Part IV
S T. VALENTINE WAS CONTINI’S winter capital, a city blessed with spectacular snow-capped mountains and flower fields that went as far as the eyes could see. Tourists abounded for as long as snow fell, and in the day, they would come skiing down any of St. Valentine’s majestic slopes, and once darkness ushered in they would take refuge in the hallowed halls of any of the tastefully opulent chateaus that lined the picture-perfect avenue of Rodestein. There, the sound of gaiety often rang well past the last hour of the night, with many guests delighting in post-dinner chats in front of the fireplace while enjoying toasted sweets and hot chocolate. Others danced the night away, swaying to the lilting notes played by classical quartets, which locals greatly preferred to any kind of modern-day music that involved screaming or head-banging.
Indeed, these were magical moments, but as soon as the snow melted, the crowds faded, and as spring turned into summer, a quiet would settle, and it was during this time of the year locals would have their beloved city to themselves.
Was it terribly selfish of her , Kyria wondered guiltily, to feel one with the locals and wish that it would always be like this?
Although now having reached the grand old age of twenty, Kyria was still unused to the massive crowds that winter brought to St. Valentine. She still much preferred the solitude of summer, with its fairly empty roads and how the air was mostly quiet save for the occasional chirping of birds. It reminded her of life back home, and although one could never actually be alone in the palace, the servants and guards there were so good at making themselves unobtrusive that she had never felt her privacy invaded.
Oh, how she missed Ramil. If there was anything that the almost two years she spent in St. Valentine had taught her, then it was that there truly was no place like home. And Ramil was home. It might not be her country of blood, but it was the kingdom of her heart, and she missed it, badly. No matter how beautiful St. Valentine was, it could never compare to what Ramil meant to her, and sometimes she wondered—-
“Ms. Markides?”
Hearing her name called out by the interviewer had Kyria quickly standing up, all thoughts of her old life shelved for the meantime.
“It’s your turn.” The other woman flashed her a smile. “Good luck.”
Ninety minutes later and Kyria had become the preschool’s newest part-time teacher. It was only two hours a day, didn’t come with particularly high wages, but it was a start, and she was proud of it.
After cycling back to her fourth-floor studio apartment, Kyria quickly called home, wanting to share the good news with her family. She expected one of the staff to answer the phone, but instead—-
“Malik Al-Atassi.”
Her eyes flew wide open. Malik? A conflicting mass of emotions detonated in her heart at the familiar, silky sound of his thickly accented voice.
“Marhava?”
The impatient way in which he said ‘hello’ had Kyria plunging back to reality. She thought of saying something, but all the words that rushed to her head were impossible for her to say.
I miss you. Did you miss me? I’m lonely without you. Are you lonely without me?
“Marhava?”
The coldly impatient tone made Kyria jump, and before she could consider what she was doing...
Click.
She had already done it.
Kyria stared at her phone in complete agony.
She had hung up on Malik like a kid.
Her shoulders slumped, and she slowly and deliberately banged her forehead against her desk.
Hail Kyria the idiot.
The thought of what she had done plagued her for the rest of the day and had Kyria tossing and turning for hours. By the time she woke up, her head was pounding, and it felt like she hadn’t slept at all. She trudged to the shower and as she shampooed her hair, she gradually convinced herself that she was overthinking things.
That call was nothing, and in the event that Malik had found out via caller ID that Kyria was the one who had called, well, she was sure he’d have thought nothing of it either. Or so she convinced herself, which was something she had gotten rather good at in the past two years.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, Kyria repeated to herself as she rubbed herself dry with a towel.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, Kyria mentally chanted as she brushed her teeth.
Nothing, Kyria anxiously told herself as she stared at her too-pale face in the mirror.
Nothing, nothing, nothing!
She grabbed her bag from her bedside table and hurried towards the door.
Nothing, nothing, nothing!
She threw the door open.
A tall, handsome dark-haired man stared at her, his lithe, powerful form covered in a long flowing white thobe.
Oh, Servant of God, she had reached her limit, hadn’t she? She was seeing things now, the Fates punishing her with hallucinations for the sheer immorality of her thoughts.
