Sharon Kendrick - The Sheikh's Virgin Stable-Girl

‘No. I have no appetite for food.’ And then he glanced at the drink. ‘But my thirst is great. Taste it,’ he instructed the girl.

Eleni’s heart raced in confusion. Surely the prince did not intend her to drink from his glass? ‘But—’

‘I said, taste it,’ he repeated softly. ‘Or I will begin to worry that you are trying to poison me.’

With nervous fingers Eleni lifted the heavy cup—her father’s best—to her lips and sipped at the sweet, tangy juice, the tip of her tongue automatically removing its sticky trace from her lips. How horrible for the prince to have to live with such terrible fears, she thought, her heart giving an automatic little tug of compassion. Did he have to watch his back, wherever he went, she wondered—afraid that some unknown assassin was lurking in the shadows?

Aware that his piercing black eyes were fixed on her, she felt as if she had been turned to stone. What was she supposed to do now? And how long did they have to wait to see if she had been poisoned?

‘Well?’ Kaliq shot the word out.

Eleni swallowed as she stared down at the goblet. ‘I think the drink will please you, Highness.’

‘Then give it to me,’ he ordered silkily.

At this, she was forced to lift her gaze upwards as she held the juice towards him and as Kaliq stared into her face he felt the first shimmering of astonishment. For she had green eyes—pale green and glittering! The fabled green eyes of Calista—a throwback to warriors from Persia who had briefly conquered this land and its women many centuries ago, before being defeated by one of his ancestors. Legendary eyes—rare and lovely and spoken of in the palaces and tea rooms—but he had never seen them before now.

‘By the desert storm,’ he murmured beneath his breath, a strange wild beating in his heart as he sipped some of the juice and stared into them. ‘Such beautiful eyes.’

But then the cards began to fly from the dealer’s hands and Kaliq turned his attention to the game, the servant dismissed from his mind, her eyes forgotten.

There was a lot of money at stake, but it soon became clear to Kaliq that he and Gamal were playing to a different agenda from the other men, and soon their natural aggression ensured that there were only two of them left in the game. But Gamal was drinking too much alcohol—and Kaliq knew that there was one place in the world where you could not afford to be drunk, and that was at the poker table.

As the dealer skimmed them each two cards he saw Gamal try and fail to hide his smile of triumph and Kaliq sensed that his moment was drawing near. He looked up to find that the green eyes of the servant girl were fixed on the table with a look of terror. Was she perhaps worried that her master would gamble away all his livelihood, and her job into the bargain?

Glancing down at his own cards, Kaliq leaned forward. ‘A thousand to play,’ he said softly to the soft gasp of one of the onlookers.

Gamal immediately pushed a pile of hyakim notes into the pot. ‘Three thousand,’ he croaked, licking his lips.

Kaliq leaned back in his chair, sensing the man’s greed and certainty that he was going to win and the prince smiled with the confidence of a man who held an unbeatable pair of cards in his hand. ‘You look as if you’d like to bet more, Lakis,’ he said silkily. ‘Shall we raise the stakes? I’ll allow you to make a larger bet if you wish.’

Gamal’s eyes gleamed. ‘How much?’

Kaliq shrugged. ‘Well, as you know, I have no use for money—but if you want to sweeten the pot with that Arab stallion of yours that I’ve heard so much about, then I’ll put in a million. What do you say to that, old man?’

Unable to believe what she was seeing, Eleni dropped a spoon in an attempt to bring her father to his senses but the atmosphere in the room was so tense that nobody even noticed it clattering to the ground. This was like a bad, bad dream—her drunken brute of a father threatening to use his prize stallion as a wager. Her own beloved horse and just about the only thing which kept her sane in the harsh environment in which she lived.

‘A million, you say?’ questioned Gamal greedily.

‘A million,’ agreed Kaliq.

Eleni wanted to scream at her father not to persist with this foolishness—for even she could see from the prince’s demeanour that he must hold the winning cards. But how could she possibly boldly assert herself in this company of men, and in front of their royal guest? Why, Kaliq would probably have one of his bodyguards carry her from the room and slapped into the jailhouse in Serapolis!

‘Would…would you care for another drink, Highness?’ she questioned desperately, hoping to shatter the mood with her inappropriate question.

‘Do not dare speak to me when we are engaged in play,’ snapped Kaliq.

‘Yes, yes. I’ll wager the stallion!’ butted in Gamal wildly, triumphantly slapping two kings down on the table.

Eleni bunched her fist into her mouth. ‘No!’ she whimpered, but nobody heard. She could hardly bear to watch, but it was as inevitable as watching the sun sink down over the distant mountains. Her father was going to lose, or rather, the prince was going to win—that much had been apparent from the moment he had first galloped up on his own magnificent stallion.

Slowly, Kaliq laid down his two aces—the only hand which could beat Gamal’s—and there was a collective gasp in the room. ‘My game, I think,’ he said softly.

Eleni honestly thought that she might faint, and on shaky knees she staggered to the door, not caring if it was discourteous to their royal guest to leave without being dismissed, not caring about anything—because to all intents and purposes her life was over.

She took one last look at Kaliq’s beautiful hard face and the cruel smile which curved his lips—and her fingers itched to pick up the heavy spoon she had dropped and to hurl it at his arrogant royal head. How dared he try to rob them of the one thing in their lives which brought them income and prosperity?

Half stumbling out into the now-dark night, Eleni ran to the stable block before letting herself into the stall of her beloved Nabat, who whinnied with pleased recognition when he saw her and came nuzzling around her hand for a piece of sugar.

‘Oh, Nabat,’ she whispered as she put her arms around his sleek neck and buried her face in his sweet-smelling fur. ‘Darling, darling Nabat—how will I ever be able to cope without you?’ She pulled her face back to look deep into the horse’s face, seeming to see bewilderment written in the creature’s eyes. Or was she doing that age-old thing of animal lovers and transferring her feelings onto Nabat?

This was the horse who had arrived as a long-legged young foal and even then she had seen the beauty, strength and potential inherent in the animal. But it had been an unhappy horse. She didn’t know how her father had managed to acquire the fine Arabian stallion and she hadn’t wanted to know—all she did know was that it had been badly in need of some tender loving care.

In those early days when Nabat had been fretful and rearing and baring his teeth whenever anyone went near him, it had been Eleni who had soothed him, who had taken the time to coax him to eat.

‘The animal is too highly strung!’ Gamal had complained on more than one occasion, his hand straying towards the large whip he loved to carry. ‘Maybe we should beat some manners into it!’

But Eleni had sprung to the helpless creature’s defence. ‘No, Papa!’ she had pleaded. ‘Let me try to school him for you, to settle him down so that he’s happy here.’

‘He had better be happy soon enough!’ her father had snarled. ‘Or he will find himself for sale on a kebab stand in Aquila!’