A throng of well-dressed guests streamed inside the vast, opulent reception hall of the palace, all of them unable to help but marvel at the sheer magnificence of their surroundings. It didn’t matter that many of them weren’t visiting the palace for the first time. It was always an awe-inspiring sight, with its lavish use of gold and marble and the elaborate mosaic artwork embedded on the floors. Everything that could be gilded was gilded, everything that could be sewn with gold thread was sewn so. Majestic columns lined the imposing length of the hallway, and in between them, ancient tapestries alternated with ornately framed mirrors in adorning the walls.

Once in a while, most of the guests would pause before these mirrors, primping and taking selfies, with none of them bothering to check if their reflections were the result of a two-way mirror – which it was. A secret passageway running parallel to the hall afforded the Emir Sheikh and his most trusted vassals to study their guests at leisure, something they rarely cared to do…until tonight.

Time was running out for Khalil Al-Atassi, the newly crowned king of Ramil. If he didn’t find himself a bride tonight –

“At least a hundred eligible women must have walked past us already,” Malik remarked with a frown. “Has not one of them truly met your approval?” Tall, lean, and handsome like his cousins, he was the youngest of the Emir Sheikh’s vassals at twenty-nine but more than equal with them in experience.

“Ease up, Malik,” his older brother murmured. “The king is searching for our future queen, not just any woman.” A powerfully built man, Altair was made more dangerous looking because of the jagged scar on his face. It ran from below his left eyelid all the way down to the edge of his face, a constant reminder – and warning – that before being appointed as Ramil’s Commander of Armed Forces, he had once been the kingdom’s deadliest assassin.

Malik only shrugged. “I think it’s no different when buying a mare. You just look for someone with good lineage, the ability to breed, and how docile and trainable she is.”

“Not everyone enjoys the company of horses the way you do,” Tarif said in amusement. Of the five Al-Atassi sheikhs, only Tarif was of pure Ramil blood, and yet he was also the least bound to the kingdom’s ancient traditions. Instead, he was renowned for championing technological advancements in the kingdom and eliminating the cultural barriers that once isolated Ramil from the rest of the world. Despite all these, however, the media still insisted on portraying Tarif as nothing but a shallow playboy who only happened to be Ramil’s Minister of Foreign Affairs because he was one of the Emir Sheikh’s cousins.

“Considering the fact that our future queen is the only woman Khalil can have sex with for the rest of his life, I’d say he’s earned all the right to take his time in choosing.” There was a slight pause just before Tarif glanced at the Emir Sheikh with a wince. “I don’t envy you at all for that, by the way. The thought of having to fuck just one woman---”

There was a pause, and then the other sheikhs winced as well.

Khalil only shrugged. “It is what it is.” His kingdom meant the world to him, the only thing that had given him purpose. He was a king first, a hot-blooded man second. As he would unhesitatingly offer his life for Ramil, the need to marry and remain faithful to his future queen was of little consequence to him.

“Exactly what kind of woman are you looking for anyway?” Rayyan, the kingdom’s Minister of Finance, asked bluntly. With ash blond hair and blue-gray eyes, he was the most foreign-looking in the group, but like Tarif, Rayyan’s looks and mixed bloodline were completely deceiving. He was the quintessential Ramilian male, and women to him were either a form of personal property or tools for negotiation.

“I want someone the kingdom would need and be happy with,” the king said simply.

“That automatically rules out eighty percent of tonight’s female guests,” Malik said cynically.

That was true, Khalil thought, which was why he was even willing to search for his future queen outside the kingdom. “A pure Ramilian would have been ideal, but at this point, I’d be willing to settle for someone who at least understands and appreciates our ways.”

“What about fucking? Don’t you at least want someone you’d enjoy fucking?” When Khalil merely shrugged, Tarif’s eyebrow arched in surprise. “You are serious? You do not care about sexual compatibility at all?”

“Not all is as sex-crazed as you are,” Altair said with a shrug.

“Same goes for you, old boy,” Tarif responded lazily. “Not everyone can live like a monk like you do.”

Khalil started to speak when something – someone – caught his eye. Her head was bowed, her dark hair falling like a curtain that covered her face. She was showing her purse for inspection, and his gaze narrowed, the sheikh waiting for the woman to turn his way.

Finally, the woman stepped past the security sensor gates, and when she looked up---

Ah.

Harper Griffiths.

It had been a year since the sheikh had last seen her, and she still looked just as he remembered. Raven-black hair that was long and silky straight, flashing green eyes, and a voluptuous body made more alluring by the type of dresses that she liked to wear: feminine, conservative, but just tight enough to make a man fantasize about what was underneath.

