Dinner took place in the ballroom, a multi-course extravaganza that had the palace’s guests oohing and aahing on every dish that was served. This time, the king and queen were seated on opposite ends of the table, with about fifty guests on each side separating them.

Harper normally hated this type of setup, but tonight she welcomed it, the distance between them allowing her to mull over the sheikh’s words feverishly.

Don’t do it for me, he had said.

Then that meant – she should do it for herself?

It made sense, she supposed. She should take pride in her own work as his queen, and she could see why he would want that. But something still didn’t feel right, and the thought continued to nag at her even as dancing commenced and Harper and the sheikh were called to perform the first dance.

They met on the dance floor, and her heart swayed at the dashing sight her husband made. He had changed into a tux for the dance, and dear God, he looked so damn sexy she found herself gulping, knowing just how a whole lot sexier the naked body underneath it was.

“You look beautiful.”

“It should,” she muttered, “considering I’m wearing something worth millions.” The gown Harper wore was another creation by a Ramilian fashion designer: a shimmery long-sleeved gown with a full skirt sewn entirely with gold thread and a belt made of diamonds.

The sheikh only smiled. “You know I don’t mean it that way.” And this time, his hot dark gaze caressed her figure, making his meaning very clear.

Harper turned red. “All I know is that you look like you’re about to tear my gown off.”

“Because you were looking at me like that was what you wanted me to do,” the sheikh purred.

She started to retort, but then the sheikh had already twined his fingers with hers while his other hand clasped her by the waist.

And then they were dancing, and it was magical.

For just a few moments, she forgot about the world and everything else. For just a few moments, it did seem like there were only the two of them, and she could lose herself in the sweet tempting darkness of the sheikh’s gaze.

But then the music started to fade, and as the other couples started to join them, the sheikh slowed to a stop, and Harper knew it was time to part.

“I love dancing with you, wife.”

“I, umm, feel the same.” But Harper’s voice was gruff, and she could only make herself stare at his bowtie when uttering the words.

Only when they had already parted and the sheikh and Harper resumed their duties as hosts that the sheikh’s earlier words returned to her---

Don’t do it for me.

Damn. She had forgotten to ask him about that, and after matching a local artist with a diplomat for a waltz, she moved to the sides, ostensibly to watch the guests dance but really she just wanted a moment or two to think about the sheikh’s words some more.

Her omnipresent AFK immediately closed ranks around her, and her lips twitched, thinking that they’ve certainly come far, considering how they used to disapprove of her unfeminine ways. Now, her guards were resigned to it, and their disapproval had evolved into protectiveness.

It is not the queen’s fault she was naturally unfeminine, was the AFK’s official stance.

Not exactly complimentary, she thought humorously, but it would do.

She was about to tell the AFK to take a break when the sound of laughter interrupted her, and Harper frowned. That was one snide laugh. She started to turn to see who it was when the woman who laughed went on to say, “Oh God, it’s the height of summer, and you’re really wearing that?”

Even with her back turned, Harper – thanks to the rigorous who’s who lessons she had received from her court tutor – immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Jennifer Patrick, a self-proclaimed feminist who made a living off TV guesting.

“I guess you don’t mind the heat since you live in the desert, but don’t you find it restricting for a dance? That – umm, what do you call it again? Abacus?” Jennifer immediately laughed at her joke, and so did several people.

Harper’s eyebrows shot up, and she stared at her guards incredulously. Seriously? Did these people seriously find that funny?

“Do not interfere,” Amir warned under his breath.

“Pick your battles,” Farid advised.

“Remember what you came here to do,” Kamil reminded her.

Harper took deep breaths. They were completely right, but---

“I don’t feel restricted at all,” she heard a soft voice answer, and Harper scowled. She had no trouble recognizing this voice as well. It was none other than Kyria, the young, shy ward of Altair and Malik’s mother, and Harper’s dislike towards the so-called feminist increased. Was Jennifer Patrick actually trying to bully a teenage girl over an abaya?

“I knew you’d say that,” Jennifer was saying, the words followed with another snide laugh. “And it’s okay, really. I mean, compared to other Arab nations, Ramil’s pretty modern. But be honest – do you honestly believe wearing that will prevent things like rape? And I’m just asking here, I’m not being judgmental or anything, but don’t you think it’s stupid that a woman’s modesty is determined by her choice of clothing?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with a woman wearing what she deems proper to wear for herself,” Harper heard Kyria answer in her usual soft, melodic voice.

Bravo, Kyria, Harper thought and by way of the murmurs of assent she heard, the other guests appeared to agree with the young girl.

Unfortunately, it didn’t sit well with the older woman at all, causing Jennifer to sneer, “How very safe. Spoken like a pampered princess who doesn’t know how to think for herself.”

A hush fell over the small crowd at the cruel words, and Harper’s bodyguards shook their heads at her in unison.

Don’t. Get. Involved.

And she shouldn’t. She mustn’t. A proper queen wouldn’t involve herself. Right?

The sheikh’s words returned to her.

Don’t do this for me.

Her teeth gnawed on her lip. If she got herself involved, she wouldn’t exactly be scoring brownie points with the sheikh, but she would at least be proud of herself, that she stood for what was right. Maybe that was what the sheikh had indirectly asked her to do. Don’t do this for me. Do it for yourself. Maybe that was what he wanted her to realize?

Behind her, Jennifer was going on and on about the detrimental effects of the abaya on the overall culture of feminism, and Harper started grinding her teeth.

Don’t do this for me. Don’t get involved. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

Ah, God, this was so confusing.

