Chapter Two
Hail the Queen of Ramil, for in her womb rested Ramil’s most precious heir to the throne!
Such were the cries that rung throughout the desert kingdom, with every town celebrating Queen Harper’s pregnancy and the announcement that the Emir Sheikh’s wife was carrying a boy. The palace was of course having a celebration of its own, with its ballroom welcoming a steady influx of well-wishers for the royal couple.
Following a lavish dinner, King Khalil took the hand of his beloved queen for the night’s first dance, and the couple made a majestic and breathtakingly romantic figure as they swirled and twirled until finally, at the end of the song, the king literally swept his queen off her feet as he lifted her high up in the air.
“Malaka lilia, malakti.” The king uttered the words for the whole world to hear, which meant ‘forever yours, my queen.’
Tears stinging her eyes, Harper could only whisper back, “Malaka lilia, mikkhi.” Forever yours, my king.
As the orchestra played the next song, Khalil gently lowered his wife back to her feet, and with one arm curving protectively around her waist, the king bid his guests to join them on the dance floor.
No second invitation was needed, and in moments the floor was completely taken up by couples swaying to the gentle notes of a Ramilian ballad. Love was in the air, and with everyone under its spell, invited members of the press had the time of their life taking one glorious photo after another, the innumerable beautiful couples waltzing before them making the perfect subject for tomorrow’s news.
There was Sheikh Malik Al-Atassi with his dazzling young wife, Kyria, and although the fires of controversy that once surrounded their union had finally died down, the two still made quite the intriguing couple: a man and woman who had still fallen in love with each other despite having been raised as brother and sister under one roof.
And then there was Sheikh Altair, Malik’s older brother and the kingdom’s military commander, dancing with his rarely seen fiancée, Safiya, daughter of the recently-turned-recluse Sheikh Mahmud. A story was to be made there one day, and the press was determined to circle around the couple like hungry hyenas waiting to pounce at the first sign of trouble.
The press also attempted to take a photo of Sheikh Rayyan, but the silver-haired sheikh was as aloof as ever and had retreated to one of the private lounges as soon as dancing had commenced.
Four Al-Atassi sheikhs down, one left, the paparazzi thought as they went hunting for the last of the king’s vassals to be accounted for. They searched for the kingdom’s playboy sheikh high and low, far and wide, but even so, not one of them realized that the sheikh was merely hiding in plain sight. A small observatory reserved for the palace’s staff overlooked the ballroom from far above, and outlined against its glass panes were two figures – and one of it was none other than Tarif Al-Atassi himself.
Oh for the love of Allah, why was he here?
One moment Anisah was happily alone in the observatory, busy scribbling her notes, but then the next moment he was suddenly there, and the resplendently rare sight of the sheikh dressed in a formal white robe had her scrambling off her chair with a gasp. “Sheikh!”
“Maehdina, anisdi.” The sheikh’s tone was polite, but the gleam in his gaze was mocking. “Did I startle you?”
Of course he did, and the infernal man knew it. Pasting a smile on her face even as she bristled inside, she asked, “May I be of service to you, Your Highness?”
“You may.”
Anisah’s toes curled involuntarily inside her shoes. Curse him. Just two words, and he had somehow made her offer sound positively indecent.
“I would like to request the honor of dancing with you, anisdi.”
Anisah didn’t even hesitate, saying politely, “I beg your forgiveness, alshaykh, but I am currently on duty.”
“Is that so?”
“Nem, alshaykh.” Yes, sheikh.
Like hell she was, Tarif thought in amusement. Since he had a copy of her work schedule for the entire year, he knew she was lying, and strangely enough, he found this endearing…and arousing. Taking a step closer towards her, he asked cajolingly, “Surely you can spare a few minutes for a dance?”
“I truly beg your forgiveness, Your Highness---”
The sheikh’s eyes gleamed at the way she took a step back as she spoke.
“But it is also because I would rather not risk causing you dishonor.”
Now that was new, Tarif thought, and dealing Anisah a curious glance, he asked, “In what way do you believe you will dishonor me?”
Where did he want her to start, Anisah wondered exasperatedly. She was neither a princess nor an heiress, was neither exceptionally beautiful nor famous for anything, and most importantly of all, she wasn’t even dressed for the ball.
Making a gesture towards her serviceable-looking robe, which she had so donned because she had only a night of observation ahead of her, Anisah said emphatically, “Please consider what I’m wearing, Your Highness. It would not be appropriate for you to be seen with someone dressed---”
The sheikh interrupted her with a rather unexpectedly inelegant snort. “And you think I would care about something like that?”
“It would be ideal if you would, Your Highness,” she said seriously. “Dressing up for a ball such as this isn’t only about one’s physical appearance but a matter of showing your respect for the king and queen. It is your duty, sheikh, to uphold the standards of the royal family in every way, and this definitely includes ensuring one is suitably attired at all times, most importantly on occasions where the ruling family is expected to present a show of solidarity to the world.”
Silence.
And then---
“And here I thought you were just fishing for compliments,” Tarif said silkily. “Instead, I find myself lectured by the court tutor about social etiquette.”
Oh! Anisah colored furiously at the realization she had overstepped her bounds. Bowing her head, she apologized stiffly, “I am terribly sorry, Your Highness.”
“How sorry are you?”
The sheikh’s calm tone only made her feel worse about getting carried away, and she bowed her head in apology, saying, “Very much so, Your Highness.”
“Sorry enough to dance with me?” Her head jerked up, and a look of comprehension dawned on Anisah’s lovely face, and she finally realized he had only been pretending to feel offended. She scowled, and he grinned, asking, “So how about it then, anisdi? Will you dance with me?” He offered his hand and almost howled with laughter when Anisah gazed at it with visible distaste.
This, too, was as strangely endearing as it was unquestionably arousing, and if he had any doubts of how much he wanted this woman in his bed – he had none of it now. Poor sweet puritan, Tarif thought in amusement. It was clear that Anisah believed her constant rejection and troublesome ways would eventually turn him away for good, but it only achieved the opposite.
Her every resistance only further whetted his appetite for her, and unfortunately for her, it also made him more impatient to have her.
“One dance, Tory.”
Anisah blinked at the way the sheikh had addressed her, and she asked blankly, “Tory?
“Nem. Tory.”
“My name is Anisah---”
“And your second name is Victoria, is it not?”
Oh! Her lips pursed as she struggled under a turbulent mix of annoyance and embarrassment. “It is not proper to have you address me so, sheikh.”
“A nickname is not proper?”
“It is not when it implies intimacy where there is none---”
“Yet.”
Violet eyes flashed at him in mute exasperation. “Your Highness!”
Tarif knew she was waiting for him to apologize – as was the proper thing to do – but the angry look on her face only made him lust for her even more. Ah, my sweet. He could only imagine how glorious it would feel to have wonderful angry sex with this woman.
The air in the room suddenly throbbed with tension as Anisah unintentionally caught the flash of desire in his eyes.
Oh, may the stars save her.
The things that look promised ---
Such unspeakably crude things…
Such dirty, dirty things…
Things that shouldn’t make her body ache just by the thought of them, but curse the man, it did.