Читать книгу The Sheikh's Collection - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 46

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ELENA GAZED OUT of the window of the royal jet at the perfect azure sky and marvelled at how quickly things had changed. Just forty-eight hours earlier she’d been sobbing into her pillow, stuck in the middle of the desert with no possibilities and no hope.

Now she was flying back to Thallia with Khalil by her side, planning a wedding in just a few days’ time, and everything was possible.

Well, almost everything. She snuck a sideways glance at Khalil who sat opposite her, his face looking as if it had been chiselled from marble. A deep frown had settled between his brows and his mouth was its usual hard line. He’d barely spoken to her since he’d reconsidered her marriage proposal, a proposal which Elena had wondered more than once whether she should have accepted.

Yet in the moment before she’d agreed, when he’d been waiting for her answer, she’d seen a look of uncertainty on his face, almost as if he were bracing himself for a blow. As if he expected her to reject him.

That moment of vulnerability had been gone in an instant, but it still lingered in Elena’s mind. In her heart. Because it made Khalil a man with softness and secrets, a man she was starting to understand and know better and better.

Which, Elena acknowledged, violated the terms of this very convenient marriage. It was what she had first suggested, after all. If some contrary, feminine part of her wanted something different, something more...well, too bad.

She had other, more important things to think about. Like the fact that she was going to face her Council in just a few hours, and with a different fiancé in tow. She glanced again at Khalil, grateful that he’d agreed to accompany her to Thallia and marry in a private ceremony in the palace. It had made sense, rather than something furtive and hurried in the desert; both of them wanted this marriage to be accepted by the public as quickly as possible.

After she’d presented him to her Council, they’d return to Siyad and Khalil would demand Aziz call the referendum. Khalil had told her Aziz had retreated with his bride to a remote royal palace for his honeymoon. The announcement from the palace had simply said the Sheikh had wed, not the name of his bride. Siyad buzzed with speculation, but no one knew what was really going on. Khalil had said Aziz was just buying time. Things would come to a head when they returned from Thallia and Elena hoped that both of their countries—and thrones—would be secure.

Even then she didn’t know what life with Khalil would look like, or even where or how they would live. She and Aziz had discussed all these details, outlined everything in a twenty-page document that had been drawn up by lawyers from both of their countries.

But everything with Khalil was unknown. Looking at his grim expression, she wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss it now.

Instead she tried to plan what she would say to her Council. To Markos. No doubt he’d be contemptuous of her sudden change of groom. Perhaps he would claim she was being deceived by Khalil, as she had been by Paulo.

She thought of all the things Markos could say, all the contempt he could pour on her, and in Khalil’s presence, and inwardly she cringed.

‘What’s wrong?’ Khalil asked, turning to fix her with a narrowed gaze, and Elena realised her reaction had been visible too.

‘Nothing...’ she began, only to acknowledge she would have to tell Khalil about her mistakes. Better to hear it from her than Markos.

And actually, she realised, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to be honest, to share her burden with someone. To trust him with the truth.

‘Elena?’ Khalil prompted, and she took a deep breath.

‘Khalil...I need to tell you some things.’

His gaze swept over her. ‘All right.’

Elena took another deep breath. She wanted to tell Khalil, but it was still hard. ‘I was young when I became queen,’ she began. ‘As you know. My parents had just died and I suppose I was feeling...vulnerable. Lonely.’

‘Of course you were, Elena.’ His face softened in sympathy. ‘You’d had an isolated childhood and then you lost the two people who were closest to you.’

‘Even if they weren’t all that close.’

‘Still, they were your parents. You loved them, and they loved you.’

‘Yes.’ She nodded, feeling a sudden, surprising peace about what Khalil had so simply and surely stated. Her parents had loved her. No matter how little they might have shown it during their lives, they’d loved her in their own way.

‘So what happened when you became queen?’ he asked after a moment, his voice gentle, and Elena gave him a rather shaky smile.

