Читать книгу Sheikh's Pregnant Cinderella - Майя Блейк - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

‘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—

‘I’m sorry, Your Highness...’ she whispered, but his voice overrode hers.

‘Time is of the essence,’ he growled, without raising his deep voice. ‘I suggest we begin preparations immediately.’

‘Your Highness, this...this will be highly unprecedented,’ Marwan said.

‘I should hope so, or there would be something seriously disturbing with my reign,’ Sheikh Zufar stated without looking the old man’s way. ‘But make no mistake. This wedding ceremony will happen. She is the one who will take Amira’s place,’ he uttered with a finality that drove a bolt of fear down Niesha’s throat.

Aware that she had to get herself together very quickly or risk being flattened by the force of nature bearing down on her, she straightened her spine and raised her head.

He was watching her with the savage, mesmerising golden eyes of a hawk. Before she could summon any words, Marwan beat her to it. ‘Your Highness, perhaps we should discuss this—’

‘You are risking insubordination by questioning my command. The subject isn’t up for discussion. Get the bridal attendants in here now.’

Niesha realised her head was moving from side to side, a pendulous action she couldn’t stop. Shockwaves that hadn’t stopped rippling through her since she witnessed Amira and the stranger’s extraordinary flight now threatened to drown her. Another sound ripped from her throat.

Dark, tawny eyes zeroed in on her.

‘You will not pass out,’ Zufar commanded tersely, as if just by issuing the edict, her body would follow. ‘Bring her a glass of water,’ he tossed over his shoulder.

A cut-crystal glass instantly appeared.

With elegant fingers and an unwavering gaze, he handed it to her.

Niesha took a sip, swallowed it along with the hysterical laughter bubbling up. This wasn’t happening. She wanted to go back to an hour ago, when she was the least significant person in the room, no different from the straggly orphan without a past she’d been some twenty odd years ago, the one who’d been absorbed by the state orphanage that bore the royal family’s name.

The hand-me-down clothes she wore were two sizes too large, and really should have done their job of hiding her better, she mused dazedly. She’d chosen them out of prudence, not fashion. It had simply meant she wouldn’t have to worry about new clothes any time soon.

Except, even covered from head to toe, she felt more naked now than she’d ever felt in her life.

‘Drink some more,’ he decreed.

Her hands shook wildly, but she managed to take another sip without spilling it. He promptly relieved her of the glass. Still dazed, Niesha watched as it was spirited away.

Then her eyes clashed with his, and the words he’d spoken rose like a horrifying mirage before her eyes. Beyond the space filled out by his broad shoulders and his overwhelming presence, Niesha spotted movement as the bridal attendants entered.

He flicked a wrist, and Halimah, the head attendant of the women’s wing, who’d barely tolerated Niesha before today, approached.

Zufar acknowledged her presence with a single glance. ‘I do not take your loyalty for granted. But I demand your discretion in this matter.’

‘Of course, Your Highness,’ Halimah replied.

Zufar nodded. ‘My new bride has been selected. You will ensure Niesha is ready at the allotted time. Is that clear?’

Halimah’s eyes widened as she stared up at her King.

‘Is there a problem?’ he demanded.

Her head lowered immediately. ‘No, Your Highness.’

Another tremble swept through Niesha as he continued, ‘You will dress her and present her to the Grand Hall ready for her royal parade in one hour.’ The deep, dark, ruthless timbre of his voice brooked no argument.

No. This wasn’t happening.

She was just a maidservant. An orphan with no past. A nobody. She wasn’t even worthy of wearing Amira’s cast-offs, never mind her wedding gown!

‘Please,’ she started. The word emerged as a weak, scratchy sound. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Your Highness, I beg your pardon, but I cannot.’

Pure thunder rumbled across his impressive eyebrows. His eyes, so direct, so hypnotic, drilled right into her bone marrow.

‘Yes, you will. Unless you prefer to suffer the consequences of disobeying your King you will go forwards with this.’

Niesha balled her hand and placed it over her racing heart, desperate to calm it before it burst out of her chest. A long time ago, she’d sworn allegiance to him and his family. It had been one of the conditions of inhabiting the palace, and she’d done so willingly. And although he had no inkling who she was or her very small insignificant role his life, she’d done everything asked of her, for him.

