The Sheikh King's Ward (Halabi Sheikhs #1) - Leslie North Page 0,1

sank. The king’s brows shot up, his stern expression turning to one of amusement. “Miss Nadide, is it?” He took a step forward, then another. “Well, isn’t this a surprise?”

Miss Nadide. Bas hid his surprise quickly, covering it with a grin. This was good news. He had Fiona Nadide right where he wanted her, off-balance and caught in a lie. She was blushing, even, the freckles across her cheekbones standing out in stark relief. He fought the urge to brush at them, see if they came away like cinnamon sugar.

“Miss Nadide,” he repeated. “This certainly simplifies matters.” He stalked toward her and was gratified to see her back away. She had an insolence about her, the kind that spelled trouble, but maybe this errand would be simpler than he’d thought. He clapped briskly, and she flinched. “Shall we go?”

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. A crease formed between her brows. It was sexy, that look, the way she pursed her lips. Bas turned away, but his heart rate picked up.

“You’re holding up affairs of state,” he said, more roughly than he’d intended.

“You know I’m an adult, don’t you? Twenty-seven years old?” Fiona turned her back on him. She stood gripping the table, and she looked good from that angle too, all long legs and generous curves. “Anywhere else, I could laugh in your face, send you off with a flea in your ear.”

“You’d treat your king that way?”

Fiona said nothing. Bas tried a chuckle, hoping to put her at ease.

“I don’t disagree with you,” he said. “You’re clearly quite capable of taking care of yourself. But your father’s will was clear. I’m to serve as your guardian till you’re of age by our standards.”

“So guard me from afar.” Fiona’s knuckles whitened. “I’d like to mourn my parents in the home I shared with them.”

“I can’t allow that.” Bas circled the table to look her in the eye. “If I were a businessman or some common tradesman, I might overlook the formalities and leave you to your grief. But I’m King of Al-Mifadhir. The press finds me fascinating, and those around me by extension. For your own safety and privacy, I must insist you live under my roof.”

Fiona laughed, high and brittle. “I have my own guards,” she said. “Walls all around.” She gestured at the garden fence, fourteen feet high and topped with iron spikes. “What’s someone going to do, parachute in? Snorkel up from the sea? This is silly.”

“Silly or not, you’ll comply.”

“And if I don’t?” Her eyes met his. They were a chilly blue, Bas noticed, the color of the sea.

“If you don’t,” he said, “I’ll be forced to compel you.”

“What, you’ll throw me in prison? Have me chained to the wall?”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Bas scowled. This was getting out of hand. He’d come on a simple errand—pick up his ward and escort her to the palace. He’d sent messages and escorts and more than one official summons and received nothing but silence in return. When other business brought him to the neighborhood, he’d decided to take matters into his own hands.

Still, this wasn’t playing out as he’d imagined. He’d expected a teenager, some snotty kid. Fiona was practically his own age, and she wasn’t wrong. Twenty-seven was grown by any reasonable standard, but rules were still rules. Legally, she was a minor, and she needed a guardian. Bas crossed his arms and blew out a frustrated breath. A little manipulation might get him what direct conversation hadn’t. “I won’t lock you up, but you’re fond of your staff, aren’t you?”

Fiona went pale. She tried to hide the way her eyes darted to the grand archway, where a knot of maids had assembled, but her dismay was all too clear.

“You’ll come or I’ll close your estate.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” Bas held her gaze with an effort. It hurt to face her pain, her naked shock as his words hit home. He steeled himself and kept going. “Your finances are under my control till your twenty-eighth birthday. It’s within my power to shutter your house and put your servants on the street. Or I could leave everything as it is, and you could come with me. Like a holiday.”

Fiona hesitated. She glanced at her easel, where two birds were locked in combat. The one on the bottom had lost already, the victor’s claw pressed to its throat.

“You can bring that with you,” Bas offered. “It’s only four months. After that, well…we’ll talk about that.”

Fiona looked out to sea. Her shoulders sagged.