‘My mother’s brother, Paulo, came to stay with me after the funeral. I hadn’t known him very well—he spent most of his time in Paris or Monte Carlo. I don’t think my father liked him all that much. He’d stayed away, in any case.’

‘And after the funeral?’

‘He was very kind to me.’ She sighed, a weary acceptance and regret coursing through her. ‘He was funny and charming and in some ways he felt like the father I’d never had. The one I’d always wanted. Approachable. Genuine. Or so I thought.’

‘He wasn’t, I presume.’ Khalil’s frown deepened. ‘This is the man who betrayed you.’

‘Yes, he did, yet I trusted him. I listened to him, and I came to him for advice. The Council didn’t want me to rule—Andreas Markos had tried to appoint himself as Regent.’

‘But you’re of age.’

‘He made the case that I didn’t have enough political experience. And he was right, you know. I didn’t. I’d gone to a few royal functions, a few balls and events and things. But I didn’t have the first clue about laws or policies. About anything real or important.’

‘You learned, though. I’ve read some of the bills you helped draft online, Elena. You’re not a pretty princess sitting on her throne, you’re an active head of government.’

‘Not at first.’

‘The Council should have given you time to adjust to your new role.’

‘Well, they didn’t, not really.’

Khalil shook his head. ‘So what happened with Paulo?’

‘He advised me on some real-estate deals: government subsidies for tourist developments on our coastal region. I thought he was helping me, but he was just lining his own pockets.’

‘How could you have known?’

‘It wasn’t just that,’ she hastened to explain, practically tripping over herself to tell him the whole sordid truth. She needed him to know, craved for him to accept the whole of her and what she’d done. ‘Every piece of advice he gave me was to benefit himself. And there were worse things. He forged my signature on cheques. He even stole some of my mother’s jewels, which weren’t hers to begin with. They were part of the crown jewels and they belonged to the government.’

She closed her eyes, filled with remorse and shame. ‘I was completely clueless, pathetically grateful for all his support. Markos uncovered it, and had him sent to prison. Kept the scandal from breaking in the press, thankfully—not for my sake, but for Thallia’s.’

‘That must have been very hard.’

‘Yes.’ Her throat was so tight it hurt to speak, but she kept going. ‘You know what’s really sad? Sometimes I still miss him. He completely betrayed me in every way possible, and I actually miss him.’ She shook her head, suddenly near tears, and Khalil reached over and covered her hand with his own.

‘He seemed kind to you, and during a time when you craved that kindness. Of course you miss that.’

‘Do you miss your father?’ she blurted, and Khalil stilled, his hand tensing over hers.

‘I’ve hated my father for so long,’ he said slowly. ‘And I can’t ever forget what he did.’ His face contorted for a second, and she knew how difficult this was for him to admit. ‘But I do miss his kindness to me. His—his love.’

‘Of course you do,’ she murmured and Khalil gave her a wry and rather shaky smile.

‘I never realised that before. I was too busy being angry.’

‘Are you still angry?’

‘I don’t know what I am,’ he said, sounding both surprised and confused, and then he shook his head. ‘We weren’t talking about me, though. We were talking about you. You shouldn’t blame yourself, Elena, for trusting a man who did his best to endear himself to you.’

‘I should have known better.’

Khalil shook his head, his hand tightening on hers. ‘You were young and vulnerable. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘The Council thinks it was. Or, at the very least, it completely undermined any confidence they might have had in me. Markos has been working steadily to discredit me ever since.’

Khalil frowned. ‘How?’

‘Rumours, whispers. Gossip that I’m flighty, forgetful. So far I’ve managed to keep him from destabilising me completely. I hope—I hope my record speaks for itself.’ She turned to him, needing him to believe her just as he had once needed her to believe him. ‘I’ve worked hard since the whole Paulo debacle, Khalil. I’ve poured my life into my country, just as my father wanted me to. Everything I’ve done has been for Thallia.’

