Chosen For His Desert Throne - Caitlin Crews Page 0,2

of one side of the royal office for as long as he could remember. He crossed instead to the wall of glass before him, sweeping windows and arched doors that led out to what was known as the King’s Overlook. It was an ancient balcony that allowed him to look down over his beloved fortress of a city yet again. These stones raised up from sand that his family had always protected and ever would.

He nodded, pleased.

For he would raise sons here. He would hold each one aloft, here where his father had held him, and show them what mattered. The people, the walls. The desert sun and the insistent sands. He would teach them to be good men, better rulers, excellent businessmen, and great warriors.

He would teach them, first and foremost, how to be brothers who would protect each other—not rise up against each other.

If he had to produce thirty sons himself to make certain the kingdom remained peaceful, he would do it.

“So I vow,” he said then, out loud, to the watching, waiting desert. To the kingdom at his feet that he served more than he ruled, and ever would. “So it shall be.”

But later that day he stared at the man who was meant to become his father-in-law before him without comprehension.

“Say that again,” he suggested, sitting behind his desk as if the chair was its own throne. No doubt with an expression on his face to match his lack of comprehension. “I cannot believe I heard you correctly.”

This was no servant who stood across from him. Mahmoud Al Jazeer was one of the richest men in the kingdom, from an ancient line that had once held royal aspirations. Tarek’s own father had considered the man a close, personal friend.

It was very unlikely that the man had ever bent a knee to anyone, but here, today, he wrung his hands. And folded himself in half, assuming a servile position that would have been astounding—even amusing—in any other circumstances.

Had not what Mahmoud just told his King been impossible.

On every level.

“I cannot explain this turn of events, Sire,” the older man said, his voice perilously close to a wail—also astonishing. “I am humiliated. My family will bear the black mark of this shame forever. But I cannot pretend it has not happened.”

Tarek sat back in his chair, studying Mahmoud. And letting the insult of what the other man had confessed sit there between them, unadorned.

“What you are telling me is that you have no control over your own family,” he said with a soft menace. “No ability to keep the promises you made yourself. You are proclaiming aloud that your word is worthless. Is that what you are telling your King?”

The other man looked ill. “Nabeeha has always been a headstrong girl. I must confess that I spoiled her all her life, as her mother has long been the favorite of all my wives. My sons warned me of this danger, but I did not listen. The fault is mine.”

“The betrothal was agreed upon,” Tarek reminded him. “Vows were made and witnessed while my father yet lived.”

He remembered the signing of all those documents, here in this very room. His father, already weak, had been thrilled that his son’s future was settled. Mahmoud had been delighted that he would take a place of even greater prominence in the kingdom. But it had taken Ahmed’s presentation of the dossier the palace kept on the woman who was to be his Queen to refresh his recollection of the girl in question, who had not been present that day, as it was not her signature that mattered.

Perhaps that had been an oversight.

“I would have her keep those vows,” Mahmoud said hurriedly. “She was only meant to get an education. A little bit of polish, the better to acquit herself on your arm, Sire. That was the only reason I agreed to let her go overseas. It was all in service to your greater glory.”

“Those are pretty words, but they are only words. Meanwhile, my betrothed is...what? At large in North America? Never to be heard from again?”

“I am humiliated by her actions,” Mahmoud cried, and this time, it was definitely a wail. And well he should wail, Tarek thought. For his daughter’s defection was not only an embarrassment—it would cost his family dear. “But she has asked for asylum in Canada. And worse, received it.”

“This gets better and better.” Tarek shook his head, and even laughed, though the sound seemed to hit