In her own way, she’d given him moments of comfort, she liked to tell herself, by making sure that the food she was tasked to serve him in his private dining room was the right temperature, by ensuring his favourite wines were on hand when he returned to his royal apartments after long days away from the palace.

On one occasion, she’d taken it upon herself to purchase a bottle out of her meagre savings when the palace delivery had been delayed.

And when his personal cleaning staff had come down with the flu, she’d volunteered to work in his private quarters. To this day, tucked away in her mind, Niesha had a memory of the scent of his sheets and the unique cologne he wore on his skin.

Those tiny, insignificant but intense moments had made her blush for weeks afterwards on recollection. Still made her blush.

So, yes, like everyone else in this room, she would do anything for Sheikh Zufar al Khalia.

But not this.

The oscillation of her head grew faster as her alarm escalated. ‘With respect, Your Highness, you don’t want me. I’m nobody. Th-there are others far more suitable for this role. You’re making a mistake.’ She was a little glad that her voice held firmer than before.

Not so glad when several gasps echoed through the room and his forbidding expression tightened even further.

‘I have made my decision. You are my choice. So, do you have any other objections?’ he drawled.

Niesha was stunned by his question. Did that mean he would listen if she objected? What further objection could she voice other than telling the King of Khalia that he was utterly, stark raving crazy? The mere thought of doing such a thing made the blood drain from her head.

‘By your silence, I assume you do not.’

‘Please, you have to reconsider,’ was all she could manage.

‘This discussion is over,’ he declared. ‘But, rest assured, you will be adequately compensated for your role.’

He turned away.

Niesha knew she shouldn’t trust the tiny burst of relief that spiked through her after being released from the force field of his stare. Her emotions had been on the edge of severe agitation ever since she’d walked in to find Amira and that towering barbarian of a man climbing out of the window.

She’d lost precious minutes frozen in place, unable to believe her eyes. After she’d screamed and sounded the alarm, she was sure she’d been incoherent in the first few minutes. Guilt surged anew beneath her skin.

She should’ve done more to stop them from leaving. Or raised the alarm quicker, as Zufar had said.

This was her punishment for not acting swiftly enough. If she had, this...insanity wouldn’t be happening.

Because...marriage? To him?

Sweet heaven, she couldn’t do it.

She took a faltering step closer to where he stood issuing clipped instructions. ‘Your Highness, please, can we talk about it?’ she ventured.

‘We don’t have time for a discussion,’ he stated. His voice was soft and even, but she wasn’t fooled. He was seething. ‘This is an emergency requiring an interim solution. Any long-term resolutions will be thrashed out later, including whatever concerns you might have.’ He went back to issuing instructions.

Heads bobbed up and down, unlike her shaking head and her quivering body, everyone poised to move the moment he finished speaking.

Moments later, firm hands reached for her, fingers tugging insistently at her clothes. She was going to be undressed in front of him? A bolt of rebellion fired through her, and she pushed the attendants away. ‘No!’

Everyone in the room froze.

‘No?’ Halimah whispered in horror. ‘You’re saying no to your King?’

A row of shocked eyes stared back at her, one in particular lasering her in place. She realised Zufar also awaited her answer. And the expression on his face was telling her everything she needed to know. There would be hell to pay if she didn’t obey him. She was the one who had let Amira get away. She was the one who hadn’t sounded the alarm in time. When she’d eventually done so, she’d been hysterical and inadvertently alerted the whole palace that the bride-to-be had fled.

She might not have aided his fiancée, but Amira’s disappearance might have succeeded partly because of her.

Sheikh Zufar slowly retraced his steps until he towered over her. ‘I too am waiting for an answer,’ he breathed.

Niesha swallowed, accepting in that moment that she had very little choice. She’d helped cause this state of chaos. It was up to her to fix it.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I...I mean yes,’ she amended hurriedly when his face turned to stone. ‘I will be your interim...your stand-in bride,’ she whispered, her mouth bone-dry.