Unlike most women of his acquaintance, Harper had never tried to take advantage of her friendship with him. In fact, Harper would always strongly insist that he was not a friend at all, and in all the years she had visited the palace, not once had she granted an interview about him.

Harper Griffiths, the sheikh thought again.

And this time, an idea slowly took shape in his mind.

When he glanced up, he saw that all four of his cousins were gazing knowingly at him.

“So this is why you have been as picky as that girl from the fairytale,” Altair mocked.

“Goldilocks,” Tarif slotted in. “Do you seriously not know that?” And then to Khalil, he said with a sigh, “You could have saved us all the worry by telling us you were simply waiting for your favorite toy.”

“I agree with your choice.” Malik’s tone was approving.

“And since we all know how you prefer horses to women, I’d say that’s a huge compliment, coming from you.” Rayyan’s tone became musing. “It’s a pity she’s not even of noble blood, but still, I can see the advantages of marrying someone like her---”

“Enough.” Khalil’s tone was exasperated. “I haven’t even said anything.”

The other sheikhs stared at him.

And then Altair said simply, “You didn’t have to.”

“We’re not blind,” Tarif said with a roll of his eyes.

Malik gestured to the woman who had just walked past them, her arm looped around her father’s. “And that’s her, isn’t it?”

“Harper Griffiths,” Rayyan murmured. “But the real question here is – do you think she will agree to marry you?”

* * *

“You’re vain as ever, Dad.”

“And you’re too young to be a nag.”

Harper let out an unladylike grunt, the sound making her father frown, which she pretended not to notice. The truth was, she didn’t really think Howard was vain. Rather, he was an immensely proud man, and even though it had been almost a decade since he had left the army, he was still unable to fully accept having to limp for the rest of his life, much less make use of a walking stick.

And especially not now, Harper thought.

Usbue Min Al-Abtal or Heroes’ Week was one of the kingdom’s most important holidays. As Ramilians took pride in their dedication to history, the nation and its people always went all out in celebrating the lives of its heroes, both known and unsung. Her father, having saved the life of a beloved Ramilian general, was one of those heroes, and it was for this reason that one week each year, Harper and her father flew from their tiny, government-provided home in Syracuse, Nebraska to the kingdom of Ramil.

Peeking at Howard’s face, Harper saw her father’s slight grimace, and her lips pressed together in an effort to hold her tongue. Howard might be willing to use his walking stick back at home, but never here.

Not in the one place he could pretend he was what he used to be, and he was still able to do what he loved.

“Stop staring at me like you’re thinking I’m about to keel over.” The words came out in a low, grumbling tone even as Howard’s gaze remained straight ahead.

“You’re wrong,” Harper answered, also without turning in Howard’s direction. “I’m not just thinking it. I’m waiting for it to happen, and it will happen if we don’t at least stop and give your leg a rest.” With that said, she forcibly dragged her father to the closest vacant cocktail table.

Relief flashed in Howard’s eyes as he leaned against the wall and rested his injured leg.

Told you so, Harper thought.

Howard glared at her. “I know what you’re thinking.”

She ignored that, saying, “You need a glass of water.”

“Stop babying me.”

Harper turned around, hoping to catch the eye of one of the roaming servers, but then a hush fell over the vast reception hall, and when everyone actually came to an abrupt standstill –

He’s here, Harper thought dumbly.

A moment later, a palpable wave of excitement stirred the crowd, and her worst fears were confirmed.

Shit.

Tiptoeing and craning her neck, Harper saw Khalil Al-Atassi steadily making his way through the crowd, pausing every so often when some of the guests came up to him to extend their greetings. At thirty-two, he was the kingdom’s youngest Emir Sheikh in history, and in the short time he had been king, he had also been recognized as the kingdom’s most progressive leader.

Even without a crown or the royal headdress, he was every inch a sheikh, the air about him masterful and noble, and his loose, white thobe accentuating the powerful breadth of his shoulders and his commanding height.

Looking at him, Harper still had difficulties believing that the newly appointed king had spent most of his formative years in America and that, once upon a time, he had been a commoner as much as she was.

An extremely wealthy commoner, but still.

Prior to his official inclusion in the royal family, the sheikh had led a fairly quiet – albeit significantly accomplished – life. Straight As in school, a successful business, awards in philanthropy – he had been blessed with a charmed existence, with only one controversy to mar it, and that was the scandal attached to his then-fiancée, Sapphire March, a senator’s daughter who was now married to a famous rockstar.

