Maisey Yates - To Defy a Sheikh

“I would die first.”

“And I would kill you first, so there we have an agreement of sorts. Now get up onto the bed and sit for a moment.”

He moved away from her, slowly releasing his hold on her, the knife still in his hand. She obeyed his command, climbing up onto the bed and moving to the center of the massive mattress. Beds like this had come from another lifetime. She scarcely remembered them.

Since being exiled from the palace in Jahar she’d slept on raised cots, skins stretched over a wooden frame and one rough blanket. In the backs of shops. In the upstairs room of the martial arts studio she’d trained in. And when she was unlucky, on the dirt in an alley. When she’d arrived in the Khadran palace, as a servant, she’d slept in her first bed since losing her childhood room sixteen years ago.

The bed here, for servants, was much more luxurious than the sleep surfaces she’d been enjoying. Sized for one person, but soft and with two pillows. It was a luxury she’d forgotten. And it had felt wrong to enjoy it. The first week she’d slept on the floor in defiance, though that hadn’t lasted.

And now she was on Ferran’s bed. It made her skin crawl.

She put her hands in her lap and waited. She had no reason to trust his word, not when his blood had been found so lacking in honor. And not when he’d carried that dishonor to its conclusion himself.

The execution of her father. The order had been his. And no vow of bonds between royal families, or smiles between friends had changed his course.

As a result, she did not trust his vow not to touch her either.

“I’ll ask you again,” he said. “Who sent you?”

He still thought her a pawn. He still did not realize.

“I am acting of my own accord, as I said before.”

“For what purpose?”

“Revenge.”

“I see, and what is it I have not done to your liking?”

“You killed my king, Sheikh Ferran, and it was very much not to my liking.”

“I do not make a habit of killing people,” he said, his tone steel.

“Perhaps not with your hands, but you did set up the trial that ended in the execution of Jahar’s sheikh. And it is rumored you had part in the overtaking of the Jahari palace that happened after. So much violence…I remember that day all too well.”

He froze, the lines in his body tensing, his fist tightening around the knife. And for the first time, she truly feared. For the first time, she looked at the man and saw the ruthless desert warrior she had long heard spoken of. Thirty days in the palace and she had seen a man much more civilized than she anticipated. But not here. Not now.

“There were no survivors in the raid on the Jahari palace,” he said, his voice rough.

“Too bad for you, there were. I see you know from where I come.”

“The entire royal family, and all loyal servants were killed,” he said, his voice rough. “That was the report that was sent back to me.”

“They were wrong. And for my safety it was in my best interest that they continued to think so. But I am alive. If only to ensure that you will not be.”

He laughed, but there was no humor to the sound. “You are a reaper come to collect then, are you? My angel of death here to lead me to hell?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Very interesting.”

“I should think I’m more than interesting.”

He stilled. “You made me fear. There are not many on earth who have done so.”

“That is a great achievement for me then, and yet, I still find I’m unsatisfied.”

“You want blood.”

She lifted her chin, defiant. “I require it. For this is my vengeance. And it is all about blood.”

“I am sorry that I could not oblige you tonight.”

“No more sorry than I.”

“Why am I the object of your vengeance?” he asked. “Why not the new regime? Why not the people who stormed the palace and killed the royal family. The sheikha and her daughter.”

“You mean the revolutionaries who were aided by your men?”

“They were not. Not I, nor anyone else in Khadra, had part in the overthrowing of the Jahari royal family. I had a country to run. I had no interest in damaging yours.”

“You left us unprotected. You left us without a king.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You had the king of Jahar tried and executed in Khadra,” she spat, venom on her tongue. “You left the rest of us to die when he was taken. Forced from our home. Servants, soldiers…everyone who did not turn to the new leader was killed. And those who escaped…only a half life was ever possible. There was no border crossing to be had, unless you just wanted to wander out into the desert and hope to God you found the sea, or the next country.” As her mother had done one day. Wandered out into the desert never to return. At least, in recent years it had eased. That was how she’d been able to finally make her way to Khadra.

“I am not responsible for Sheikh Rashad’s fate. He paid for sins committed. It was justice. Still, I am regretful of the way things unfolded.”

“Are you?” she spat. “I find I am more than regretful, as it cost me everything.”

“It has been sixteen years.”

“Perhaps the passage of time matters to you, but I find that for me it does not.”

“I say again, I did not give the order to have your people killed. It is a small comfort, certainly, as they are gone, but it is not something I did. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t believe. I am plagued by the ramifications of the past.”

She curled her lip. “Plagued by it? I imagine it has been very hard for you. I’m not certain why I’m complaining about the fate of my country. Not when it has been so hard for you. In your palace with all of your power.”

“It is hard when your legacy is defined by a human rights violation you did not commit,” he bit out. “Make no mistake, I am often blamed for the hostile takeover of your country. But I did not send anyone into the palace to overthrow your government. Where have I benefited? Where is my hand in your country? What happened after was beyond my reach. And yet, I find I am in many ways responsible for it.”

“You cannot have it both ways, Sheikh. You did it, or you did not.”

“I had choices to make. To stand strong for my people, for my father, for my blood. Had I foreseen the outcome, as I should have done, my choices might have been different.”

“Are you God then?”

“I am sheikh. It is very close to being the same.”

“Then you are a flawed god indeed.”

“And you? Do you aspire to be the goddess?” he asked, moving to the foot of the bed, standing, tall, proud and straight. He was an imposing figure, and in many ways she couldn’t believe that she had dared touch him. Not when he so obviously outmatched her in strength and weight. Not when he was so clearly a deadly weapon all on his own.

“Just the angel of death, as you said. I have no higher aspiration than that. It isn’t power I seek, but justice.”

“And you think justice comes with yet more death?”

“Who sent the king of Jahar to trial, Sheikh? Who left my country without a ruler?” Who left me without a father? She didn’t voice the last part. It was too weak. And she refused to show weakness.

“I did,” he said, his tone hard, firm. “Lest we forget the blood of the king of Khadra was on his hands. And that is not a metaphor.”

“At least Khadra had an heir!”

His expression turned to granite. “And lacked an angry, disillusioned populace. Certainly the loss of the king affected Jahar, but had the people not been suffering…”

“I am not here to debate politics with you.”

“No, it is your wish to cut my throat. And I must say, even politics seems preferable to that.”