Royal Sins: Bound to the Warrior King / Protecting the Desert Heir / Pursued by the Desert Prince

Emily wasn’t well. Emily couldn’t stand the heat and the dust. It was hardly fair to leave her...

And Olivia had said she understood, of course, because it was all she had said for years.

Only once had she fought back.

Her fifteenth birthday. She’d told them she would make the cake; she would make dinner. They just had to be there.

But they hadn’t been. Because Emily had been hospitalized and they’d visited her instead. And she’d been so angry. They’d stayed with Emily all evening. She’d been broken over it. Something in her shattering that had never quite been repaired after.

When she breathed in too deeply, she swore she could still feel it. Lodged like a barb deep in her chest.

How dare you miss this? I asked for this. Just this!

It isn’t as though we want your sister bedridden in a hospital, Olivia. Have some sensitivity. You will have all of your birthdays. You’ll grow up. You’ll marry. What will Emily have? How long does she have?

They’d been right. And whatever she’d been feeling... She hadn’t had any right. And as isolated as she’d felt before she’d poured her emotions out in front of her mother and father, she’d felt even more so after.

Because when they looked at her after that, all they saw was her selfishness. They had an ill daughter. They’d needed her to carry the weight. To be as happy and self-contained as she could be, and she’d failed.

She’d stepped outside her position, and after that had found no place at all.

Olivia swallowed hard.

She faced a room empty of her own connections. The only person there she knew would be the man she was pledging her life to, and as she had only just been thinking, she barely knew him.

The ornate doors to the sanctuary were closed, and Olivia paused in front of them, waiting for them to swing open, as she knew they would. She had discussed this briefly with the wedding coordinator. She knew already there would be very few people in attendance. Nobility, members of the Bedouin tribes, a few approved members of the press and palace staff. It would be nothing like that first wedding with thousands of attendees, where the world had been watching.

But there had been something insulating about that. So many people it had seemed surreal. They had all blended into one.

She had been floating on a cloud that day, insulated by her happiness. There was no insulation today. Only the stark reality of the cold stone walls around her and the imposing doors in front of her.

Doors that suddenly parted, revealing the small crowd, and the man that she was meant to bind herself to.

What surprised her was how immediately everyone else faded. Her eyes were locked on Tarek. He owned her focus, her attention. He was the reason she took that first step forward, and the next. She was certain of this, she realized, looking at him. But this wasn’t the giddy certainty of a girl imagining she had finally found that sense of love and belonging she had always fantasized about. This was different.

He was different.

She locked eyes with him, drawn ever nearer by the black flame burning there. He was magnificent. A modern-day warrior born of the desert sand. He was strength personified. And yet again, he was in one of those maddening, perfectly tailored suits that made a mockery of the entire concept of civility. Showed it for what it was. A cloak, a weakness. A construct used by those too frightened to reveal their true selves.

That was, she realized in that moment, one of the things she admired most about Tarek. He did not hide himself. She doubted he even knew how.

She arrived at the front of the room, and the clergyman presiding over the ceremony began to speak in Arabic. She had only a base understanding of the language, allowing the words to wash over her in a wave, the gist of them penetrating, but not the fine meaning. She had read a transcript of what would be said today, so she had a fair idea of what would be asked of her in terms of vows, of what those in attendance were hearing now.

She would have to learn her new language. Would have to become a part of this nation as she had become part of Alansund.

In many ways, she felt it had already become a part of her. She felt the change.

She repeated her vows slowly, in the phonetic Arabic she had memorized while reading the ceremony, with help from Melia. She kept her eyes focused on the ground as she did, her lungs tight, growing tighter still whenever she looked up and met Tarek’s gaze.

When she finished speaking, it was his turn.

But he did not repeat the vows they had learned. And he did not speak in Arabic.

“I am a man of the sword,” he said slowly, the grave intent in his words drawing her focus upward. “And I now pledge this blade to you. I will empty my veins before I allow one drop of your blood to be spilled. You are one of mine now, as this country is mine. And I will give all to defend and protect, and to destroy any who should seek to destroy you. Just as you belong to me, now I belong to you. I pledge my loyalty, my body, to yours. And never will I share what is meant to belong to us with any other. I shall honor your gift, the gift you give of yourself, and never misuse it. I have sworn to protect, to uphold the honor this country was founded on. Thus, I shall protect you. Thus, shall I treat you with the highest honor.”

He reached out and took her hand in his. She was conscious of how small, how pale it looked, concealed entirely by his. He held her tightly, his black eyes never leaving hers, cementing the vow, one she felt all the way down to her soul.

Suddenly her promises seemed so shallow. So empty. What had she done but repeat words spoken to her? Words she barely understood.

That was very like her first marriage.

A marriage where she had chosen the thinnest facade of connection over any sort of true intimacy and all the deep, exposing terror that came with it.