But that had been five years ago, and by the time Jeremy Raybourne had succeeded to the throne and taken on the royal name of Khalil Al-Atassi, the furor had died down and his slightly colorful past long forgotten. Ramil’s most illustrious families now clamored in presenting their most eligible daughters in hopes of having them as the kingdom’s future queen –

And yet the sheikh remained single, much to everyone’s regrets – and hers.

The sheikh, flanked on each side by his vassals, continued to speak with the guests that approached him, a polite but intent expression on his handsome face as he listened to their words. Whereas most ruling members of other Arab nations kept to themselves, the king and the four other Al-Atassi sheikhs had never acted like they believed their royal blood placed them one station above the rest. Rather, they liked to stay in touch with their subjects and never shied away from a day’s hard work, even if it meant having to literally roll up their sleeves and toil under the harsh desert sun along with their men.

They were, in other words, the kind of princes that fairytales were made of, and every moment the world fell deeper and deeper in love with them.

Ever since Khalil’s ascension three months ago, the press had been writing about them nonstop, with the most viral being the Beasts article. In it, six men of different nationalities had been named in recognition for their “beast-like” performance in bed, as shared by the men’s former lovers.

In the tell-all of the sheikh’s former mistress, Noemi had shared graphic details of her sex life with the sheikh following his public breakup from Sapphire March. Rough sex was his specialty, and he was by far the most dominant lover she had ever had. But he was also a cold bastard, Noemi had shared candidly, with the sheikh never sharing a bed with her or even taking her in his arms after a wild bout of sex.

Remembering the article made Harper’s cheeks flush while her gaze involuntarily searched for the sheikh in the crowd. She stiffened when she realized he was too near---

Shit.

“I need to go to the restroom,” she mumbled to Howard just before fleeing. She had to escape before he realized what she was doing, had to make sure that their eyes wouldn’t ever meet---

In her haste, Harper accidentally bumped into someone, and the woman in front of her yelped.

Shit.

When the woman gasped, Harper realized she had accidentally spoken the word out loud.

Shit.

She had forgotten that women in this kingdom didn’t curse.

And then the woman gasped for a second time---

Oh, shit. She had just done it again!

By now, a lot of people had turned to look at them, and cheeks flushing, she muttered, “Sorry.” She lifted her gaze up, intending to apologize again, but instead the first thing she saw was –

Him.

Even though he was still a few feet away from her, Harper could practically feel the sheikh’s amusement like a taunting caress on her skin, and her jaw clenched as she found herself torn between annoyance – and exhilaration.

And wasn’t that the stupidest thing ever?

Khalil Al-Atassi wasn’t just a sheikh. He was the sheikh. And here she was, more ordinary than most girls, having a crush on the sheikh. It was why she hated, hated going to Ramil at this time of the year. It would mean seeing him, which would then cause her to remember just how stupid she was.

And yet even knowing you’re being stupid about this, you still insist on being stupid, crushing on him for eight years!

The thought made Harper mentally wince, but she told herself this year would be different. This year, she would absolutely have nothing to do with the sheikh.

As in, nothing!

And so she started to turn around again---

“Marhava, Harper.”

Harper almost jumped in surprise. Where the heck had Altair Al-Atassi come from?

“It is nice to see you again,” the kingdom’s highest-ranking general murmured.

“Umm, it’s nice to see you, too.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway---”

Altair slowly shook his head. You know why I’m here.

Harper scowled. It doesn’t mean I should just give up without a fight.

Because they had just about the same conversation for so many years now, words no longer needed to be spoken.

When Harper opened her mouth to argue anew, Altair said gently, “The king wishes you to stay where you are.”

Harper glared. And if I don’t obey him?

“We have recently expanded the palace’s dungeons,” Altair said very politely. “Perhaps you’d be interested in a personal tour?”

He was going to have her locked behind bars, in other words.

Harper forced a smile between clenched teeth, saying, “Nope.”

“I thought so.”

And so she stayed, fidgeted, and cursed the sheikh to perdition.

Maybe if he weren’t single, she wouldn’t mind being around him so much, Harper thought moodily. Maybe if he found himself a queen, she’d stop being stupid. Maybe, just maybe, she’d finally accept the fact that Khalil Al-Atassi was untouchable, unreachable, and would always be, especially to girls like her.

It took over ten minutes before the sheikh finally found his way to her, having had to pause on his way twice, the first to speak with a French ambassador and later, to exchange a few words with a UN envoy.