Made-up Malik gave her a brief, polite smile, but Kyria only scowled. Oh, you are so not going to fool me, you imaginary sheikh—-
“Kyria?”
Her eyes widened.
It...spoke.
It...was real?
“Malik?” she whispered.
“Aren’t you going to let me in?”
Tears of heaven, it really was him!
The realization made her pale and her body stiffen. A thousand things that she wanted to do raced in her mind, but none of them was appropriate. She wanted to jump for joy, throw her arms around him, kiss him—-
Stop thinking crazy things, Kyria Markides!
Panic gripped her, her eyes flying to his in horror, but this turned out to be an even bigger mistake. Malik’s handsome face filled her vision, his sheer presence overwhelming her, and her mind...sort of...snapped.
Bang!
Kyria stared at her door in complete misery.
She had just shut the door on the sheikh’s face.
****
I T WAS ALREADY WELL past lunch by the time Kyria mustered the courage to use her door’s peephole, but the sight of her empty hallway only resulted in mixed feelings. The sheikh was gone.
Her shoulders slumped.
Well, of course he was. Not only had she hung up on him yesterday – which she was now gloomily certain he was aware of – but she had also added insult to injury by slamming the door in his face. Honestly, with all of these, she wouldn’t be surprised at all to receive an email from the palace anytime about her citizenship being revoked.
For the rest of the day, Kyria waited and paced in anxious silence in the event that the sheikh were to call or visit. But neither happened, and before she could stop herself, she was already on the phone and making a call to the one person she knew who would always give it to her straight, albeit tactlessly.
“Well, hello there, prank caller.”
Kyria grimaced at the way the beloved Queen of Ramil seemed to take relish in speaking the words. “Very funny, Your Majesty,” she muttered. “I take it everyone knows?”
“That you hung up on Malik?” Harper asked cheerfully as she resumed walking down the hallway. “Absolutely. Have you two talked then?”
“Not...exactly.”
The queen blinked. “What does that exactly mean?”
She hesitated, knowing how Harper could be.
Sensing something juicy coming up, Harper said cajolingly, “Come on, Ky. Who else can you to talk to about these things?”
Well, that was true, but—-
“Promise me first you won’t laugh,” she demanded.
Harper crossed her fingers behind her back as she entered the bedchamber she shared with the king. “Of course.”
Kyria took a deep breath. “He came here this morning, and I was so shocked that I kinda......slammed the door on his face?”
For one moment, there was silence—-
And then the Queen of Ramil was gasping, laughing so hard she was literally gasping for breath.
“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” Kyria protested.
“It’s y-your fault,” Harper managed to choke in between laughs as she sat on the edge of her bed.
“Calling you is an obvious waste of time,” Kyria muttered glumly.
“I have...tell...king.”
Her teeth gnashed as the queen continued laughing her head off. “You are not helping at all!”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Harper wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and did her best to control herself. “But seriously, why in God’s name did you do those things in the first place? Did you forget we have caller ID?”
“Of course I didn’t.” Kyria threw herself on the couch in a fit of unrest. “I panicked at hearing his voice.”
The queen frowned. “But it’s not like you guys don’t talk.”
Kyria grimaced. Even the word ‘talk’ would be stretching it a bit when she recalled the stilted phone conversations that either Vanna or Altair had forced on her and the sheikh in the past two years.
Happy birthday, Kyria. I’m sorry I’m unable to visit you.
Merry Christmas, Malik. I’m sorry I’m unable to fly back home.
“Those were different,” she said finally. She had at least some semblance of time to prepare herself for those calls. It was the opposite with him answering the phone yesterday and the way he unexpectedly showed up on her doorstep this morning. Neither had given her any time at all to school her mind and heart...
Harper was still bewildered. “What do you mean different?”
“I wasn’t expecting to hear his voice yesterday. It made me want to say things, stupid things—-”
Stupid things, the queen mentally translated, like probably how Kyria still couldn’t make up her mind on whether she saw Malik as a man or as a brother.
“And because they were stupid things,” Kyria continued glumly, “I panicked.”
Now Harper was beginning to understand. “That’s why you hung up.”
Kyria’s head hung low in shame. “Yes.”
