The Defiant Princess (3 page)

Every muscle locked rigid, Khalid stared back at his father as if he'd gone mad.

No
. Surely the betrothal could not be transferred?

He took a long, deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. “It can't. I'm planning to marry Inaya.”

“Impossible.” The king's refusal was immediate. “You must—”

“Inaya will be a perfect future queen for Turastan,” he emphasised, interrupting his father. “For all we know, Sabihah could be highly unsuitable. She could be worse for the people of Rhajia than Mustaf.”

“A woman who dashes into a burning bus, putting her own life at risk to save the lives of others is exactly the sort of selfless person who should rule Rhajia,” the king reasoned.

“Perhaps, but that doesn't mean she would make me a suitable wife.”

“Son, this is your duty.” Threads of steel laced through the king's voice as he squared his shoulders.

“You told me to find a bride,” Khalid said with defiance. “I have.”

“I wasn't aware then that Sabihah could be located,” King Hassan argued, “nor that she would be so necessary to defuse Mustaf's threats.”

“This is too much to ask.” Khalid slammed his hands down on his father's desk in protest. “I've made my choice. Inaya will be good for Turastan.”

“I gave my word to Akram years ago that Sabihah would marry the Crown Prince.”

“Yet you allowed Hazim to marry Barika.”

“By then Sabihah was a woman in her early twenties. I decided she was old enough to contact me if she wanted to return to Rhajia. She hadn't contacted me and I had to assume that she wouldn't. Besides, it was clear Hazim was completely in love with Barika. Can you stand there and tell me that your union with Inaya would be a love match?”

No. He couldn't.

“Your marriage to Sabihah is the solution to the difficulties between Rhajia and Turastan. The return of the princess will be the salvation of the people of Rhajia.”

Khalid strode restlessly around the room. He felt caged. It wasn't the first time royal duty had made him feel this way, but this was worse than anything expected of him before. He'd railed against the whole idea of marriage. Having to choose his own bride had been difficult enough, but having Hazim's betrothed foisted on him was intolerable. Just when he'd finally decided to marry as his duty dictated, he couldn't believe that his father would overrule his choice of bride.

Whilst he hadn't proposed to Inaya yet, this had been the first relationship he'd entered into where he'd done nothing to discourage her hints that they had a future together. He had never hurt a woman in the past. All of his lovers had known the score—short-term mutual pleasure and expensive trinkets for the duration of their affair. It went against the grain to change his plans and hurt Inaya in the process.

Adamant, he told his father, “If Sabihah agrees to claim the throne, her succession alone may solve our problems. I will do what I can to convince and support the princess, but marriage is out of the question.”

“Your betrothal to Sabihah will be honoured.” King Hassan was immovable. “It was the wish of the royal family of Rhajia and it's still my wish to unite our countries through marriage. Your marriage. Not your sister's.”

Unease bubbled through Khalid's veins as he sought an argument that would sway his father against his current plans.

“Hazim is no longer Crown Prince, Khalid. This responsibility is yours and yours alone.”

His father's words drew guilt to the surface and served as a reminder that he must step up to fulfil the responsibilities that had previously fallen to his brother.

It would be impossible to dissuade his father from this plan. For now, his best course of action would be to return with Sabihah. Hopefully his father would see that Inaya was the better choice of bride.

“Khalid.” The king's voice softened. “Are you truly in love with Inaya?”

Khalid controlled the urge to storm away. Love wasn't an emotion he believed in. Love was something he thought he'd found once when he was young and naive. It had proved as false as an illusion of an oasis in the desert to a dehydrating man. “We are compatible. Inaya is my choice.”

“Love is not something we choose, Khalid. It just happens. If Inaya is simply a choice and your heart is not involved, then I insist you honour this betrothal arrangement with the Crown Princess of Rhajia.”

“I—”

The king raised a hand to stop him. “There is no other solution. The only way forward is to have Sabihah return to depose Mustaf. As you point out, the princess will be a complete foreigner in her own country. She will need strong guidance if she's to rule well. As her husband, you will provide that guidance.”