‘I know it has,’ Khalil said quietly. He squeezed her hand. ‘Your devotion to your country is something I’ve never questioned.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘After all, you were willing to marry for it.’

‘As were you.’

‘Hopefully it was a wise decision on both our parts.’ He removed his hand from hers and sat back, his brow furrowed.

Elena suspected he regretted the intimacy of their conversation. She knew that wasn’t part of their marriage deal. And yet, watching him covertly, remembering how her body yearned and her heart ached for him, Elena wondered how she could have fooled herself into thinking she’d ever be satisfied with a marriage of convenience.

With Aziz it had been different. He’d been a stranger, and she’d given little thought to their marriage beyond the hard practicalities. Now she wondered how she could have been so blind. So naïve. How could she have coped with such a cold approach to marriage, to motherhood? How would she now?

She stared out of the window, realisations trickling despondently through her. She didn’t want a loveless arrangement any more. She wanted more from her marriage. More from Khalil.

She glanced back at Khalil; he looked distant and preoccupied. The things she wanted now seemed more unlikely than ever.

* * *

Khalil stared out of the window as the jet descended towards the runway, the waters of the Aegean Sea sparkling jewel-bright in the distance. He could see the domes and towers of Thallia’s ancient capital, the sky a bright blue above, the sun bathing everything in gold.

He turned to look at Elena and saw how pale she’d gone, her hands clenched together in her lap so tightly her knuckles shone bony and white. He felt a shaft of sympathy for her, deep and true, in that moment. She’d endured so much, yet had stayed so strong, even if she didn’t think she was. Even if she didn’t trust herself.

He trusted her. He believed in her, believed in her strength, her courage, her goodness. The knowledge made something in him break open, seek light. He leaned forward and reached for her hand. She turned to him, clearly startled, her eyes wide with apprehension.

‘You’re stronger than they are, Elena,’ he said quietly. ‘And smarter. They may think you need me, but you don’t. You are a legitimate and admirable ruler all on your own.’

Her cheeks went pink and her eyes turned shiny. For a moment Khalil thought she might cry. Then her lips curved in a wobbly smile and she said, ‘Thank you, Khalil. But you’re wrong—I do need you. I needed you to tell me that.’

They left the plane, blinking in the bright sunlight as they took the stairs down to the waiting motorcade. The paparazzi, thankfully, weren’t present; Elena had told him there would be a press briefing from the palace after they met with her Council.

He hadn’t liked leaving Kadar, but he understood the necessity of it. A marriage made deep in the desert was essentially no marriage at all. They both needed the positive publicity, the statement their marriage would make not just to Elena’s Council but to Aziz.

I took your bride. I’ll take your throne. Because both are mine by right.

Khalil felt the old injustice burn, but not as brightly or hotly as it had before. In that moment, looking at her pale face, he was more concerned for Elena than anything that was happening in Kadar. The realisation surprised him, yet he didn’t fight it, didn’t push the feelings away. He reached for Elena’s hand once more and she clung to him, her fingers slender and icy in his.

‘Welcome back to Thallia, Your Highness.’

Khalil watched Elena greet the royal staff who had lined up by the fleet of cars. She nodded and spoke to each one by name, smiling graciously, her head held high.

She looked pale but composed, elegant and every inch the queen despite the fear he knew she had to be feeling. Admiration and something deeper swelled inside him. Queen Elena of Thallia was magnificent.

Two hours later they were at the palace, waiting outside the Council Room. Elena had changed into a modest dress in blue silk, feminine yet businesslike, her heavy, dark hair pulled back in a low coil. Khalil wore an elegantly tailored business suit and, as they waited to be admitted to the Council Room, he wondered what this Markos was playing at. Was he keeping Elena waiting on purpose, to unnerve her? A petty show of power? Based on what Elena had already told him, it seemed likely.

He turned to Elena. ‘You should go in there.’

‘I’m meant to wait until I’m summoned.’

