Chantelle Shaw - The Royal House of Karedes - Two Crowns - The Sheikh's Forbidden Virgin / The Greek Billionaire's Innocent Princess / The Future King's Love-Child

‘I…’ She licked her lips, her cheeks flushing. She felt as if she’d been caught sneaking around after bedtime, and yet in little more than a week she would be mistress of this place. The realisation made her straighten and look at the man with dignity. ‘I was looking for the gardens,’ she said. ‘I would like some fresh air.’

The servant’s face was professionally blank as he inclined his head. ‘It is dark out, Princess.’

‘I think I can manage,’ Kalila returned a bit tartly, and, nodding again, the servant led her down another tangle of corridors to a heavy wooden door that clearly led outside.

‘I’ll wait for you here,’ he said, and Kalila replied a bit sharply.

‘Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I’m quite sure I can find my way back.’ In fact she wasn’t, but she didn’t want a guardian.

Once out in the cool darkness of the garden she wandered down a twisting path lined with palm trees, the cloying scent of jasmine heavy on the air. What to do now? Where to go? She felt as lonely and lost as a little girl, and wished she didn’t. Suppressing a sigh that would just tumble her straight into self-pity, Kalila wandered for a few moments until the surprising sound of splashing pulled her curiously in the direction of the noise.

She came round another corner, half expecting to see a pool or fountain, and instead came face to face with Aarif.

He wore only a towel around his hips, his chest bare and brown and beaded with droplets of water. Kalila stared. She’d never seen his chest, only felt it against her own skin, and now she was transfixed by the sight of the lean, hard muscle.

Aarif muttered an oath under his breath when he saw her, and whirled around, jerking the shirt he’d held in his hand over his head. Yet still in that brief moment Kalila saw his back, watched as the moonlight bathed the scars there that she’d felt with her fingertips. They were old scars, long, jagged lines, and instinctively she knew what they were.

Aarif had been whipped.

She opened her mouth to say something, ask—what?—but Aarif had already turned around, and was buttoning up his shirt with stiff fingers. ‘What are you doing out here, Princess?’ he asked tightly.

‘What were you doing?’ Kalila challenged. ‘Is there a pool out here?’

Aarif raised one eyebrow in surprising, sardonic amusement. ‘There must be, unless I jumped in a fountain.’

Kalila smiled at the mental image. ‘Can you show me it?’

‘Do you want to go swimming at this hour?’

She shrugged, not willing to admit she just wanted to be with him. ‘Why not? You did.’

‘You’re not wearing a swimming costume.’

She smiled, the gesture innately coy. ‘Do I need one?’

Aarif’s expression froze, and Kalila wished she hadn’t been so provocative. Then he swivelled on his heel and she followed him down the shadowy path.

They came out into an open courtyard, and in the darkness the pool was no more than a glint of moonlight on the water, the sound of the water lapping against the sides. Kalila regarded it for a moment, feeling slightly silly. She was not about to go swimming.

‘Do you like to go swimming?’ she asked, and her voice sounded false and bright.

‘I have made myself like it,’ Aarif replied, which was a strange enough answer to make Kalila curious and want to know more.

‘Made yourself? You didn’t before?’

‘I nearly drowned as a young man. It left an impression.’

Kalila could just imagine how resolutely Aarif would conquer his fears, forcing himself to swim even when it was the last thing he wanted.

‘It looks like a lovely pool,’ she said lamely, and in the moonlight she could see Aarif’s hard expression. All the things she’d been wanting to say—confront him with—died too, withered under that expression.

‘Have you heard from Zakari?’ she finally asked in a small voice.

Aarif’s tiny hesitation told her all she needed to know. ‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but he is likely to be in contact soon.’

‘How thoughtful of him,’ Kalila snapped.

Aarif shrugged. ‘Considering the circumstances, I would’ve thought you’d be grateful for a reprieve.’

A reprieve. It sounded so grim, so grisly. ‘Perhaps,’ Kalila allowed, ‘but I don’t like feeling completely unimportant, either. I feel like I’ve been discarded—’ she took a breath, daring, needing ‘ twice —’

Aarif stilled. ‘There was nothing between us, Kalila,’ he said quietly. ‘Do not make it so simply because you are unhappy and alone.’

The truth of his words stung, and yet she also knew it was more than that, deeper than that. ‘Do you feel anything for me, Aarif?’ she asked, grateful for the darkness that hid her burning cheeks. She hated having to be so open, so vulnerable, knowing it would only lead to a rejection painful in its bluntness. Still, she had to ask. She needed to know. ‘Did you feel anything for me that night?’ she whispered.

Aarif was silent, and in the moonlight Kalila could barely see his face, yet she knew even in the blazing daylight no emotion would be revealed there. He had closed himself off from her already. He was good at that. ‘Even if I were in love with you,’ Aarif said slowly, heavily, ‘it would not matter. Your duty is to my brother, and so is mine.’

‘It would matter,’ Kalila whispered, her throat aching, ‘to me.’

For a moment—a second—she thought he looked torn, perhaps in as much anguish as she was herself. Kalila took advantage of what might be her only opening to reach for him, her hand bunching on the front of his shirt, damp from his skin.

‘Aarif, please—’ She didn’t know what she was asking for, only that she needed him. Needed this, and to her amazement and joy he gave it to her, his hands curling tightly around her shoulders and drawing her to him.

Kalila’s head fell back, her lips parting, her eyes closed, waiting—and she felt Aarif hesitate. She knew, even now, that he was struggling, at war with himself, and that the wisest decision, the right decision, would be to pull away and leave them both with their dignity and duty.

Yet she didn’t. Couldn’t, because she wanted this—him—too much. And when he lowered his head and his lips finally brushed hers, she couldn’t keep back the sigh of both pleasure and relief.

How she’d missed this—this closeness, this connection, and of course the pleasure, running through her like honey in her veins, heating her blood, firing her heart. His mouth moved on top of hers, his tongue seeking hers, and then, all too soon, it was over, and he released her with such sudden, savage force that Kalila stumbled backwards.

Still dazed by his kiss, she blinked in the darkness and saw rage flash across his features, spark in his eyes. ‘What do you want from me, Kalila?’ he demanded, his voice raw. ‘You want me to swoon over you, make a fool of myself over you? Do you want my soul? Will that help anything? Will it help you when you are married to my brother?’ His words were harsh, grating, judging. Desperate. Kalila took a step back.

‘No—’

‘Here is the truth. I hate myself for what happened between us. I hate myself for betraying my brother, my family, myself, and whatever I could feel for you, if I let myself, is nothing, nothing compared to that.’ His voice and body both shook, and Kalila could only stare, horrified and humbled by the torrent of emotion pouring through him and into his words.

‘Aarif—’

‘ That is how it is between us,’ he said flatly, cold and unemotional once more. ‘And how it will always be.’ He began to stride away, and, desperate not to lose him now, now, when she still felt the taste of him in her mouth, Kalila called after him.