Commanded by the Sheikh

He’d crept away before she’d seen him, knowing how horrified she would have been to realise he’d been listening. But he’d wondered just what lay underneath her cool façade. What secrets she might be hiding.

And yet it was her cool façade, her calm capability, that had made him choose Olivia Ellis for this particular role. She was intelligent, discreet and wonderfully competent. That was all he needed.

He hoped.

‘Let me rephrase,’ he said, watching as her chest rose and fell in indignant breaths. She wore a white blouse that still managed to be crisp after a nine-hour flight from Paris, and her hair, as sleek and styled as ever, was held back in its usual clip. She’d matched her blouse with a pair of tailored black trousers and sensible flats. He knew she was twenty-nine but she dressed conservatively, like a woman who was middle-aged rather than in the prime of her youth. Though still stylish, he acknowledged. Her clothes, while staid, were of good quality and cut.

‘Rephrase, then,’ she said evenly, and the temper he’d seen in her eyes was now banked. He saw the old Olivia, the familiar Olivia, return now. Calm and in control. Good. That was what he needed, after all.

So why did he feel just a tiny bit disappointed?

‘I need you to be my temporary bride. A stand-in for Queen Elena, until I can find her.’

‘And why do you need a stand-in?’

‘Because I want to dispel any rumours that she might be missing. I’m holding a press conference in one hour and we’re meant to appear together on the palace balcony.’

She pursed her lips. ‘And then?’

He hesitated, but only briefly. ‘And then, that’s all.’

‘That’s all?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘If you only needed a woman for one balcony appearance, surely you could have found someone a bit more local?’

‘I wanted someone I knew and trusted and, as I told you before, I have not been back to Kadar in many years. There are few I trust here.’

She swallowed and he watched the working of her slender throat. Then she gave a little shake of her head.

‘I don’t even look like Queen Elena. She’s got dark hair and we’re not the same height, no matter what you said earlier to your staff. I must be a few inches taller.’

He arched an eyebrow. ‘You’re familiar with Queen Elena’s height?’

‘I’m familiar with my own,’ she answered coolly. ‘And I have seen photos of her. I’m guessing, of course, but—’

‘No one will concern themselves with a few inches.’

‘And my hair?’

‘We’ll dye it.’

‘In the next hour?’

‘If need be.’

She stared at him for a long beat, and he felt tension gather inside him in a tight, hard knot. He knew he was making an unusual request, to say the least. He also knew he had to get Olivia to agree. He didn’t want to threaten her, God knew, but he needed her. He didn’t have any other woman in his life who he trusted to be discreet and competent, the way Olivia was. He supposed that said something about his own life, but at this moment all he could care about was achieving his goal. Securing the crown of a kingdom he’d been born to rule...even if many didn’t believe it. Even if he’d never been sure he would.

Never sure if his father would change his mind and disinherit him, just as he had Khalil.

‘And if I say no?’ Olivia asked and Aziz gave her his most charming smile.

‘But why would you?’

‘Because it’s insanity?’ she shot back without a shred of humour. ‘Because any paparazzi with a telephoto lens could figure out I’m not Queen Elena and plaster it all over the tabloids? I don’t think even the Gentleman Playboy could charm himself out of that disaster.’

‘So cutting, Olivia.’ He shook his head in gentle mockery. ‘If that happened, I’d be responsible. All the blame would fall to me.’

‘You don’t think I’d be dragged through the gossip mill, every aspect of my life dissected in the tabloids?’ For a second her features contorted, as if such a possibility caused her actual physical pain. ‘No.’

‘If you were discovered, which you won’t be,’ Aziz answered calmly, ‘No one would who know you are.’

‘You don’t think they could find out?’

‘Possibly, but we’re theorising to no purpose. There are no journalists out there. The country has been closed to foreign press for years. I have yet to change that decree.’

‘The Kadaran press, then.’

‘Have always been in the royal pocket. I’ve requested no photographs on this occasion, and they’ll comply.’ His insides tightened. ‘I’m not condoning the way things are here, but it’s how my father ran things, and currently it continues.’

She stared at him for a moment, her slate-blue gaze searching his face. ‘Are you going to do things differently now you’re Sheikh?’ She sounded curious but also a bit disbelieving, which Aziz could understand, even if he didn’t like it.

He hadn’t proved himself capable of much besides being a whiz with numbers and partying across Europe, at least to someone like Olivia. She’d seen his hedonistic lifestyle first-hand, had cleaned up its excesses. He could hardly blame her now for being a little sceptical of his ability to rule well, or even at all.

‘I’m going to try.’

‘And you’ll start with this ridiculous masquerade.’

‘I’m afraid it’s necessary.’ He cocked his head, offering her a smile that didn’t even make her blink. ‘It’s for a good reason, Olivia. The stability of a country. The safety of a people.’

‘Why has Khalil kidnapped Queen Elena? And how did he even do it? Wasn’t she guarded?’

A hot, bright flare of anger fired his insides. Aziz didn’t know whom that anger was directed at: Khalil, for taking his bride, or his staff, who had not been alert to the threat until it was too late. No, he realised, he was angry at himself, even though he knew he could not have prevented the kidnapping. He was angry that he couldn’t have prevented it, that he didn’t know this country or people well enough yet to command their loyalty or obedience—or to find Elena hidden somewhere in its endless, barren desert.

‘Khalil is the illegitimate son of my father’s first wife,’ he explained tersely. ‘He was raised as my father’s son for seven years, until my father discovered the truth of his parentage. My father banished him, along with his mother, but he insists now that he has a claim to the throne.’

‘How awful.’ Olivia shook her head. ‘Banished.’

‘He was raised in luxury by his aunt in America,’ Aziz told her. ‘You needn’t feel sorry for him.’

She eyed him curiously. ‘You obviously don’t.’

Aziz just shrugged. What he felt for Khalil—when he even allowed himself to think of the man who shadowed his memories like a malevolent ghost—was too complicated to explain even to himself, much less to Olivia. Anger and envy. Sorrow and bitterness. A potent and unhealthy mix, to say the least.

‘I admit,’ he said, ‘I don’t have much sympathy for him now, considering he is destabilising my country and has kidnapped my bride.’

‘Why do you think he believes he has a right to the throne?’

Because everyone else does. Because my father adored him, even when he learned he wasn’t his son. Even when he didn’t want to. ‘I’m not sure he does believe he has a right,’ he told her with a small shrug. ‘This might just be revenge against my father, a man he thought to be his own father for much of his childhood.’ Aziz glanced away from Olivia’s inquisitive gaze. Revenge against me, for taking his place. ‘My father was not a fair man. This extraordinary will is surely proof of that.’

‘And so Khalil has kidnapped Queen Elena in order to prevent your marriage,’ she stated slowly, and Aziz nodded, his jaw bunching. He hated to think of Queen Elena out in the desert, alone and afraid. He didn’t know his prospective bride very well, but he could only imagine how terrifying such an experience would be for anyone, and especially for someone with her history. She’d told him a little of how her parents had died, how alone she’d been. He just hoped Khalil would keep her safe now.