So she’d stayed on the surface. And she was ashamed now in the face of his sincerity.

What Tarek had said, those were vows. A pledge from the depth of his being.

She was honored. She was not worthy.

But she wanted it. Wanted it with a ferocity that shocked her.

Maybe it was time to stop being shocked by how many feelings Tarek seemed to call out of her with effortless ease.

Then he released her, and as a blessing was pronounced on them she found herself being led back down the aisle she had just come up, all eyes in the room on them, somber expressions all around. She’d been told to expect that, too. The reception would be the place for festivities. This ceremony was treated with all seriousness.

When they exited the sanctuary, Melia was waiting for them.

“The feast will be served in the grand hall,” she said. “If you go there now, you can take your seats and await the celebrations.”

Olivia took hold of Tarek’s hand and they started to walk down the corridor together. A sense of belonging filled her. She looked to the side, at the man who had become her husband, and her heart felt as if it had grown two sizes. This was something deeper. Something more.

The sort of thing she’d been afraid to reach for all these years. Right here. Right beside her.

He looked at her, his brow raised. “Yes?”

“Just letting it sink in.”

“That we are married?”

“Yes. That this is my home. That you’re my husband. All of it.”

He stopped, taking hold of her other hand and turning her so that she was standing facing him, his expression fierce. “Why? What is it you want? I spent the past two weeks looking at pictures of your old life and Alansund.”

Her stomach tightened. “Why?”

“To understand you.”

“You could have spoken to me.”

He lifted a shoulder, dismissing her words. “The photographs I looked at conveyed much. And so I’m curious, why would you leave all of that to come here?”

Her throat constricted, making words all but impossible. “Because it isn’t there anymore. There is no place for me. I know we haven’t had a chance to talk about this. I don’t...I don’t like to talk about the past. I don’t have a lot of happy things there.”

He raised his brows, his dark eyes full of something...understanding, maybe? Which was so strange she could hardly stand it. “I have some idea of what that might be like. Will you tell me?”

“My sister was ill. She is ill. She’s had a terrible autoimmune disease since we were children. My parents spent years of their lives in hospitals. Even now, she’s very fragile. Truthfully, she’s lucky to have lived as long as she has. But that meant that my life was solitary. Very often I was at home while they attended clinical trials. While Emily was hospitalized. It’s just one reason I felt so suited to palace life. The house was always full. I quite like that. And Marcus had a way of making everything feel easy. Fun. Bright. I didn’t have much experience of that. I’m afraid of being alone. I don’t like it. I don’t like feeling displaced. Like I’m an incidental. Because I’ve had too much of it.

“Emily can’t help it. I hate even saying any of this. It isn’t her fault. It isn’t my parents’ fault. And I found a way to fix all of that. It’s just that...Marcus died. And there isn’t a place for me there anymore, and it’s nothing but that yawning, horrible feeling of being extra. I tried to... There was this man who was a diplomat for Alansund and I tried to make things work with him, but it barely got past hello. I felt... I hate feeling like I failed in my duty. Like I didn’t hold up my end.”

She thought of that horrible moment. The birthday party. When she’d yelled at her parents for not caring. When they’d looked at her as though she’d failed in her unspoken duty. To be content with neglect, because she had health. She had never felt so broken. “So when Anton suggested this as a solution, I jumped at it. That’s why I’m here. At least here I matter.”

She couldn’t quite fathom why all of that had come spilling out. She had never even talked to Marcus about it like that. Oh, he had known about Emily’s condition, but she had never spoken to him about how it made her feel.

But Marcus had never asked.

Tarek put his hand on her cheek, the gesture so shocking she froze, her eyes wide. “You are needed. Know that.”

With that, he lowered his hand, continuing to walk with her down the corridor. The ache in her chest deepened, widened, a crack in a wall she hadn’t been aware of until recently.

She didn’t have time to ponder it too deeply. They entered the dining hall to find it glowing from floor to ceiling. The chandeliers were lit; candelabras lined the room. Flowers wound around everything. There was nothing restrained about any of this. It was an explosion of joy, of color. And since Olivia couldn’t muster up any of her own joy, she appreciated it blooming around her.

At the head of the low table were cushions in red, gold and blue, awaiting herself and Tarek.

“This is beautiful. I’ve never been to a party like this,” she said.

It reminded her very much of that birthday party again. But people were here. And it was glittering and full. So she would focus on that.

“Nor have I.”

She followed him to their positions, taking a seat beside him. Questions formed in her mind, hovering on her lips. She had just shared some of herself. And she wanted very much to try to get him to share his own experiences.

“How is that possible? Why were you out in the desert?”

Guests began filing into the room, more than had been in the ceremony. She had known this would be the case, too. There was also a feast outside the walls of the palace, food being given freely to the citizens of Tahar to celebrate the marriage of their sheikh.