‘You are Queen, Elena. You do the summoning.’

‘It’s not like that, Khalil.’

‘It should be. You’re the one who can change things, Elena. Remember that. Believe it.’

She stared at him uncertainly for a moment and he imagined how hard it must have been for her, all of nineteen years old, devastated by grief and so utterly alone, trying to assert herself against the sanctimonious prigs of her Council. The fact that she was still here, still strong, both amazed and humbled him.

‘You can do it,’ he said softly. ‘You can do anything you set your mind to, Elena. I know that. I’ve seen it.’

She gave him a small, tremulous smile. ‘Except maybe make a fire in the middle of the desert.’

He felt himself grin back at her. ‘There were a few flames going there. If that snake hadn’t come along...’

‘If you hadn’t come along,’ she shot back, her smile widening, and then she drew herself up and turned towards the double gold-panelled doors.

He watched as she threw open the doors, grinned at the sight of twelve slack-jawed, middle-aged men rising hastily to their feet as Elena walked into the room.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ she greeted them regally, and Khalil had to keep from letting out a cheer.

* * *

Elena could feel her heart thudding so hard it hurt and she could hear the roar of her blood in her ears. She kept her head high, her smile polite and fixed, as she gazed at each member of the Council in turn, saving Markos for last. Her nemesis’s eyes were narrowed, the corners of his mouth turned down, and she felt a flash of relief. If he’d made any headway with the rest of the Council, he’d have been looking at her in triumph, not irritation. She was safe...so far.

‘Queen Elena. We have been wondering where you had gone.’ Marko’s gaze flicked to Khalil. ‘A honeymoon in the desert?’ he suggested with only the faintest hint of a sneer, but as always it was enough. He made it sound as if she’d run off with her bodyguard, heedless of her country or its demands.

‘There has been no honeymoon yet,’ Elena answered crisply. ‘But things, as you have surmised, have changed. I wisely ended my engagement to Aziz al Bakir when I realised he was not the legitimate claimant to the throne of Kadar. Marriage to an impostor would hardly benefit Thallia, would it...Andreas?’

Markos’s eyes flashed annoyance or perhaps even anger. ‘And who is this, then?’ he asked, his gaze flicking back to Khalil.

‘This is Khalil al Bakir, sheikh of a northern desert tribe and Aziz’s older brother. He is the rightful heir to the throne of Kadar.’ Elena felt the sudden surprise tense Khalil’s body, felt it in herself. She’d spoken with a certainty she felt right through her bones.

‘I have chosen to marry Khalil instead, in an arrangement similar to the one I had with Aziz.’ She looked at each councillor in turn, felt herself practically grow taller. Khalil had been right. She was strong and smart enough, yet she was still achingly glad he was by her side. ‘I trust that this will be agreeable to all of you, as it was before?’

‘You change husbands at the drop of a hat,’ Markos said, his lip curling in contempt. ‘And we are meant to take you at your word?’

For a second Elena felt herself falter, everything in her an apology for past sins, but in her moment of damning silence Khalil spoke. ‘Yes,’ he stated coolly. ‘As she is your queen and sovereign, you will most certainly take her at her word. Queen Elena has demonstrated her loyalty to her country again and again. It will not be called into question simply because once long ago she gave her trust and her loyalty to a man who should have, by all measures, been worthy of it.’ Elena watched in amazement as Khalil nailed each councillor with a hard, challenging stare. ‘We will not speak of this again. Ever.’

She barely heard the answering buzz of murmured assurances and apologies; her mind was spinning from what Khalil had said, how he’d stood up for her, supported her. When had someone last done that?

She’d kept herself apart, refused to trust anyone, because it had felt stronger. Certainly less risky. But in that moment she knew she was actually stronger with Khalil, and the knowledge both thrilled and humbled her.

She turned to her Council with a cool, purposeful smile. ‘Now, shall we discuss the meeting with the press?’