Once Upon A Time #2
The sound of her voice made him hesitate, his body stirring in ways that it should never do—and for the only eighteen-year-old girl in the kingdom that he must never touch.
Even as he told himself it was better to turn away and leave, the sheikh found himself doing the opposite, the pull he felt towards Aurora as irresistible as ever. Walking further inside the conservatory, he finally found her next to the garden beds, down on her knees, smudges of dirt on her face.
“What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” she returned cheekily.
“Escaping,” he said bluntly, but neglected to tell her that it was her sister he was trying to escape. He liked the peace and quiet the trees and flowers in the conservatory gave him, something that was the exact antithesis of what Aretha currently symbolized in his life.
Her eyes narrowed at him. “You look bad, akh.”
He winced, for her. That was not exactly the proper thing to say to the sheikh who owned the palace where she was currently residing for free. “Do me a favor,” he said dryly, “and do not let your parents and sister hear you talk to me like that.”
Below him, Aurora’s grin had only widened at his words.
“I’m only being honest—and concerned. You do look bad, you know.
” Her arch tone, combined with her hair pinned up in a ponytail and the faded, oversized dress she had on, made Aurora appear more like a child playing grown up than anything else.
The sheikh sighed at her stubbornness. “I appreciate you telling me so, but again, please refrain from saying such things in front of your family.”
“Relax, akh. They’re off to another party,” she told him gleefully.
He had never seen her so relaxed or more vibrantly beautiful, and he suspected it had much to do with the fact that her whole family was out of the palace. “I know better than to ask whether they invited you or not,” he said, “but if they did, would you have liked to go?”
Aurora rolled her eyes. “Duh, akh. I like it better this way, and you know why that is?”
Something about the mischievous smile curving over her lips hit him harder than it should have, and he had to turn sideways, keeping his expression carefully blank even as he answered. “Why?”
“Because I’m freeeeee!”
The way she shrieked the last word out had him wincing, but it also had the sheikh’s gaze gleaming with amusement, and Aurora beamed back at him.
“They won’t be back until tomorrow either,” she added cheerfully. “I heard them say so.”
“Let us hope then,” he murmured, “that you will not find yourself bored.”
“Why should I be bored?” Aurora glanced at him oddly. “I have you, don’t I?”
Mik’hail’s face became impassive. How simple those words were, and yet how true they were, too, in an ironic sense.
He was hers. But...she could never be his.
The realization was enough to blacken his mood, but not wanting Aurora to notice, he abruptly changed the subject, saying, “You called me by my name earlier.”
Aurora suddenly looked innocent. “So?”
Too innocent, Mik’hail thought, and he knew right away it hadn’t been an accidental mistake on her part. “You know you shouldn’t have done so.”
“Why not?”
“Because it is not proper,” he said, exasperated.
“Even if it’s just the two of us? And besides...” Her nose wrinkled. “I know Aretha insists on calling you by your English name, but I don’t think it suits you. It’s such an ordinary name, and you’re...well...extraordinary. You’re a warrior, and a name like Mik’hail better suits you.”
The sweetness in her words was beguiling.
It tempted his heart to crack open, but it also had his body responding in ways he could not afford.
Aurora thought him extraordinary. A warrior even, and although he knew she had spoken with the utmost sincerity, all he could think about was showing her just how much a warrior he was—
No.
He couldn’t think like this. Wouldn’t.
“You’re frowning,” Aurora blurted out. “Do you really not like me calling you by your name?”
“It’s not that,” he said curtly. “I only think it’s unwise for you to be too...fanciful.”
Aurora rolled her eyes. “You just sound like my whole family right there. Being fanciful is not a crime, Your Highness.”
The sheikh didn’t bother responding to this, knowing a rabbit hole of endless arguments when he saw one. Instead, he strode to the set of velvet settees arranged at the center of the conservatory, needing to put more distance between them.
When the sheikh took his seat, which faced the small, cultivated forest on the left, he realized with unease that the distance he had sought was nonexistent, with Aurora promptly plopping next to him on the couch.
She was closer than ever now, so close that when she kicked off her slippers and pulled her legs up, her bare toes grazed against the side of his thighs.
“If Mik’hail is to be what I call you when we’re alone,” Aurora murmured, “what then shall you call me?”
This, he didn’t have to think about.
“Brat,” the sheikh said right away, and smirked at the way Aurora’s jaw dropped open.
“I am not a brat!”
The sheikh laughed at the outright lie. “Yes, you are. And you know it.” Actually, they both knew it.
The entire palace knew it, but even so everyone loved her because she was, ultimately, a lovable brat.