Along with guests, musicians came in, music filling the space, echoing off the ceiling and the jeweled walls. In time with the music, platters of food came next, and her question was lost in the noise and shuffle.

She picked at a bit of spiced lamb on her plate, unable to muster up any appetite.

She looked over at Tarek, who was sitting with one leg curled beneath him and the other bent at the knee, his elbow resting on top of it as he made quick work of the food on his plate. He trained dark, serious eyes on her. “I was in the desert because my brother feared what I would become if I was here.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was not until recently that I realized just who he was. What he was doing to our country. It was not until recently I realized that he was very likely the one who’d orchestrated the assassination of my parents.”

His hard blank words hit her like bricks. One after the other. And she was barely able to recover from the first blow when a second arrived.

“I think he was afraid I would know. I think he was afraid of what I would do. So he broke my will. Filled my head with his teachings. His truths. Sent me away where I could be of no threat. To guard the borders. To protect his evil empire while he reduced it to ash from within.” He took another bite of food. “I have been slowly coming awake for years. Slowly coming into understanding.” He looked at her, his gaze so cold it sent a shiver down her spine. “He turned me into a creature. Tortured me until I knew nothing but pain and his words. I am what I was made to be. I doubt I will ever be anything else.”

CHAPTER NINE

THE REST OF the reception passed in a fog for Tarek. He had not intended to speak to Olivia with such honesty. He saw no point in infecting her with the darkness that lingered in his past. He scarcely saw the point of infecting himself with it. However, the longer he stayed here in the palace, the more he remembered. The more often he woke, naked and reaching for his sword, his entire body burning with memories of what it had been like to be subjected to the physical and emotional torture visited upon him by his own brother after the death of their parents. It had all been under the guise of strengthening him, but he saw it now for what it was.

The only thing that had gotten him through had been the vision of his people swimming before him. The idea that he might be the perfect weapon raised up to protect them. To prevent what had happened to his parents from ever happening again. It had not then occurred to him that the threat had come from within the palace. That it had been his own brother who had orchestrated their demise. He had only the scribbles of a prince in a private journal, and shattered pieces of memory that sometimes pushed to the fore, piercing his brain with painful, vivid replays of conversations he’d heard. As a boy? During his torture, he couldn’t be sure. They were too broken.

And they were not what he intended to focus on now. But Olivia had shared pieces of herself with him, and he had felt obliged to do the same. Now, though, it was time for them to return to their chamber. It was time for them to become husband and wife in every sense of the word.

A sense he feared he still did not fully understand.

I am what I was made to be. I doubt I will ever be anything else.

His own words, the truth in them, reverberated through him as he and Olivia left the hall to raucous applause and cheers from the guests in attendance.

His body did not know how to feel pleasure. His hands did not know how to give it.

He thought back to the fantasy he’d had a week before, looking down at the book that had held so many secrets to sexual gratification. The fantasy of placing his hands on Olivia’s breasts. Her skin was so soft, perfection, unmarred by the things of the world. His were scarred. His entire body was scarred. Rough. More weapon than man. How could he begin to touch her in a way that would bring her pleasure?

He would have to trust the mechanics. What he had learned in his study. Just as he had learned to trust that drills would suffice when wartime came. That some part of him, instinct, would rise up and take over, join in with what he had learned.

And yet, it seemed rather a large chance to take on such a delicate, easily crushed creature.

They walked on in silence, heading toward his chamber. Neither of them said anything; neither of them touched as they walked inside. Tarek closed the doors firmly behind them, and when he turned it was to see Olivia, slowly removing the bangles from her wrists. She placed the first one on the vanity with a decisive click, followed by a second, and a third. Until she had removed each ring of gold and silver from her arms.

Then she reached up, working small combs from her hair, detaching the veil that had hung over her shoulders. She placed the beautifully adorned fabric across the top of the bangles, her eyes never leaving his.

“I have been thinking,” she said, “about what you told me.”

His stomach turned over. “I am sorry. It is nothing good to think about.”

“Maybe it isn’t. But it happened. I was thinking also about the vows you made to me during the ceremony.”

“I know it was not what was written. But all of those things spoke of love, of clinging to one another. And I do not understand those things. But I understand protection. Possession. Perhaps neither are very romantic concepts, but they are real in my heart.”

She nodded slowly. “I know. It made them meaningful. I understood. But it made me feel that I owed you something of the same. Not just words that were written for me by someone else. Not a traditional sentiment about marriage when nothing about this is traditional. When nothing about the two of us is traditional.”

“And have you decided what they are?”

“I haven’t rehearsed them. But... Yes. I have never been tortured, Tarek. I have never been alone the way that you have. I haven’t known loss as you have done. I promise that when we touch my hands will bring you nothing but pleasure. I promise that I will never send you away. I promise that no matter how long it takes, I will make you see that you are not what he made you. You are a man. And I will do everything I can do to ensure you feel like one.”