Niesha wasn’t sure why her gaze darted to the window just then.

Sheikh Zufar followed her gaze, and, unbelievably, his face hardened even more.

‘If you’re thinking of going the same way as my previous bride-to-be, think again. Halimah and her companions will stay with you. They will help you to dress. You will not be left alone until you are by my side at the altar in one hour. Is that understood?’

Her world spinning ever faster on its axis, Niesha barely managed a nod of agreement.

It must’ve sufficed because he and his aides exited the room, Sheikh Zufar striding with the regal, animalistic grace infused in his bones since conception. There were sources that said Zufar al Khalia carried the essence of life itself with him when he moved in and out of a room.

The truth of it hit her hard as her breath was expelled in a mighty rush.

At the outer door, he paused, slashing her with golden eyes once more. ‘There will be guards placed outside the doors and along every path you take today. Just to ensure that you make it from this room to the wedding ceremony without impediment.’

Niesha wanted to laugh, but she was absolutely certain that she would end up sobbing. And even she couldn’t attend her wedding ceremony in tears.

Her wedding ceremony!

How on earth was this happening?

She had no time to dwell on it as the women sprang into action, tugging her to the centre of the room before proceeding to disrobe her. Minutes later, she found herself immersed in the rose-scented bath she had drawn for Amira only an hour or so ago.

The water was still warm, luxury gels and shampoos uncovered and ready to be used for the pre-wedding pampering the bride-to-be deserved.

The bride-to-be. Her.

Niesha closed her mind to the whispers swirling around her. Her emotional tank was dangerously close to full capacity for further distress. She was fairly sure Halimah and the women were speculating wildly about her. A lowly servant without a past attracted either awkward conversation or derogatory comments, no matter one’s age.

Over the years, Niesha had learned to harden herself against the pitying and sometimes callous comments, but somehow the barbs always found their way to her heart. It was why she’d stopped attempting to make friends with her colleagues.

Right now, she was rawer than she’d ever felt in her life. It was almost a relief to sink into the water and let the numbness overtake her. To ignore the awkward silences and the intense loneliness drowning her and pretend this wasn’t happening.

She barely felt the hands washing her body or the fingers weaving through her hair as she was cleansed from head to toe. Somewhere in the dark tunnel of despair, she realised she was still shaking, that she couldn’t stop trembling even after she was bundled into a thick, luxurious robe and seated at the bridal make-up station. She stared unseeing into the middle distance as her make-up was applied and her hair dried and fussed with.

It was as they nudged her towards the wedding gown that Niesha finally woke up.

‘No...’ It was a feeble attempt, one a small, wounded animal seeking a last pass for mercy would make.

Of course, there was no reprieve.

‘Yes,’ Halimah insisted. ‘For whatever reason the cosmos sees fit, you have been chosen for this role. You will not dishonour our King by disobeying, and I will not have my head on the block because of you. Now lift up your arms so we can put this exquisite garment on you.’

Interim.

She was just an interim solution. A stand-in for today only.

Tomorrow, Zufar would go into the desert or wherever Amira had been spirited off to and bring her back.

This was temporary.

Remember this.

This time next week, she would be back in her old, familiar clothes, in her rightful place, with this terrifying incident tucked away to retell to her children and grandchildren in years to come.

They would probably not believe her, she mused numbly. She could scarcely believe it herself.

She lifted her arms and let them slide the undergarments over her body before the layers of the specially commissioned wedding gown were added. The skirt was a bit tight at the hip but the snugness wasn’t uncomfortable. She held her breath as the zip was tugged up and the delicate buttons fastened.

The sensation of being sealed into her temporary prison threatened to choke her. She hurriedly blinked her prickling eyes before tears fell. Halimah wouldn’t welcome her handiwork ruined, and Niesha needed to get herself back under firmer control. The quicker she was done with this, the quicker she could retreat into her shell, and life could go on again.

She placed her feet in the shoes when instructed, angled her head so the magnificent diamond and sapphire tiara could be put in place, and held her hands out for the two dozen bangles that came with the outfit. Precious gems of all shapes and sizes gleamed from her wrists, throat and ears as she was tugged forwards to stand in front of the giant gilded mirror.

