The Sheikh's Reluctant Queen - Оливия Гейтс Mills & Boon M&B

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ceremony yet. Accepting me is only half the battle won.”

      She squinted up at him, perplexed. “What do you mean half?”

      “Now I need to go win the other half. Your family.”

      “What do they have to do with anything between us? The most involvement they’ll have is to get stuffed in their fineries and come to our wedding. Those I’ll let attend. If they behave.” His hands cupped her face. For the first time ever, she removed them. “You’re not talking me out of this, Rashid. My family stays out of our lives, and that’s final.”

      His eyes grew watchful, as if he was gauging how to handle her sudden volatility. “If it were up to me, I would have vowed myself to you in absolute seclusion. But you are a princess…”

      “Oh, no. You’re not princessing me again!”

      He coaxed her into his arms again, caressing resistance out of her a nerve at a time. “I know you want it not to matter, but it does. Tradition is important, even when it’s infuriating. But this won’t only be about us. It will be about our children.” The concept of children, his and hers, liquefied something inside her. “I want there to be peace and acceptance surrounding our union from the start, for you, for them. What makes things a bit more complicated is that I’m not a prince…”

      “You’re worth a thousand of every prince who ever lived!”

      Pride and pleasure glittered in his eyes, softened his lips. “Your approval and allegiance mean everything. To me. But I need to get theirs, too. Your family includes some very powerful individuals, and I’m not on their right side to start with. I don’t want them to bother you with their disapproval or attempts to come between us. I need to… defuse their danger.”

      “And how are you supposed to do that?”

      “As per tradition, your family tribunal will make demands of me and put me through trials, as outrageous as they can make them. They’ll agree to give me your hand in marriage only once I pass all their tests and meet all their requirements.”

      “Shades of Antarah ibn Shaddad when Ablah’s father asked for a thousand red camels to stymie him! I’m all for defusing their danger, but I draw the line at hurtling back in time to the eleventh century to do it.”

      “That’s what tradition is—age-old practices.”

      “I have nothing against those when they’re about innocuous stuff like food or design or celebrations. But I’m damned if I bow to traditions that delete centuries of progress and make me some prize to be won for the right price. I might as well throw away my master’s degrees in business management and information technology. How would I be different from any tent-bound maiden bartered to whomever haggled with her elders for her, before carrying her away as one of his possessions, a bit above his goat, but certainly beneath his horse and sword?”

      “In my case, it would be private jets and multinational corporations.” She rewarded his teasing with a rib nudge. His eyes softened as he gathered her more securely against his hard body. “We’ll just play along to save headaches.”

      “You really intend to submit to such a… ridiculous practice?”

      “I will, ya habibati. Like I will worship you with my body and serve and protect you with my wealth and strength, I will submit to anything to honor you before your family and the world. I want there to be no doubt to what lengths I would go to, to have the privilege of your choice, the power of your love.”

      And what could she say to that?

      Resistance almost gone, she tried one last thing. “But according to this moronic tradition, if ten percent of awleya’a el amr—the elders—refuse you, you won’t be able to marry me.”

      Something inexorable came into his eyes. “I will have zero percent refusals. Failure is not an option.”

       Nine

      For years, Rashid had considered returning to Zohayd an impossibility. Now he wasn’t just back in the country, he was in a limo heading to Zohayd’s royal palace, a place he’d sworn never to tread again.

      But then he was sitting right next to another impossibility. Laylah. Who loved him. Who wanted him. Who believed in him.

      Having her by his side made returning to Zohayd… bearable.

      This was the land where he’d spent too many years watching Laylah from afar, unable to return her glances or reciprocate her interest. Where he’d found and lost those he’d thought of as brothers given to him by fate in exchange for taking everyone else away from him. Where he’d suffered the betrayal that had left him mutilated.

      Then, claiming the kingship of Azmahar had become his life’s goal, and he’d known he’d be forced to return to Zohayd one day. But even when he’d started his plan, he hadn’t imagined this would be how he’d return. With Laylah as his world, not his pawn.

      The supple hand entwined with his tugged him out of the darkness of his memories and worries to the sunniness of her smile and reality. “So who’s waiting for us at the palace?”

      “I informed King Atef. I assume he’ll tell everyone else.”

      Her grin widened. “Word of advice. Don’t use the word king around Uncle Atef. He hurled the title at Amjad and seems to want to forget the decades when he was one.”

      “He’s been King Atef to me since I can remember. It’ll be very difficult to think of him as plain Sheikh Atef now. And of Amjad as king.”

      “I know what you mean. Amjad is such a virtuoso in infuriating everyone and pulverizing rules and protocols, I thought he’d bring Zohayd down in a week when he became king. But though he’s taken being outrageous to a new realm, he’s now head-to-head with Aliyah’s Kamal for the position of best king in the region’s history.” She snuggled deeper into him, her smile catching the fire of adoration that he now felt he needed to sustain his vital functions. “Of course, the region hasn’t seen you as king yet.”

      His heart trembled at how he’d come to depend on her esteem and belief. At how he felt he didn’t deserve them. “You always talk as if becoming a king is a sure thing for me.”

      “I can’t see how it isn’t. You’re the absolute best man for the role, ever. Apart from my opinion, you’re a pureblooded Azmaharian, a decorated war hero and your success in business has surpassed even Haidar’s and Jalal’s. And you’re an Aal Munsoori.”

      “Azmaharians hate that name now.”

      Her expression became adorably serious. “They hate only one branch of the family, but still think of the Aal Munsooris at large as their rightful monarchs.” Her smile dawned again as her eyes devoured him. “And if anyone ever looked the part, it’s you.” Her hands strayed all over his shoulders and chest… and lower. “They must have coined the adjective regal for you.”

      He caught her hands, his gaze shooting to the partition between the limo’s compartments. Even though he knew Ahmad couldn’t see or hear them, he didn’t want to start something he might not be able to stop. And he’d made a decision that, while in their region, he wouldn’t do anything to compromise her image.

      It was still almost beyond his ability to deprive them both of the needed pleasure. He was almost panting when he said, “You’re clearly not in the least biased.”

      She lay back against him, her hands captured in his, her eyes gobbling him up. “I am the essence of impartiality. If Azmaharians know what’s best for them, they’ll choose you.”

      “If they do, how do you feel about becoming their queen?”

      Her blink was surprise itself.

      Would

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