A muscle ticked in Khalid's jaw. “Arranged marriages may be accepted by many as part of our culture, but you can hardly expect her to go along with your plans. She's bound to have been thoroughly Westernised.”

“Khalid, you have women from all over the world falling at your feet. You shouldn't have any problem getting her to agree to the marriage.”

“Father—” Khalid started to object.

“You would rather put us all at risk and have Lalita marry Hamil?”

Khalid swallowed hard. Duty tasted sour in his mouth and bitter resentment pressed down in the area of his solar plexus. At the moment he had no other option than to go to Australia and convince the Rhajian princess to return. He would lend her the support she would need to overthrow Mustaf, and could help her select a first-rate group of advisors to assist her in restoring Rhajia to its former prosperity—but marrying her would not be necessary.

King Hassan extended the folder. “All the details are in here. This is your kismet. Forget Inaya. You must do what is best for your country.”

Chapter Two

“You must leave!”

The words were desperate.

Sabrina's senses switched to full alert as she entered through the back door of the two-bedroom home she shared with her former nanny—the woman she called Aunt Helen.

She heard agitation pulse through each syllable as Helen pleaded, “Please go before she comes inside.”

A knot of apprehension balled in Sabrina's stomach. More reporters? Surely not. It had been a couple of weeks since the accident and the interest in the story of her so-called heroism was dying out.

A deep, well-modulated male voice responded to Helen's plea, but Sabrina couldn't make out the words. Whoever it was didn't sound threatening.

“I don't want you here!”

Definitely time to intervene. There was now a note in Helen's voice that bordered on hysteria.

“I won't leave until Sabihah knows the truth.” This time the visitor's assertive words carried through to the kitchen and stopped Sabrina in her tracks.

Sabihah.
It was a name she hadn't heard in a long time.
Could it be—?

“I spoke with King Hassan,” Helen returned sharply. “I told him this plan will only place her in danger.”

“I understand your anxiety.” The words flowed like dark, melted chocolate. They aimed to placate. “You've protected her for years, but it's time she knew the truth.”

“I …”

The voices faded from Sabrina's conscious mind as it shut down from the present. Strong memories overloaded her senses. Her brain crowded with vivid images of her father and the last time she'd seen him. She closed her eyes, crossed her arms over her chest and placed a hand to each shoulder as she relived that day.

She felt her father's strong arms gather her up. One of his hands stroked lovingly through her hair and his words resonated through her …

“You must be brave, Sabihah. Our family is in danger. We must send you away to keep you safe and soon Helen will come to you. We love you.” His voice began to falter.

She looked up at him in bewilderment. “I love you too, Father.”

“Always remember you are the Crown Princess of Rhajia. One day either I, King Hassan or Prince Hazim will come for you. It could be a long time. You must never forget our people and our ways. Don't ever forget who you are and where you come from. You belong in Rhajia.”

Hot tears welled in her eyes now as the images replayed like a technicolour movie in her mind. Her throat felt thick with loss. She remembered her incomprehension at her father's words. The dampness of the tears on his cheeks as he'd pressed his face against hers had been confusing and distressing.

When her mother had hugged her earlier that day and said goodbye, it really had been goodbye. It was the last day Sabrina had seen her parents. The last time she'd inhaled her mother's favourite perfume, and received her father's loving kiss on her forehead.

“Your mother asked me to give you this, Sabihah.” He produced a gold pendant—the exquisite national flower of Rhajia—pulled back her hair gently and fastened it around her neck. “Wear it until we are together again.”

Sabrina had been in turmoil. Her lip had begun to tremble uncontrollably and her eyes had stung with unshed tears as she grew anxious at her father's words.

“You must go now, my little flower of the desert.” The hug was over, the warmth and security gone. “Remember, be brave.” His voice broke slightly, his last words heavy with anguish. “Stay safe until you are sent for. One day you will rule our country well.”