Niesha only managed to hold her expression for a split second before her gaze dropped to her feet again. She didn’t know the woman in the mirror. And that was a good thing. She could remove herself completely from this situation, retreat to the numb place where she was safest, away from the whispered gossip and the stunned glances. The place where the soft, kind voice lived in her head, the one she didn’t recognise but had accepted over the years as her merciful companion, clinging to it the hardest when she felt her lowest.

The carers at the orphanage had offhandedly dismissed the voice she’d unwittingly confessed to as her imaginary friend. Some had ridiculed her, but Niesha had felt no shame in embracing the gentle susurration telling her she would be all right.

You’ll get through this.

She was repeating those words to herself as Marwan, his aides, Halimah, and six ceremonially dressed guards escorted her down a wide private staircase towards the Rolls-Royce Phantom idling in a courtyard at the north wing of the palace. The safety of the three veils shielding her from direct view of everyone else was a welcome presence.

Still, she heard the furtive murmurs as she slowly glided forwards. Behind her, hands fluttered over her train and helped her into the car. Niesha uttered no words as Marwan slid in beside her. The part of her brain that wasn’t suspended in disbelief understood his presence.

Amira’s father, Feroz Ghalib, had been primed to take this role with his daughter. Even though tongues would wag at Marwan’s presence beside her, it would delay the ultimate revelation of exactly what was going on.

Nevertheless, her hands trembled around the stem of the exquisite bouquet made up of diamond-studded cream roses as the car began to roll forwards.

For a wild moment, Niesha contemplated flinging open the door and fleeing as fast as her legs would carry her. She knew every nook and cranny of the royal palace, having spent all her free time exploring it over the years. She could find a hiding place within minutes.

Even as temptation seeped through her, she was dismissing it. The recent death of the Queen had devastated Khalia. The kingdom was still in mourning when its bereaved King dropped the bombshell of his abdication. Though his people had accepted Zufar wholeheartedly, aftershocks still echoed throughout the kingdom.

He’d been right when he’d said that this wedding needed to happen. Galila had said as much last night when she’d voiced her worry over Amira’s curious indifference towards her wedding, leading to an exchange of words Niesha had overheard as she’d tidied up Amira’s room.

There were larger implications besides a simple marriage between two people who’d known each other since childhood.

The simple truth was that Khalia could ill afford another scandal.

‘Wave,’ Marwan instructed tersely. ‘You need to wave to the people.’

A startled glance out of the window showed they were already on the street outside the palace. She hadn’t been privy to the protocol of the ceremony but, from watching other televised royal weddings, she knew there was a brief ride to acknowledge her future subjects and show her gratitude for their goodwill, before the actual wedding ceremony began.

Slowly, she lifted her hand, her movements woefully stilted, and waved.

Screams of joy pierced the thick windows of the car, forcing home the reality that she’d become a symbol of hope to the people. She...the orphan from the poorest part of the capital, the woman with no past and no name save for the one the carers had given her.

Light-headedness clawed at the fringes of her consciousness. A garbled sound echoed from far away but she knew it had come from her throat.

‘You will pull yourself together, girl,’ Marwan said.

Again hysterical laughter bubbled up. How very easily everyone told her to pull herself together, to rise up to the occasion. To obey. But no one knew the terrifying depths of her emotions. No one knew how she’d secretly watched Zufar move around the palace, on TV, stared at his pictures in magazines for years. No one knew of the secret awe she held for the man who sat on the throne.

For a brief moment in her youth, she had even fancied herself in love with him! She’d grown out of that foolishness, of course, but the unfettered awareness and awe he drew from her had never dissipated.

If she’d been performing this task for any man other than the King of Khalia, she would probably have summoned something other than terror. But he wasn’t any other man. Zufar al Khalia was in a stratosphere of his own, over and above the royal blood that ran through his veins and the crown that sat on his head.

All too soon the ride was over.

