.

She slept peacefully, like a child. The wind blew softly through the trees, rattling the leaves, brushing loose tendrils of dark hair across her face. She was wearing a fitted black sweater over a high-necked white shirt and a long black skirt. And below that—red canvas sneakers.

Her lovely face was bare of makeup, and beautiful in its natural simplicity. Modest, simple, like a maid. She looked the part of a perfect wife and mother—the perfect heart of any man’s home. Of his home.

He took a deep breath, calming down beneath the influence of her sweet purity, of her innocence. He smiled down at her. Then his gaze fell upon her hand, and he saw she still wore Hajjar’s diamond upon her finger.