“And so when you saw him this morning, you were, umm, thinking of stupid things again?”
“Yes.” The admission was uttered in a small voice.
“And so instead of doing any of those stupid things—-” Harper was guessing those had to do with hugging and kissing. “You, umm, ended up panicking again and slamming the door in his face?”
“Yes.” And this time, the younger girl’s voice was even smaller.
“I...see.” Harper tried hard not to imagine the look on Malik’s face when his beloved Kyria shut the door on him, but it was impossible, and before she knew it she was already clutching her sides, lost in another bout of laughter.
“Harper!”
“Sorry...just...too...funny.”
She glared at the phone in disgust. “Call me when you’re done, and by the way—-” Her voice turned sweet. “I’m charging this call on your account.”
The queen’s laugh abruptly stopped. “Hey!”
But Kyria had also hung up on her. Serves her right , she thought darkly. As Harper was now queen, the kingdom’s laws dictated that her every expense be settled from the royal coffers, and there was nothing the fiercely independent queen hated more than having to spend anyone else’s money but hers.
That took care of her little revenge, but there was still the matter of a certain sheikh.
Kyria stared at the phone in her hands. At the very least, she owed him an apology. But what if he asked why had she done all those things?
****
A S MALIK’S LIMOUSINE joined the flow of vehicles rolling down one of St. Valentine’s busy avenues, the sheikh noticed his head of security glancing at him every once in a while through the rearview mirror—-
Malik met Emmanuel’s gaze, and the older man swiftly averted his gaze. But a moment later, Emmanuel let out a heavy sigh, and his teeth gnashed. The older man had been doing that for a week now, ever since his rather unfortunate visit at Kyria’s apartment.
When they reached their destination, Emmanuel opened the door for the sheikh and as he stepped out, Malik looked at the older man, and his head of security looked back at him, his face completely expressionless.
“If you sigh one more time, I’ll have you sacked.”
“The thought hasn’t even crossed my mind, Your Highness.”
“She obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” he stressed coldly.
“We are all entitled to think what we wish,” the older man answered politely.
“I’m not ignoring her calls to punish her.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“That would be juvenile.”
“Undoubtedly.” And the older man’s gaze bored through the sheikh, saying without words it was exactly what he thought of Malik.
The sheikh stalked inside the hotel lobby. Damn old man . He loathed how talking to Emmanuel always made him feel like he was a pathetic seventeen-year-old again. The man had been with Malik since he was seventeen, had seen the sheikh grow up, and as difficult as it was to admit, Malik also had a feeling Emmanuel knew exactly how he felt about his so-called sister.
As they took the elevator to the topmost floor, the sheikh noticed his bodyguard glancing at him again, and his temper flared. “Just say what you have to say, damn you.”
To the sheikh’s surprise, Emmanuel actually did. “Punishment is when the one doing the punishing can extract pleasure from the process. But when the one doing the punishing feels the same pain as the one being punished, then the exercise turns into unnecessary torture.”
Malik’s face turned expressionless. “A philosopher, are you now, Emmanuel?”
“All I’m suggesting is that you hear the lady out, Your Highness.”
“You make it sound like my life revolves around her,” the sheikh snapped.
As it does, Emmanuel thought, but he was saved from replying as the elevator doors opened to the hotel’s exclusive rooftop club. A quiet but palpable frenzy took over the crowd at the sight of the all-too-eligible sheikh, and Emmanuel had to temporarily set aside his meddling to act as the sheikh’s bodyguard. With the establishment’s in-house security clearing the way for them, Emmanuel and the sheikh were able to reach the VIP area without incident. The club’s owner, young Farica de Konigh, grinned and gave Malik a quick hug as soon as he reached her. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered feelingly. The club’s opening was extremely important to her. Tonight was make-or-break for her, and she needed all the help she could get to make sure its opening was a success.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered back, “but we both know I’m not doing this for free.”
“I do know,” Farica said laughingly, “But I’m thankful all the same.” She gestured to the stage. “Ready to make your speech?”
The crowd stirred as Malik stepped up to the podium. “Marhava.” The sheikh’s voice, deep and strong, was enough to have the women swooning, but combined as well with his foreign accent, devastatingly sexy smile, and urbane manners, none of them stood any chance at all. They became his slaves in an instant, hanging on to every word from the sheikh.
