Jane Porter - The Desert Sheikh's Defiant Queen - The Sheikh's Chosen Queen / The Desert King's Pregnant Bride

“There are few people in this world like your sisters,” Jesslyn said, her voice husky. “They were just so much fun, and so good humored.” She tried to smile, but tears filled her eyes. “They knew how to live. They embraced it, you know?”

“I do know,” he said as the hum of the jet changed and the nose dipped down. “Check your seat belt,” he added gruffly. “We’ll be on the ground soon.”

A fleet of black Mercedeses waited at the airport, all in a line on the tarmac, not far from where the jet had parked.

In less than three minutes they disembarked, settled into the cars and were off, exiting the small private terminal reserved for the royal family’s use and heading through the city streets to the palace.

Jesslyn already knew that Sarq was ninety percent Muslim and yet as they drove through the streets Jesslyn saw relatively few women wearing the veil, apart from a few still wrapped in white robes, and although she’d lived in the Emirates for the past six years, she was still surprised by how relaxed everything seemed, the people on the streets appearing open and friendly.

“It feels like everyone’s on holiday here,” she said, as the car idled at a traffic light waiting for it to turn.

“People say Sarq is becoming the southern Mediterranean’s Costa del Sol.”

“Is that good or bad?” she asked, watching a cluster of girls cross the street linked arm in arm.

“It depends on who you talk to. In the past ten years a rather staggering number of beach resorts—inexpensive as well as deluxe properties—have opened along the coast. Some welcome the growth with open arms—my brother Zayed— for one, while others, like my nomadic brother Khalid, want to ban further development.”

“What do you think?”

“I’m in between. Economic stability enables Sarq to remain free and independent of any other country, and yet growth has a price. While the developing tourism industry has strengthened our economy, the environment’s paid a stiff price with the destruction of sand dunes and the troubling disappearance of wildlife.”

“You sound like you lean toward wildlife conservation,” she said.

“I have to. My father didn’t consider the impact development would have on our country’s natural resources, and now I’m forced to deal with the consequences.”

The car turned down a long drive marked by high stuccoed walls, lush, towering palm trees and flowering citrus trees beneath.

“We are here,” Sharif added as the Mercedes sedan slowed before immense wood and iron gates and the ten-foot-tall gates smoothly swung open.

Jesslyn craned her head to get her first look at the palace, a place she’d heard so much about from Jamila and Aman.

The girls had called the palace “heaven” and “paradise.” They’d said it was like a jewel in the most beautiful garden ever, and indeed, as the car turned round a corner, she spotted a sprawling pink building, the palace a compound of one-story stuccoed villas draped with trailing purple, pink and peach bougainvillea.

Elaborately carved columns and miniature domes marked the entrance, and Jesslyn knew from her friends’ description that inside were elaborate courtyards filled with fountains, dwarf palms and date palms and flowers.

White-robed and uniformed staff appeared in the entrance, greeting Sharif and welcoming the king home.

Sharif introduced Jesslyn, explaining that the teacher would be with them for the summer and he wanted everyone to make sure she lacked for nothing.

While Sharif communicated his wishes, Jesslyn surreptitiously glanced around. The palace’s cool, crisp interior contrasted with the soft pastel hues of the exterior. The walls inside were white, the high ceilings painted blue and gold, huge carved wood columns soared up to support the elaborate ceilings forming cool narrow columned corridors and intimate seating areas.

Introductions finished, the staff dispersed and Sharif offered to take her on a minitour while they waited for his children to return.

“Where are they now?”

“Out for an afternoon excursion,” he answered, “but they’ll be back soon for tea.”

Sharif’s pride was tangible as he pointed out some of the rare works of art housed within the palace walls—paintings, sculptures, armor, weapons and more. Jesslyn was awed by the history of the collection, sculptures dating back to Greco-Roman civilization, a flawless mosaic from the tomb of a Byzantine king, an enormous scarlet rug that could be traced to the Ottoman Empire.

“And this has always been here?” she asked.

“For generations.” He smiled faintly. “Some people go to museums to see priceless artifacts. I grew up with them, am still surrounded by them.”

They’d reached the end of a long arched corridor, the stone floor patterned with sunlight shining through the dozen square windows high on the wall. The ceiling, painted shades of cream and gold, reflected the brilliant late-morning light and cast sparkly star bursts and circles on the whitewashed walls.

Before they’d even turned the corner, Jesslyn could hear the tinkling notes of a fountain, and indeed, as they walked through an arched doorway, they came to stone stairs that led to a sunken living room from which she could see the fountain in a picture-perfect courtyard.

“This must be where you entertain,” she said, dazzled beyond words. The living room exuded elegance and beauty and calm, every detail exquisitely thought out, from the sweet spicy perfume of antique roses, to the huge glass doors drenched in sunlight, to the low cream couches that formed comfortable conversation areas.

“It’s actually where you’ll entertain,” he said, an enigmatic smile lighting his eyes. “This is part of your room, the most public of your quarters.”

She walked behind one of the sofas heaped with beaded and embroidered silk cushions in mouthwatering orange, lime and dusky rose. Impulsively she leaned over to touch one tangerine-colored pillow, and it gave beneath her hand, the down-filled insert deliciously soft.

“Oh, lovely,” she whispered, unable to hide her delight. She’d lived such a Spartan existence these past six years, and the luxury here was beyond her comprehension. “This room is fit for a princess!”

“This was Jamila and Aman’s room.”

Straightening, Jesslyn turned to face him. “Really?”

He nodded.

Pain splintered inside her as she looked at the beautiful room and the fantasy courtyard with fresh eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t stay here.”

“It’d be wrong for you not to stay here. My sisters loved you dearly. They’d want you here.”

Blinking back tears, she drew a quick breath and ran a light hand over the tangerine pillow. “As long as it won’t offend anyone. I don’t want to offend anyone—”

“No one will be offended.”

“If you’re sure …?”

“You doubt me?”

She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry and she did both, smiling unsteadily as she dashed away a tear. “I’m not normally this emotional and yet ever since yesterday I’ve been a disaster.”

“It’s a shock seeing each other,” he answered.

Her head tilted and she looked up at him, her gaze searching his face. “You feel it, too?”

“How could I not? We were once very close. You knew me better than anyone.”

A shiver coursed through her, a shiver of remembrance and hurt and pain. But she hadn’t known him better than anyone. His mother had known him better. His mother had known he’d choose his future, and his throne, over her.

Over love.

And he did.

Chilled, she turned, rubbed her arms. “Show me where the books are. I’m ready to look at everything, plan the afternoon’s lessons.”