She was the kind of brat who badgered the cook until the old lady allowed her to help in the kitchen.
She was the kind of brat who berated the butler for not sitting down when he was tired rather than stand on foot all day.
She was a brat, but she meant well, and the feelings he strove to bury were harder to keep a secret because of it.
Aurora was laughing. “Fine. I can be a brat, but not all the time. You know it’s so.” Jumping to her feet, she gave the sheikh a wave. “I need to get back to my roses.”
“You mean my roses,” he reminded her.
“We can share them then,” she answered magnanimously as she slid her feet back into her slippers.
He watched her walk away and tried not to notice the graceful sway of her movement. She was halfway to the garden beds when she suddenly turned around, asking uncertainly, “Is it really okay...that I’m coming here? I don’t want to intrude on your privacy—”
The sheikh shook his head. “You are free to visit this place anytime.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
The sheikh rolled his eyes at the way she took exaggerated care with her curtsy. “Go on, brat.” As Aurora knelt down to resume work on the garden beds, Mik’hail took his phone out of his pocket and sent a message to his betrothed.
Mik’hail: Will you be back by tomorrow?
Aretha: We have been invited to stay over the weekend. I fear it would be offensive if we didn’t accept.
His lips twisted. As the future queen of Layla, she could do anything she wanted, and no one would dare disagree.
Mik’hail: Come back tomorrow. It is time we set a date for our wedding.
Aretha: This again, Michael? What’s wrong with you?
A loaded question, considering they both knew the answer to it.
The sheikh was no fool. Neither of them had been virgins when they first became intimate, and he knew that Aretha continued to see other men even now.
But Aretha also knew that once they spoke their vows, Mik’hail meant for both of them to honor it, and between the two of them, it appeared Aretha was less prepared to handle a monogamous future.
The sheikh was about to command Aretha to come back to the palace first thing tomorrow when he heard Aurora cry out.
“What is it?” Mik’hail was by her side in a second.
Aurora shook her head quickly when the sheikh started to kneel. “No, don’t, you’ll get yourself dirty—”
A silly protest, which the sheikh naturally ignored as he crouched down and gently reached for her hand. “What happened?”
“It’s my fault,” she confessed sheepishly, “for being an idiot. I thought I had cut off all the thorns when I pulled the rose out.” She pointed to her index finger, which had a speck of blood on it.
He loathed the sight—there was something about knowing she was hurt that did not sit well with the sheikh at all. Without thinking, he reached for her finger and brought it to his lips.
Aurora said faintly, “Your Highness?”
The taste of her skin, the intimacy of having any part of her this close—
He released her hand right away and bit out an apology.
“It’s fine.” Aurora’s tone was a little too cheerful, her cheeks a flaming shade of red. “You thought to kiss it better because you still think of me as a child.” She made a face. “But just to be clear, akh: I’m not a child.”
No, she damn well wasn’t, and that was the problem. She was eighteen, an adult in the eyes of law, and that meant she was old enough to make her own choices.
And he wanted her to choose him.
But she couldn’t. She never could.
Aurora was staring at him oddly. “Why do you look so angry?”
Because I want you, and I can’t have you.
But since he couldn’t say that, he racked his mind for a way to distract her. “Briar,” Mik’hail heard himself say finally.
She blinked up at him in bemusement. “Briar?”
“You remind me of the fairy tale,” the sheikh heard himself say, “the girl who pricked her finger with a needle. That Briar.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. Sleeping Beauty.”
He watched her absently touch her wounded finger as she spoke, and the sight had his thoughts drifting to dangerous places.
She was so close. So temptingly close that he had to clench his fists against the urge to reach for her.
“I like it,” Aurora said after a moment.
When she made a move to stand, the sheikh swiftly rose to his feet and offered his hand to help her up. “You are done for the day then?” Mik’hail asked.
“If you don’t mind me leaving first?”
“Of course.”
“I’m bad at handling pain,” Aurora admitted with a grimace. “This tiny prick alone makes me want to cry.”
The innocent words conjured images that were anything but, and Mik’hail had to look away before she could read his face.
He managed a brief smile and nod as Aurora waved to him before leaving, but as soon as she was gone, the sheikh didn’t waste time sending another text to Aretha.
Mik’hail: If you still want the right to wear the crown of Layla, I want you back in the kingdom tomorrow. We will set a date then.
But tomorrow came and went, and Aretha didn’t return. The car that bore the future queen and her parents had met an accident, falling over treacherous cliffs before crashing into the sea.
Aretha’s body was never found.