He had turned and left. Sabrina had been whisked away in a helicopter with the head of security. The last image she retained from the Bedouin camp they were visiting was of her mother, half-concealed behind a huge tent, blowing a kiss toward her in the chopper. The queen's shoulders had been moving in a jerky fashion as though she was sobbing hard.

Sabrina squeezed her eyes shut and the image was gone. Reality returned and she stood in the small kitchen, her fingers stroking the gold pendant she had never taken off.

Seventeen years ago.

Helen had broken the news to her that her parents were dead but had refused to provide her with any specific details. Sabrina soon learned to stop asking. The topic of her parents and her life in Rhajia was taboo.

All those years and nobody had come.

The day she was old enough to access the internet at school, she'd almost been afraid to do a search of her father's name and country in case she discovered imagination had taken over from reality and the life she remembered was indeed a fantasy. Steeling herself, she'd hit the Enter key and her memories had been confirmed. She was the Crown Princess of Rhajia, reported to have died in a sandstorm. Her parents had been assassinated shortly afterward.

It was the final confirmation that her parents were never coming for her. And what if Prince Hazim did arrive? Duty and loyalty to her father's will had warred with the fact that she had no desire to return to the country where her parents had been killed.

She'd grieved in private for all she'd lost. Nights spent crying herself to sleep as silently as she could so Aunt Helen wouldn't hear. Despite the rock of stability Helen provided for her, Sabrina felt alone and uncertain of her future. Disbelief, denial, anger—she'd gone through the whole range of emotions described in the grief cycle, but finally reached the point of acceptance.

Hadn't she?

“This is a matter for her to decide.” The determined masculine voice cut through her thoughts.

Sabrina had thought nobody would ever come for her. Now, somebody was here and the knowledge took her breath away.

“Please leave,” Aunt Helen begged.

Part of Sabrina wanted to sprint out of the house and keep running, but she'd never been a coward. This had to be faced. She needed to deal with her past so she could move on with her future.

One last touch of the pendant at the base of her throat gave her courage. She scrubbed at the moisture in her eyes, squared her shoulders and moved to push open the door to the living room.

“Sabrina.” Aunt Helen uttered her name on an indrawn breath.

Sabrina registered the anxiety in Helen's face before turning to face the man who'd come for her.

Oh my God.

Face to face with the object of her adolescent fantasies, the words that had hovered on her tongue to order whoever it was to leave immediately, simply deserted her.

It was as much as she could do not to gasp at the sight of the six-feet-something, broad-shouldered hunk whose stature and sheer presence seemed to make everything in the room shrink into insignificance. She was tall at five-feet-ten, but standing in front of him she felt as though she was Alice-in-Wonderland and had just drunk the shrinking potion.

Wow
.

It was the only word that came to mind when she saw his face. Strong, square jaw and swarthy skin stretched over high-hewn cheekbones. The male bone structure complemented eyelashes that may otherwise have been too thick and feminine. The man he'd become was even sexier than she could ever have imagined. His tailored suit gave him an external appearance of refinement, yet there was an aura of raw and primitive masculinity.

Prince Khalid Ul-Haq.

He was oh-so-much-more-handsome in real life than in any of the photos she'd seen on the internet or in the glossy magazines Helen subscribed to.

He gave her a slight bow, and for the first time in years she felt like a princess again. It was all real. She was a princess and this was one very stunning prince. Everything her father told her was coming true, except it wasn't the serious Prince Hazim standing before her but his drop-dead gorgeous younger brother.

“Sabrina, uh … this … this man was just leaving.” Helen moved hastily toward the prince, attempting to usher him from the house.

Good luck with that
, Sabrina thought wryly. The prince struck her as an immovable force. She guessed he would go only when he chose to do so.

“I thought he'd just arrived.” Sabrina finally found her voice and feigned a casual tone. She let her eyes sweep to Khalid's and realised he was inspecting her closely.