Trumpets sounded as the Rolls stopped in front of the Imperial Ceremonial Room where she would be taking her vows before the hour was out. The breath she drew into her lungs did nothing to offer sustenance or clarity, and, even though the senior aide highly disapproved of what was going on, Niesha was grateful for his presence as he alighted and held out his hand to her. She was certain she would’ve fallen into a wretched heap if he hadn’t offered his support just then.

The hand she placed on his arm trembled wildly.

Flower girls she’d never met giggled and danced in front of her, throwing handfuls of scented flowers in her path as she slowly glided up the twenty-one steps to the wide doorway and down a gold-edged, royal blue carpet towards the centre of the exquisite ballroom reserved for the sole purpose of conducting official ceremonies.

Outside, several dozen more trumpets joined the heralding around the kingdom, crowds roaring where they were watching on giant screens across the city.

Inside, Niesha moved towards the man who stood tall, regal, and devastatingly handsome at the altar, her heart firmly wedged in her throat.

When Marwan winced, she realised her fingers had dug into his skin.

An apology tripped on her tongue but was immediately strangled by her nerves.

The murmurs in the congregation escalated, heads beginning to turn as speculation grew as to why Marwan walked next to the bride.

Niesha had no chance to dwell on that. Her sole focus was on Sheikh Zufar as he swivelled on his heel to watch her progress down the aisle.

His face gave nothing away. Years under the spotlight had honed an ability to ruthlessly school his features. But the many interviews that Niesha had watched of the Crown Prince, now turned King of Khalia, had clued her into the nuances of his expressions.

Right now, he bristled with fury, still incandescent at the atrocity that had been perpetrated against him. That fury was ruthlessly caged, the greater calling of duty and responsibility taking priority. He meant to see this through, come hell or high water.

Niesha cursed her senses for choosing that moment to flare back into life. The bright colours of the Imperial Ceremonial Room, the hushed voices of the guests and the laser focus of Zufar’s eyes all pierced her consciousness, grounding her mercilessly in that moment.

You will be all right.

How? she railed at the soft voice. She wanted to scream, turn and flee from the room, but there was nowhere to go. They were almost at the altar. Marwan was lowering his arm in preparation to step away.

The moment he did, Galila stepped close. Zufar’s sister’s face was pale, her mouth pinched as she cast a searching, bewildered glance at Niesha. Unlike the others in the room, she knew why a maidservant stood in Amira’s place.

‘The bouquet,’ she said gently.

Niesha reluctantly handed it over, mourning the tiny support being stripped from her.

Before she could dwell on it, Zufar extended his hand. They were to take that last single step to the altar together.

Niesha stared at the long elegant fingers of her soon-to-be—temporary—husband. Automatically, she lifted her right hand and placed it in his left. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or frightened by the pressure of the fingers that took hold of hers and nudged her forwards onto that last devastating step.

The cleric began to intone a long string of ancient words. Words that demanded obedience, fidelity, faith, companionship.

Love.

Niesha’s insides scrambled over that last word. She’d known none of it in her years. The occasional kindnesses that came her way had been from strangers. In her quiet moments, she’d dreamed of such a feeling, but never in her wildest imagination had she dreamed of it being uttered in such circumstances.

A glance at Zufar showed his face was a stoic mask, the words not having any effect on him save for the façade he’d put up for the public. When it was his turn to repeat his vows he did so in deep assured tones, not hurried, not in any way nervous.

The cleric turned to Niesha. Her heart lurched frantically.

Her fingers began to tremble, then her whole body was seized by vicious little earthquakes that just wouldn’t stop.

‘Repeat your vows,’ Zufar instructed with a grave whisper. ‘Repeat them now.’

Niesha swallowed painfully, forcing her dry throat to work. She opened her mouth, and with a sense of wild surrealism said, ‘I, Niesha Zalwani, take you, Zufar al Khalia, to be my husband.’

Shock waves rippled through the crowd, echoed outside the palace as the true identity of the bride was revealed. Through it all, Zufar kept his gaze fixed, haughty, regal and straight-ahead.

‘Proceed,’ he commanded the cloaked cleric.

To his credit, the old man did not hesitate. He recited reams of archaic, binding words.

And a mere half an hour later, Niesha was officially wed to the King of Khalia.