She thought about the sheikh. Thought about herself. Thought about Kyria.

The next thing she knew, she had already whirled around and was marching determinedly towards the group of women. The guests in her way immediately scooted back at the militant look on the queen’s face, and both Kyria and Jennifer appear startled when Harper suddenly joined them.

“Your Majesty.”

All of the women except for Jennifer bowed in her presence.

“It’s my personal belief that we’re all created equally,” the other woman said with a smile, “so I hope you don’t mind if I don’t bow and scrape.” Like others do.

Everyone heard the unspoken implication, yet another example of the woman’s unbelievable tendency to be microagressive, but this only made Harper even more determined. Smiling back, she said easily, “I don’t mind at all. I think it’s important we don’t impose our own beliefs on others, especially if such beliefs do no harm. You agree with this, too, don’t you?”

“Actually…” Jennifer’s tone was of polite amusement. “It’s the cornerstone of my platform.” The words were spoken in such a way that made the queen appear uninformed, and the other women in their growing crowd shifted uneasily on their feet. “I even spoke of this recently when CNN invited me to speak about Arab women.” She paused, a look of embarrassment on her face. “Or don’t you guys have CNN here?”

Harper refused to be sidetracked, saying simply, “We have it.”

And when it became clear that was all that the queen had to say, Jennifer’s smile became brittle.

Harper waited patiently, knowing the other woman was the type to want to say the last word.

And she was right.

After a moment, Jennifer started to speak, and Harper immediately cut her off, saying, “I’m glad to hear you believe in the same things, Jennifer. I guess that means you may have only misunderstood Kyria’s stance earlier.”

Jennifer frowned. “I---”

But Harper, still smiling, cut the other woman off again. “You, as someone who believes in the importance of not imposing our own beliefs on others, should understand more than most people that her choice to wear an abaya must be respected, whatever her reason is.”

Silence.

“Unless of course you believe that her choice of clothing is harmful to others?” Harper paused. “I grew up in America as well, but perhaps it’s changed in the short time I’ve been gone. Is it different now? Are women’s clothes considered a murderous weapon – or was that you just being catty?”

Jennifer’s face turned red with rage, and she snarled, “How nice. Just because you’re a queen, you think can say such things to anyone---”

Harper let her eyes go wide, saying with all earnest innocence, “Oh, but you’re mistaken. It’s because I truly believe in equality that I’m saying this. I may be a queen, but I’m a woman first. I have every right to be a bitch when I see someone being unfairly attacked---”

“It’s not my fault if she can’t defend her own position, is it?” Jennifer retorted. “And you coming to her rescue is exactly why people think women are weak---”

“And it’s people like you that make everyone think feminists are all idiots and bitches combined,” Harper snapped.

The AFK’s faces turned stony, all three of them recognizing the signs of the queen’s anger. Once her temper was riled, there was no stopping it---

And they were right.

“Feminism isn’t about men versus women,” Harper growled. “If you really understood feminism, then your first priority is to find a way for women to help each other up and not pull each other down. It’s certainly not for one woman to belittle another woman – and wasn’t that what you were doing to Kyria?”

Do you get that now, you ninny, Harper wanted to yell at Jennifer’s face, but caught herself in time and instead stopped to inhale deeply, realizing too late that she hadn’t even paused to breathe in her entire tirade. And she was shaking too, dammit. She only shook this much when she was really angry, and this Jennifer woman was definitely---

A sound interrupted her thoughts.

Clapping?

A moment later, and the applause became thunderous.

Holy shit.

Harper gaped.

She had lost her temper, and they were clapping for it?

As Jennifer stormed out of the scene, Kyria rushed to the queen, eyes glowing with admiration. “You were so great, Your Majesty.”

Harper cringed. “I was such a hothead, you mean.”

“Because you were angry for me,” the younger girl said loyally.

“I was, but I should have remembered to be more…” Queenly? But that had occurred to her earlier already, hadn’t it? She had thought about the right thing to do, thought about why she would do it and whom she would do it for---

Don’t do it for me.

And in the end---

She had done it for Kyria. For people who needed protecting. For people like the kingdom of Ramil---

Oh.

Her head immediately snapped, her gaze wildly searching the crowd---

And finally, her eyes met the sheikh’s.

And he was smiling.

Do you understand it now, wife?

She wanted to laugh and cry, wanted to wrap her arms around him as much as she wanted to throttle him. Damn him. He could have simply told her straight that he wanted her to be a queen who would put the people’s needs before everything else, but no---

Damn sheikh.

Even knowing she could hate him for it, had hated him a little for it, the sheikh had not taken the easy way out---

Damn sheikh.

Because he had trusted her more than trusted herself, had trusted Harper to discover for herself the queen that she could and should be---

Damn sheikh.

And so he had not spoken a word and let her hate him instead.

Damn sheikh.

But oh, how she loved this sheikh---

How could she not, when now all his actions made sense---

And they were the actions of a man who loved her more than he loved himself.

Emotions clogged her throat, and Harper quickly looked away before she started shouting the words.

I love you. I love you. I love you!

To hell with pride. To hell with their marriage of convenience. To hell with everything.

She was in love with him, he was in love with her, and for this she would take the risk of saying it first.

Her heart slammed against her chest and her body trembled, but Harper refused to let her nervousness change her mind. She was going to tell him she loved him. In fact, she would tell him as soon as she could be close enough to whisper the words to his ear.

And so she promised this to herself, not realizing that the next time they were together, the sheikh would end up breaking her heart.