As she spoke the final words, her hands went to the belt on her dress, nimble fingers unhooking the tiny catches there, letting it fall free. Then she moved to the tiny buttons at the front of the gown, undoing each one with a kind of purpose that carried great weight.

She parted the fabric, opening the dress at the front and letting it slide from her shoulders, a silken river at her feet.

She was bare beneath the gown. And he couldn’t breathe.

He had never in his life seen a naked woman in the flesh. Drawings, statues, paintings were useless renderings. They did not and could not capture the majesty of what he saw before him. He had to grit his teeth to try to maintain a grip on his control.

She was bathed in golden light, the soft halo provided by the candles in the room conforming to each curve and contour of her figure. He was transfixed by every part of her. The shadow of her collarbone, her round, full breasts, tipped with dusky, pale nipples. The slope of her waist that narrowed then widened again for lush hips and thighs. The dark shadow at the center holding his focus above all else.

She was, now and forever, the epitome of a woman to him. And for all of his days, this was the image he would see when the word was spoken.

Everything else, everyone else, was a pale shade in comparison with her.

“I think now we’re past time for discussion,” she said, luminous eyes meeting his. “Perhaps it’s time we do something other than talk.”

The book had not mentioned this. That he would scarcely be able to breathe. That he would be so hard it would be a physical pain. That his hands would shake. That he would be nearly immobilized with his desire, while also fighting the urge to pull her hard against his body, to lay her down and push deep inside her with no preliminaries whatsoever while he chased a release that was sure to surpass anything he had ever known before.

He thought that he had learned more than the mechanics. But he saw now that there was more still. And that theory would scarce be helpful here.

Because he had not taken into account what she might do. And what it might make him feel. He had made it all about her. Her pleasure. Meeting her expectations of the husband so that he would not be remiss in his responsibilities.

He had fancied his own control so iron that he needn’t consider it.

He had been a fool. And now he was a fool standing before a naked woman.

She began to walk toward him, each step creating a slight wave through her soft body, her breasts keeping rhythm with each movement. She looked down, her eyes clearly following his own line of sight, then looked up at him, a slight smile curving her lips. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

“Go to the bed,” he said, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears. Though that wasn’t unusual. Sometimes, out in the desert, he had gone long enough without speaking that when he did so again, it was a surprise.

Her shoulders stiffened, one pale brow arching. “I didn’t realize you were one to give commands.”

“Neither did I. Go to the bed.”

He had to seize control here. There was no other option.

She turned away from him slowly, and he allowed himself a long moment to admire the view of her from behind. The enticing dimples low on her back just above the rounded curve of her bottom. The gentle sway of her hips as she walked away from him, complying with his demands.

Fire shot through his veins with a crack. This beautiful, fierce creature was obeying his commands. Soft, naked, lovelier than anything. Following his instruction. She had been the aggressor when it came to physical interaction between the two of them in the past. Tonight, the control would be his.

It was how it must be.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, her eyes watchful.

“Lie back.”

Her expression held many unspoken questions, but she complied. She breathed in deep, her breasts rising and falling. She was the picture of supplication, and yet he knew better. Because he knew Olivia.

“Raise your arms above your head,” he said.

She complied with that, as well. He admired her ease with her body. Her lack of nerves. She had confidence in him. Of course, she didn’t know the truth.

If things went well, she never would. It would be unnecessary.

He moved to the end of the bed, to a vantage point that provided him with an optimum view. Her legs hung over the edge of the bed, her knees pressed together, her eyes still on his. He took a step toward her, each step increasing the tightness in his chest, his difficulty in breathing. He paused at the edge of the mattress, leaning forward, pressing his hand into the soft bedding. Then he raised his other hand, tracing her cheekbone, the lovely curve of her upper lip, down to her chin. Her lids fluttered closed, her mouth relaxing, a sweet sigh escaping.

So his touch hadn’t harmed her. Wasn’t too rough.

He moved his fingertips across her throat and down lower between the valley of her perfect breasts. He watched as her nipples grew tighter, watched until the temptation to touch became too great. He let his fingers drift over her, brushing his fingertips over her sensitized skin. Satisfaction rocked him as she shivered, as he fulfilled that fantasy of his. She was softer than he had dared imagine. Softer than he had believed anything could be.

He let his exploration continue downward, stopping at the patch of curls between her thighs. He was shaking. From the inside out. Faced now with the full brunt of the desire he had spent fifteen years suppressing.

He was not stone. He was a man. A man who greatly desired the woman before him. Desire such as this had been stripped from him, a necessity for his survival he had told himself. A necessity for his mission.

Protection. Against corruption, against distraction.

But now, with Olivia before him, all he could think was that he had been missing a part of himself, and it had been returned to him.