His cousins spread out in what seemed like natural synchrony, affording them a circle of privacy, but Harper wasn’t fooled. These five guys were thick as thieves, and nothing they did was ever unplanned.

For a long time, the sheikh simply stared at her, stared and stared, making it seem like he had the hots for her. But they both knew he was just baiting her. Damn sheikh. He knew how much she hated being the center of attention, and that was exactly what he was making her to be.

Finally, his beautiful lips curved, and the sheikh said softly, “Marhava, qalifa.” Hello, little girl.

Harper almost scowled, almost glared, but then she caught sight of her father’s warning look from across the hall. Shit. And so she had to resign herself with a stony expression as she said, “Hello, sheikh.” Now go away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Khalil Al-Atassi remained in front of her, his gaze patient and knowing.

Damn sheikh.

Don’t do it, Harper warned herself. You know he just likes seeing you mad for whatever reason. And the damn sheikh knew how much she hated it whenever he stared at her. She tried counting to ten, but when the sheikh seemed to be enjoying looking his fill of her, Harper’s quick temper eventually got the better of her.

“Stop that,” Harper grouched.

“Stop what?”

“You know what!”

“I truly do not know,” the sheikh said ever so solemnly that Harper wanted to strangle him. “Is it because I called you qalifa?”

Her teeth gnashed. “I am not a little girl.” Damn sheikh.

The sheikh appeared surprised. “You say it as if it is an insult, but it is not.”

“Ha!”

“It is an endearment, one I only use for special childhood friends such as you – dear qalifa.”

“Call me qalifa one more time, and you’ll see just how good this little girl is at trying to choke the hell out of you.” And who the hell was he trying to kid? Endearment? Ha! He only called her ‘little girl’ because he knew how much she hated her youthful looks. And really, childhood friend? Double ha! He was a sheikh, and she just happened to be the daughter of the American soldier who had saved his uncle’s life. Even if special circumstances had allowed them to see each other for one week every year, it still wasn’t enough to constitute a childhood friendship, and they both knew it.

“You are as feisty as ever,” the sheikh suddenly stated.

She only stared at him. You’re a pain in the ass…as always.

The sheikh laughed, the lovely, deep sound causing everyone to turn towards them, and Harper almost swore out loud. For the love of God! This man was the worst. He was often described as aloof but gentlemanly, but in her presence the damn sheikh would always make it a point to smile, laugh, do whatever that would make it seem like they were such good friends –

And all just so she could blow her top, Harper thought furiously, which the damn sheikh found so enjoyable to watch for some reason.

“I am glad you have not changed all this time.” The sheikh reached out to ruffle her hair, just like the ‘qalifa’ he thought her to be, and Harper was tempted to sink her teeth into it like a rabid dog. Oh, to hurt him just once, she thought wistfully.

“Why are you looking at me like you want to kill me?’

“Because I am.”

The sheikh laughed again.

She grimaced. She had wanted him to feel insulted, not amused.

“One day, some people may tell you to refrain from speaking your mind to me.”

Harper only stared. Where did that come from?

“When that happens – do not listen to them.”

“Umm. Okay.” The sheikh was sounding crazier and crazier by the second, but oh well. Maybe sheikhs simply applied a different kind of logic to life. Whatever.

The sheikh suddenly leaned forward, catching her by surprise, and when he lifted his hand to touch her cheek, Harper’s first instinct was to turn away from his touch---

But again, her gaze once again collided with her father’s, his ferocious scowl perfectly summing up his one-word command. Behave!

And so she gnashed her teeth and forced herself to bear the sheikh’s touch.

I can do this, I can do this.

But with every millimeter of skin that his fingers brushed against blazing to life, flushed hot and tingling, it was so damn hard---

His fingers finally fell away, and Harper almost expired in relief.

Oh, thank God.

“Enjoy the rest of the night, Harper.” His gaze dipped just as her fists clenched against her sides, and amusement once again gleamed in the sheikh’s dark gaze. “You are itching to wipe my touch away, nem?”

She smiled ever so sweetly up at him, saying, “Nem.” Yes. It was a lie – but she would rather cut her tongue off than let him know that. “How did you guess?” Harper was hoping the words would at least win a frown from the sheikh, but instead the damn man remained unflappable as ever.

“I will see you at dinner, qalifa.” And just before turning away, he said huskily, “It was lovely flirting with you.”

The sheikh left her gaping.

Flirting? FLIRTING? How dare he imply---

CLICK!

Harper snapped her mouth shut, but it was too late. The official photographer had already taken her photo, and again the sheikh had managed to bait her into showing a God-awful face.

DAMN SHEIKH!