from the palace. Until six months ago, he had not been in Kadar since he’d been ten years old. But people remembered.
The desert tribes, bound more by tradition than the people of Siyad, had always resented Sheikh Hashem’s rash decision to discard one wife for a mistress no one had liked, and a son he’d already publicly declared illegitimate. When Khalil had returned, they’d named him sheikh of his mother’s tribe and had rallied around him as the true ruling Sheikh of Kadar.
Even so, Khalil trusted no one. Loyalties could change on a whim. Love was capricious. He’d learned those lessons all too painfully well. The only person he trusted now was himself.
‘Queen Elena and I would like some refreshment,’ he told Assad in Arabic. ‘Is there a tent prepared?’
‘Yes, Your Highness.’
‘You can debrief me later. For now, I’ll deal with the Queen.’ He turned to Elena, whose panicked gaze was darting in every direction, her body poised for flight.
‘If you are thinking of running away,’ he told her calmly, switching to English as the language they both knew, ‘don’t bother. The desert stretches for hundreds of miles in every direction, and the nearest oasis is over a day’s ride by camel. Even if you managed to leave the camp, you would die of thirst, if not a snake or scorpion bite.’
Queen Elena glared at him and said nothing. Khalil gestured her forward. ‘Come, have some refreshment, and I will answer your questions as I promised.’
Elena hesitated and then, clearly knowing she had no choice, she nodded and followed him across the camp.
* * *
Elena took stock of her surroundings as she walked behind Khalil. A few tents formed a rough semi-circle; she could see some horses and camels tethered to a post under a lean-to. The wind blew sand into her face and her hair into her mouth.
She held her hands up to her face, tried to blink the grit out of her eyes. Khalil pushed back the folds of the tent and ushered her inside.
Elena took a steadying breath, trying to compose herself. The only thing she could do now was learn as much as she could, and choose her moment well.
Khalil moved to the other side of the tent, gesturing to an elegant teakwood table and low chairs with embroidered cushions. The outside of the tent had been basic, but the interior, Elena saw as her gaze darted around, was luxurious, with silk and satin furnishings and carpets.
‘Please, sit down.’
‘I want answers to my questions.’
Khalil turned to face her. A small smile curved his mouth but his eyes were cold. ‘Your defiance is admirable, Your Highness, but only to a certain extent. Sit.’
She knew she needed to pick her battles. Elena sat. ‘Where is Sheikh Aziz?’
Irritation flashed across his chiselled features and then he gave a little shrug. ‘Aziz is presumably in Siyad, waiting for you.’
‘He’ll be expecting me—’
‘Yes,’ Khalil cut her off smoothly. ‘Tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘He received a message that you were delayed.’ Khalil spread his hands, his eyes glittering with what felt like mockery. ‘No one is looking for you, Your Highness. And, by the time they are, it will be too late.’
The implication was obvious, and it made her breathless with shock, her vision blurring so she reached out and grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself. Calm. She needed to stay calm.
She heard Khalil swear softly. ‘I did not mean what you obviously think I meant.’
She looked up, her vision clearing as she gazed up at him. Even scowling he was breathtaking; everything about him was lean and graceful. Predatory. ‘You mean you aren’t going to kill me,’ she stated flatly.
‘I am neither a terrorist nor a thug.’
‘Yet you kidnap a queen.’
He inclined his head. ‘A necessary evil, I’m afraid.’
‘I don’t believe any evil is necessary,’ Elena shot back. She took another steadying breath. ‘So what are you going to do with me?’
It was a question she wasn’t sure she wanted answered, yet she knew ignorance was dangerous. Better to know the danger, the enemy. Know your enemies and know yourself, and you will not be imperilled in a hundred battles.
‘I’m not going to do anything with you,’ Khalil answered calmly. ‘Except keep you here in, I hope, moderate comfort.’
One of the guards came with a tray of food. Elena glanced at the platter of dates and figs, the flat bread and the bowls of creamy dips, and then looked away again. She had no appetite, and in any case she would not eat with her enemy.
‘Thank you, Assad,’ Khalil said, and the man bowed and left.
Khalil crouched on his haunches in front of the low table where Assad had set the tray. He glanced up at Elena, those amber eyes seeming almost to glow. They really were the most extraordinary colour. With his dark hair and tawny eyes, that lean, predatory elegance, he was like a leopard, or perhaps a panther—something beautiful and terrifying. ‘You must be hungry, Queen Elena.’
‘I am not.’
‘Then thirsty, at least. It is dangerous not to drink in the desert.’
‘It is dangerous,’ Elena countered, ‘to drink in the presence of your enemies.’
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Very well, then. I shall drink first.’
She watched as he poured what looked like some kind of fruit juice from an earthen pitcher into two tall tumblers. He picked up the first and drank deeply from it, the sinuous muscles of his throat working as he swallowed. He met her gaze over the rim of his glass, his eyes glinting in challenge.
‘Satisfied?’ he murmured as he lowered his glass.
Elena’s throat ached with thirst and was scratchy from the sand. She needed to stay hydrated if she was going to plan an escape, so she nodded and held out her hand.
Khalil handed her the glass and she sipped the juice; it was both tart and sweet, and deliciously cool.
‘Guava,’ he told her. ‘Have you had it before?’
‘No.’ Elena put the glass back down on the table. ‘Now I am refreshed.’ She took a deep breath. ‘So you intend to keep me here in the desert—for how long?’
‘A little less than a week. Four days, to be precise.’
Four days. Elena’s stomach knotted. In four days the six weeks Aziz had been given to marry would be up. He would lose his right to his title, and Khalil must know that. He must be waiting for a chance to seize power.
‘And then?’ she
