‘All...um... Most of my life, Y-Your Highness,’ she stammered.
He gave a satisfied inner nod. She would know his customs, know the value of discretion.
Sweet desert stars, was he really entertaining this preposterous notion? ‘And how old are you?’ Zufar growled.
She swallowed, her nostrils quivering delicately as she inhaled. ‘Twenty-five, Your Highness.’
He stared at her for a full minute, then nodded briskly. There was neither chagrin nor prevarication in the decision his brain latched onto.
He needed a solution, and he’d found one. His gaze dropped down to her twisting ringless fingers. ‘Do you have a husband?’ he asked.
A deep blush flamed her cheeks, her gaze flitting away from his again as she shook her head. ‘No, Your Highness, I am unmarried.’
Just to be sure, he probed deeper. ‘Are you committed to another?’
Her mouth tightened for the briefest second, but she shook her head before she mumbled, ‘No.’
He wanted to demand that she repeat that. To look him in the eyes while she did so. But time was slipping through his fingers.
Zufar’s chest filled with grim purpose as his gaze sprang from the unsuitable woman before him to the wedding dress, and back again. She was roughly the same size as Amira, if perhaps a little bustier and wider of hip than his...former fiancée. Their heights too were similar and so, from what he could see beneath the blotchiness and drabness, was their colouring.
Of course, Amira had held herself with more poise than this maid, years of first-class schooling and a finishing school in Switzerland undertaken for the sole purpose of her future role as Queen. The woman in front of him was nowhere near as polished.
But he didn’t need a gem, just a polished stone to pass off as the real thing until he could resolve this situation quietly and on his terms.
‘Come here,’ he commanded evenly as he strolled to stand next to the wedding dress. Now he’d decided what to do, he couldn’t afford any more tears or, heaven forbid, tantrums that would further delay him.
She presented him with that rabbit-caught-in-headlights look again, the pulse fluttering at her throat racing faster.
Zufar bit down his exasperation. ‘You’re not deaf. I know you can hear me. Come here,’ he stated firmly.
She jerked into movement, stumbling to a stop two feet away from him.
He inspected her, noting that her eyes were in fact a dark amethyst, not the brown he’d thought, and that her eyelashes were far longer than he had initially noticed. Her mouth too was curved in a perfect little bow that, should it ever find its way into a smile, might salvage some of her dreariness.
His gaze dropped, took in the lines of her neck, and again experienced a tiny bolt of surprise at how sleekly it curved to her shoulders, how delicate and flawless were her collarbones and skin.
No, not a diamond, but perhaps a better quality stone than he’d first surmised.
A quality stone, but still rough around the edges, he modified, when he noticed she was still twisting her fingers into an agitated mess. ‘Be still, little one,’ he commanded.
She made a strangled little sound under her breath but her body stilled and her fingers stopped moving. He suppressed a need to tell her to straighten her spine and look him in the eye when he spoke to her.
Such training was unnecessary for what he had in mind. All that would be required was for her not to collapse into a useless heap before he’d achieved his goal. And he had a way to ensure that happened.
Decision made, he whirled away from her. As if they were in tune with his thoughts, a brief knock sounded on the door before Marwan and the rest of his aides rushed in.
‘Your Highness? Have you any news you wish me to relay to the royal guard? A starting point for the search for your intended, perhaps?’
‘We are past that, Marwan,’ Zufar said coldly, noting absently again that Amira’s absconding didn’t sting as much as it should. If anything, it was his half-brother’s insult that grated harsher.
‘Oh? Does that mean the ceremony is off?’
Zufar glanced at the woman standing shell-shocked in the corner of the room.
She looked even worse, as if a fresh bolt of lightning had hit her. His decision didn’t waver as his gaze objectively raked her.
The wedding bouquet would occupy her skittish hands, veils would shroud her face, and heels would elevate her height and hopefully correct her posture.
Beyond that, very little mattered.
‘No, it does not. The ceremony is still going ahead.’ He slashed his hand through the shocked murmurs echoing through the room. When he achieved silence, he continued, ‘I fully intend to be married in two hours’ time. Niesha Zalwani is to be my bride and everyone in this room will ensure that my wishes are fulfilled.’
‘TELL YOUR BROTHER I’ve not only seduced his precious bride but that she runs away with me willingly. Tell him I’m stealing away his future Queen, just as he stole my birthright.’
Those were the most scandalous words Niesha had expected to hear today, and possibly for the rest of her days. A day that should’ve been one of intense joy, but which had taken a wrong turn to hell about an hour ago.
With the Sheikh’s appearance in his intended’s bedroom, she’d harboured hope that everything would be resolved.
Except King Zufar al Khalia had just spoken words that simply didn’t make sense. For a moment Niesha wondered whether the shock of watching Amira Ghalib disappear from right under her nose had dislodged a few million brain cells.
The man in front of her, the formidable, extraordinarily captivating tower of masculinity who prowled through his kingdom with harsh authority and power, commanding and receiving the loyal adulation of his subjects because he was simply that breathtaking, had just said—
No. You did you not hear him right. It was impossible.
Her thoughts were clearly echoed by Marwan, who sprang forwards. ‘Your Highness?’ His voice was ashen with disbelief.
The King—her King, since she too was a subject of the Kingdom of Khalia—moved another step closer, bringing his earth-shaking life force even more dangerously into her space. He stalked so close she could almost see the ice crackling in his eyes, the contained fury vibrating his body.
Niesha shrank away from the elegant folds of the wedding gown, the sheets of icy shock thawing into a cauldron of panic. She glanced around the room, selfishly wishing Princess Galila were still here.
King Zufar’s sister barely noticed Niesha most of the time, but her kind smile when she did was far better than the fiercely domineering glower of her brother, and the tableau of horrified expressions spread in panorama before her.
Perversely, those expressions were what hammered home the fact that she’d heard correctly. He’d used her full name. In connection to marriage. His marriage. Today. Shock gurgled in her throat.
Her fingers moved then, connected with the soft, warm folds of the most extraordinary wedding gown she’d ever seen in her life. The gown that, finding herself alone in this room three nights ago, she’d secretly indulged in one insane moment’s fantasy of wearing herself to marry the ephemeral man of her dreams.
The gown that Zufar al Khalia wanted her to...to—