His speech was meant to be charmingly quick and to the point, the usual spiel that he did for thanking the guests who had paid an exorbitant amount of money simply for the right to say that they were able to “party” with Malik Al-Atassi.
That was the plan, but then he spotted a certain woman at the back of the crowd, her hair covered by a headdress and looking straight at him with an uncertain smile wobbling on her lips—-
Kyria.
Emmanuel coughed loudly behind the sheikh, and Malik recovered from his shock. Dark color stained the sheikh’s sharply defined cheeks when he saw the way the crowd was staring at him, all of them no doubt wondering why he had suddenly stopped talking. Clearing his throat, Malik swiftly concluded the rest of his speech and as soon as Farica stepped in to take over, his head turned immediately towards Emmanuel. “Did you see her?” he demanded under his breath.
“Did I see who, Your Highness?”
“You know who I’m talking about.” He cast his bodyguard an impatient glance, knowing he was being baited. And unable to help it, he looked at the crowd again, and his heart slammed against his chest when he saw her still standing there. Aira. Fuck. He was a full-grown man, and here he was acting like a besotted fool.
Looking back at Emmanuel, he said tersely, “Get Kyria to my table.”
“To be clear, Your Highness – is this the same Kyria whom you say wishes to have nothing to do with you—-”
“Emmanuel.” The bodyguard’s name came out in a warning growl.
The older man allowed himself a small smile. “Right away, Your Highness.”
Although it only took Farica less than a minute to end her own speech, Malik still had to struggle in curbing his impatience, and the moment his duties as the club’s VIP guest were completed, it was all he could do not to run people over in his desire to get to his table as swiftly as possible.
Heads turned wherever he went, but Malik didn’t even glance at any of the women blatantly inviting his attention. Despite the rather cool evening wind, most of them wore outfits that barely covered their bodies: tops that were either transparent or cropped, skirts and dresses that exposed the entire length of their legs and the under curve of their bottoms. A live DJ had started spinning music from one corner, its mix of fast-paced beat and alluring melody inducing the crowd to shed their inhibitions and obey the rising heat of their blood. Bodies began to twist and gyrate on the dance floor, skin against skin, butt against crotch. It was an intensely erotic scene, but it did nothing for Malik. He only had eyes for one woman—-
Kyria.
The moment her name formed in his mind, Malik saw her own head jerk up as if she had felt his burning claim on her soul, and her gaze clashed with his. His glimpse of her last week had been too quick for it to matter, and seeing her in the crowd earlier wasn’t any better. This time, however, he had every opportunity to study her and he did so thoroughly, possessively.
Her headdress had fallen back, revealing the dark tresses of her hair. It was much shorter now, a messy, hand-combed bob that made her look even younger than her actual years, and she had on a white kimono-styled abaya with loose and flowing sleeves, its sides parted to reveal her black empire-styled dress. It was hell of a lot more conservative compared to what the other women in the club were wearing, but even so Malik felt like shrugging out of his jacket and covering up every inch of her. He didn't like the way the dress followed the curve of her breasts, didn’t like the way its cut emphasized her trim waist. But what he disliked most at all was how unreasonable he was being.
This was not the fucking way a brother should think of his sister.
In one final stride, the sheikh reached her. She came to her feet, an unsure smile still playing on her lips. “- “M-Marhava, Malik.” Her voice was a soft, breathy stammer, but it was still too damn sexy for his sake. It was like a kick in the guts, and his entire body clenched with lust.
This was...bad.
Fucking bad.
But because they were in public, they had to continue with the charade.
“ Marhava , Kyria.” However they felt about each other, one thing Malik was certain they’d always be in agreement on was to never do anything that could cause talk about the royal family. And because he could feel everyone staring at them—-
The sheikh’s head bent, and she raised her cheek. His lips brushed against her skin, and his scent wrapped around her. The contact was fleeting, but it was enough to have his fists clench and her eyes close, both of them for one tantalizingly forbidden moment succumbing to the temptation of imagining where else his lips could go, what else she would yield, and oh, how exquisitely good it would feel to just...let go.
