you’re suggesting a civil war,’ Khalil stated flatly. ‘I didn’t think Aziz would go that far.’ And he wasn’t sure he would either, no matter what he’d thought before. Felt before.
Risking so much for his own crown, endangering his people, was not an option he wanted to consider now.
Things were changing. They’d already changed.
He wasn’t the cold, ruthless man he’d once been, yet if he wasn’t Sheikh...
What was he?
‘A civil war is not the only option,’ Assad said quietly. ‘You could approach Aziz, demand a referendum.’
Khalil let out a mirthless laugh. ‘He has everything he wants. Why would he agree?’
‘There is something to be said for a fair fight, Your Highness,’ Assad answered. ‘Aziz might want to put the rumours and unrest behind him. If he wins the vote, his throne is secure.’
And Khalil would have no chance at all. He would have to accept defeat finally, totally—another option he didn’t like to consider.
‘There are a lot of people in Siyad,’ he said with an attempt at wryness, and Assad smiled.
‘There are a lot of people in the desert.’
‘Aziz might not even agree to see me. We haven’t seen each other since we were children.’
‘You can try.’
‘Yes.’ He nodded slowly, accepting.
‘You still have the stronger position,’ Assad stated steadily. ‘You always have. The people are loyal to you, not to Aziz.’
‘I know that.’ He felt his throat go tight. Did he really deserve such loyalty? And did he dare trust it? He knew how quickly someone could turn on you. Only the day before his father had thrown him out of the palace, he’d sat in on one of Khalil’s lessons, had chucked him under the chin when Khalil had said his times tables.
Stupid, childish memories, yet still they hurt. They burned.
‘So you will speak to Aziz?’
Khalil ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes gritty with fatigue. A thousand thoughts whirled through his mind, and one found purchase: one way forward, one way to solidify his position and strengthen his claim to the throne.
Now more than ever, he needed to marry Elena.
Aziz’s bride. The woman the country had already accepted as the Sheikh’s wife-to-be. The woman at least one tribe already thought was his wife.
He’d reacted so forcefully against it because he didn’t want to risk his emotions or his heart. So, he wouldn’t. Just like her, he couldn’t afford to look for love. He’d keep a tight rein on his emotions and have the kind of marriage both he and Elena wanted: one of mutual benefit...and satisfaction.
Just the thought of being with Elena again sent desire arrowing through him.
‘The servant is not even Kadaran,’ Assad said quietly, and Khalil wondered if his friend and right-hand man had guessed the progression of his thoughts.
‘Neither is Elena,’ Khalil answered, and Assad smiled faintly. Khalil now knew he had been thinking along the same lines.
‘She is a queen, an accepted choice. Marrying her would work in your favour.’
‘I know.’ Khalil took a deep breath, let it out slowly. ‘I know.’
‘Then...?’
‘I’ll go find her.’ And by this time tomorrow, perhaps, he would be married.
The camp was quiet and dark all around him as Khalil walked towards Elena’s tent. A strange mix of emotions churned within him: resolve, resignation and a little spark of excitement that he tried to suppress.
Yes, he would enjoy Elena’s body again. But this would be a marriage of convenience. No more play-acting at love. No more pretending. No more feeling.
The guards stepped aside as he came to the tent and drew the curtain back—and stopped short when he saw Elena curled up on her bed, her face pressed into her pillow, sobbing as if her heart would break.
Or had already been broken...by him.
* * *
‘Elena...Elena!’
Elena felt hard hands on her shoulders drawing her up from her damp pillow and then cradling her against an even harder chest.
Khalil. For a second she let herself enjoy the feel of him. Then she remembered that she’d been bawling her eyes out and twisted out of his embrace.
‘You should have knocked,’ she snapped, dashing the tears from her cheeks. She probably looked frightful, her face blotchy, her eyes red and swollen...
She sniffed. And her nose was running. Perfect.
‘Knock?’ Khalil repeated, one eyebrow raised in eloquent scepticism. ‘On the flap of a tent?’
‘You know what I mean,’ she retorted. ‘You should have made your presence known.’
Khalil regarded her quietly for a moment. ‘You’re right,’ he finally said. ‘I should have. I’m sorry.’
‘Well.’ She sniffed again, trying desperately for dignity. ‘Thank you.’
‘Why were you crying, Elena?’
She shook her head as if she could deny the overwhelming evidence of her tears. ‘It’s been a couple of very long days,’ she muttered. ‘I was... I’m just tired.’
‘You weren’t crying as if you were just tired.’
‘Why do you care?’ she demanded. Perhaps going on the offensive was best.
Khalil opened his mouth, then shut it again. ‘I don’t care,’ he answered. ‘But I want to know.’
‘I’ve got a lot going on in my life that has nothing to do with you, Khalil. Maybe I’m crying about that.’ She wasn’t about to admit that she had been crying about him along with everything else that had gone wrong in her life.
‘I wasn’t assuming you were crying about me,’ he stated quietly. His voice was calm but he sounded as if he was trying not to grit his teeth.
‘Weren’t you?’ Elena retorted. ‘Ever since spending the night together you’ve been completely paranoid that I’m obsessing over you, and I can assure you, I’m not.’
‘What a relief.’
‘Isn’t it?’
They glared at each other. Elena folded her arms and tried to stare him down; Khalil’s eyes sparked annoyance and his mouth was compressed.
‘Why
