Maisey Yates - Forged in the Desert Heat

It made her wonder if she was as safe with the dynamic ruler as she’d initially imagined.

“Exiled to the desert for fifteen years under a cloud. The uncle ruled, the people fell into despair, the country to near ruin. And who was to blame? The boy, of course. A boy who somehow survived those years alone and is now a man. A man who must now assume the throne. You see what is stacked against me?”

“I understand,” she said, shifting, the stone floor cold beneath her bare feet. She suddenly became very conscious that she was wearing a robe with nothing beneath it. “But let me tell you a story about a girl and...and...no, let me just say, I disappeared some six or seven days ago from a desert tour I wasn’t supposed to be on. My friends are probably frantic. My fiancé is probably...concerned.” Devastated might be a stretch. Tariq was a very even-tempered man. “My father...” She nearly choked then. “My father will be destroyed. I am all that he has...you have to understand.”

Even as she said it, she hoped it was true. Strange that she was wishing for her father to be distressed, but...but she was always so afraid that his life was easier without her. It had been for her mother. No child to take care of. No one to break her lovely things.

“And you have to understand this. Inquiries are being made about you. Discreet ones, but it is happening. Kazeem received a phone call with a very clear threat. That the future Sheikha of Shakar was missing, and should she be found on Al Sabahan soil my reign will hold a record for brevity.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling dazed.

“I am all this country has,” he said, his voice hard, echoing in the room. “If there is to be a future for my people, I must remain on the throne. There is no room for negotiation.”

“So, what if I try to leave?”

“You will be detained. But I seriously doubt you will try to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a sensible woman. A woman who wouldn’t want blood on her hands.” He looked at her, his eyes taking on a strange, distant quality. “Take it from a man who knows, habibti. Whether you spill it with your own hand or not, blood won’t come clean.”

She believed him. Believed it was true. Believed that he knew what it meant to have blood on his hands. Not for one second would she doubt it.

Could she do it? Could she risk it?

The entire thing made her uneasy, but she hardly had a choice. She could try and run, she could try to find her way back on her own, try to call Tariq, who would storm the castle and...and...oh dear.

She looked at Zafar. Did she really trust this man? That he would release her? That he would do what he said?

She did. Because she’d been alone with him in the desert overnight, and he’d slept with his arm curled around her waist to keep her from shivering. Because when she’d needed touch, no matter whether he understood it or felt it or not, he had provided it. He hadn’t taken advantage of her, had never once touched her inappropriately or in a way that would harm her.

In short, he treated her exactly like a man in his position should treat her, provided he was telling the truth.

“I require an exit strategy, Sheikh,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“When will you release me? Regardless of what is happening. There has to be a set end date. A sell-by.”

“I’m not certain I can give you that.”

“I require it,” she said. “No more than thirty days.”

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