The moment passed, reality returned once again, and they pulled away. Their gazes met anew, his handsome face expressionless and her elegant features composed.
“Shall we sit?” He waited until she was seated on the couch before taking up space next to her. This close, her body was even a greater temptation, her scent an intoxicating drug. He saw her start wringing her hands on her lap, and to ease her nervousness, he said gruffly, “I didn’t know you frequent places like this.”
“Actually, I d-don’t. I was talking to Harper earlier, and she mentioned that you were still in St. Valentine because of tonight’s club opening.”
“I see.” His tone was polite.
Her eyes widened. “You do?”
“That our queen is big-mouthed as ever?” He let his own eyes widen slightly. “Absolutely.”
She burst into laughter, and when she looked at him, her eyes were bright and shining with gratitude. It was just how she used to look at him when she was young, and he had to rescue her from this or that kind of trouble.
That look used to make him feel protective.
Now it just made him want to take her to bed.
His eyes closed.
I’m fucked for the rest of my life.
“Malik?”
Her concerned tone made him look at her, and just like that, he knew.
“Is...everything okay?”
Uncertainty still lurked in her eyes, and this made his mind up for him. Having her next to him might mean that he’d be fucked for the rest of his life...but he was fine with that. Anything was fine as long as he kept Kyria in his life.
Forcing himself to relax, he ignored all the things his instincts were clamoring for—-
Kiss her. Touch her. Fuck her.
-—and instead ruffled her hair, just like a damn brother would.
“Nothing to worry about, I promise.”
She bit her lip. “But there are things we should talk about, shouldn’t we?”
“There is,” the sheikh said simply, and when Kyria slowly nodded, he knew she understood and remembered one of the first lessons palace life had taught them. Private matters may only be spoken in equally private places, and St. Valentine’s newest and hottest club definitely wasn’t one of those.
It was already a few minutes past one in the morning by the time Malik and Kyria left the club and said their goodbyes to a deeply grateful and still visibly euphoric Farica. When they reached the lobby, Kyria suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and looked up at him. “Malik?”
“Mm?”
“May I sleep at your place tonight?”
His heart banged against his chest. “Ah.” He cleared his throat. “Of course.”
Her smile of relief was a sweet sight. An ordinary brother would probably find it cute, but it just made Malik want to—-
Kiss her. Touch her. Fuck her.
“I promise I won’t be any trouble,” Kyria was saying. Her smile turned sheepish, and then she said shyly, “I just...missed you.”
The sheikh forced a smile even as his entire body clenched with desire. “It is the same with me, Ky. I missed you a lot, too—-”
His words broke off as Kyria threw herself at him, her arms winding around his neck in what seemed like an impulsive embrace. “I’m so glad...” Her voice was muffled with her face against the crook of his neck. “I have you back in my life.”
His arms went around her, and the sheikh said gruffly, “So am I.” And he still meant this, regardless of the consequences.
While waiting for Kyria to return from the powder room at the lobby, the sheikh caught sight of Emmanuel’s too-stoic look and felt defensive. “What?”
“I haven’t said a word, Your Highness.”
“It’s going to be fine,” he snapped. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
“Of course.”
He glared at his bodyguard. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said tersely, “and I’m telling you, nothing will happen.”
“Isaiah 55:8,” the bodyguard said rather piously. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my—-”
“Making a dig at me using the Bible , old man?” The sheikh’s fulminating gaze was filled with distaste. “Don’t you think that’s beneath you—-”
Kyria rejoined them then, asking curiously, “What’s beneath Emmanuel?”
After shooting a threatening look at Emmanuel, he turned to Kyria, saying smoothly, “Nothing to concern you. Ready to go, Ky?”
For the rest of the ride, the sheikh peppered Kyria with questions about her life in St. Valentine, which she happily answered. Although Altair and Vanna had also filled him in about this in the past years, it was different when hearing the words from Kyria herself. His family had told him that Kyria had remained as uninterested in dating as she had been when living in the palace, and now Malik could see it was true. She seemed content enough when talking of her life in Contini, but her eyes only glowed when she talked about her life back home...and him.
****