CAROL MARINELLI - The Sheikh's Hidden Heir - Secret Sheikh, Secret Baby / The Sheikh's Claim / The Return of the Sheikh

‘Please!’ Karim sneered. ‘There was no evidence…’ He shooed her away with his hand, dismissed her sobs, her story, as easily as he would swat a fly. ‘There is no place for your sort here in Zaraq. I could have you arrested.’

This was a different man—a completely different man from the one who had held her. ‘Karim, please. If you will just listen—’

‘No. You listen.’ He was standing directly over her, his menacing face silencing her. ‘I will not let you smear my name with these lies. Because I know the consequences a woman in your position faces, you will be admitted tonight under my care. I will arrange for your contract to be broken. Your things will be packed and you will fly home tomorrow. A car will collect you. I will arrange your ticket.’ He stared down at her and forced himself to say it. ‘You will be generously remunerated for your services that day.’

‘Karim!’ she begged.

He was unmoved by her pleas. Whether or not she was telling the truth, in time she would realise he was actually doing her a favour. ‘Enough—you do not argue with me. Tomorrow, Felicity, you leave Zaraq. If you choose to stay, then you deal with this dilemma alone.’

THIS wasn’t the first woman who had lied to Karim.

And by the time he hit the changing rooms he had convinced himself she was a liar.

Because all women lied, Karim told himself as he showered and dressed.

His mother, who had kissed him goodbye as he left for school and said that she would see him that afternoon, had lied.

His father’s lovers, who’d feigned interest in the young Prince only to discard him when his father summoned them.

And later his own lovers.

They swore he was their first, or that they understood it was just sex—they too lied, because always they wanted more from him.

And now Felicity.

Sweet, virginal Felicity, the most precious of his memories, tainted now. She had no doubt been pregnant already and looking for a father. Who better than a royal prince?

Did she think he was a fool?

It was so much easier to be angry, so much easier to not believe.

All this whirred in his head as he marched through the hospital with his entourage. Khan, Karim’s senior royal aide, had told him that the King had asked to see him.

He visited his father daily, but this time he had been summoned.

His father had asked that the nurses and the aides all leave, and seeing his gaunt, strained face, Karim fleetingly wished for the problems of a moment ago—how much easier they were to deal with than this was surely going to be.

‘I have spoken with my surgeon.’ The King’s once strong voice was now thin and reedy, and Karim stood, his back straight, his face an impassive mask, as the news was delivered. ‘At this stage surgery is not an option.’

‘Surgery is your only option.’ Karim’s voice was strong, his bedside manner steadfast and absolute—as it would be for any patient facing the appalling truth. A strong doctor, a strong man was needed to give bad news. The only indication that it was his father he was talking to was a flicker of muscle in his taut cheek. ‘To live you need surgery. The tumour is getting bigger.’

‘My heart is too weak. If they operate now I will die on the table.’

‘I will arrange another opinion—’ He stopped then. There had been so many opinions, and Karim trusted only his own. ‘ I will operate.’

‘Karim!’ There was some strength still in the King, and he used it now. ‘You are to stop this nonsense. You are a surgeon, but you are not a god. You cannot make miracles. I will not let you operate; I will not give you the guilt that will come when surgery fails. I am to rest, to be built up, given medication, and if my heart is strong enough then there will be surgery.’

‘You might die waiting.’

‘Karim, this you cannot control.’

‘That is not your teaching—’

‘It is the truth.’ The King’s response was direct. Two proud, strong men were facing the future and did not like what they saw. ‘Karim, I am not scared of death. I am scared for my people, for my sons, for the turmoil I am leaving behind.’

‘There is no turmoil,’ Karim lied.

‘Please—there is no time for lies or sugar-coating the truth. Hassan and Jamal—well, since Kaliq…’ His voice faltered then, and both men remembered the tiny scrap of a baby who had lived only two days, the weak offspring Hassan had produced, too fragile to carry the hope of the nation. ‘There is still no sign of a baby—which means after Hassan there is no heir, no hope for the people. I know you do not want to be King, but that is why I have pulled you back from your work. You, my son, will have to step in. I have spoken with Hassan, and reluctantly he agrees that for the people of Zaraq there must a strong ruler, one who can produce heirs. Not him.’

‘Then don’t die yet.’ Karim said, because to him it was simple. ‘Just refuse to.’

‘I will try not to,’ the King said, ‘but I will rest easier if I know that my affairs are in order, that the people have a future. You must marry, Karim. Your playboy ways end now—this very day. You will take a bride, you will produce children. Hassan will step aside. Even though he begs not to, he knows he must step aside…’

‘What if Hassan did produce an heir?’

‘We know that is not going to happen—again Jamal weeps this month. The people need to know that if their King dies the Zaraq line will go on.’

Karim was never swayed by emotion. He stared out of the tinted windows at the vigil that was being held, at the people who had no idea what the future might be without their strong King. An idea was forming in his mind, a germ of an idea that was growing even as he stood. It wasn’t a new one either. A conversation like this had taken place years ago, but the strategy had been discounted. Karim resurrected it now.

‘What if I told you there will be an heir?’

‘I have said already—Jamal cannot—’

‘There is a woman,’ Karim broke in. He could not stand to picture her face as he said it, so he stared at his father—his King, his ruler. ‘She says she is having my child.’

There was just a beat before his father answered. ‘Then marry her, Karim, and Hassan will step aside.’ To the King it was simple.

‘What if it is not mine?’ Karim challenged, hoping it would terminate the conversation, that somehow he could set her free. But the King on his deathbed would settle for a lie if it meant that his people had hope.

Oh, it had been done before. The pure bloodline the people of Zaraq were so proud of was littered with hidden secrets. There had been affairs everywhere. Even his own brother Ahmed, so much fairer, so much paler than the rest…though doubts had never been uttered.

Karim could never raise a child that wasn’t his own. But Hassan could—if it meant he would be King.

‘You will do right by the people. I know that, Karim.’

Karim didn’t answer straight away.

What if it was his?

Hassan would step aside, and Karim would be a better King, perhaps, with Felicity by his side. No woman had taken him to the heights she had, and he could have that again and again. There would be no need to stray. He could groom her to be a suitable wife, could teach her, make love to her…And as for their child…He leant against the window, because letting his mind go there brought him no peace at all. He couldn’t even allow himself to think of that—couldn’t allow feelings to enter into this at all.

He paced for a moment and then stilled, rested his gaze on the south-facing window, away from the people and the ocean to what mattered most…