Crowned At The Desert King's Command. Jackie Ashenden

tour parties generally didn’t come this far into the desert—they stuck to the edges, where it was cooler, safer. From where they could easily get back to the air-conditioned luxury of their hotels and away from the sun and the heat and the rumours of a closed country where men patrolled the borders wearing swords.

      ‘Two foreigners in the same stretch of desert,’ Faisal said dryly from behind him. ‘This cannot be a coincidence.’

      ‘No, it is not. She saw the man on Jaziri’s horse. She said something about her father.’

      ‘Ah...’ Faisal murmured. ‘Then we can safely assume she is not a threat?’

      ‘We assume nothing.’ Tariq let his gaze rove over her, scanning for any concealed weapons just to be sure. ‘All outsiders are a threat, unconscious or not.’

      And it was true—they were. That was why his father had closed the borders and why Tariq had kept them closed. Outsiders were greedy, wanting what they did not have and uncaring of who they destroyed to get it.

      He’d seen the effects of such destruction and he would not let it happen to his country. Not again.

      There were always a few, though, who thought it fun to try and get inside Ashkaraz’s famous closed borders, to get a glimpse of the kingdom, to take pictures and post them on the internet as proof of having got inside.

      There were some who couldn’t resist the lure.

      They were always caught before they could do any damage. They were rounded up and had the fear of God put into them before being sent on their way with tales of brutality and swords—even though his soldiers never actually touched any of the people they caught. Fear was enough of a deterrent.

      Though not enough of a deterrent for this woman, apparently.

      ‘If she is a threat, she is not much of one,’ Faisal observed, looking down at her. ‘Perhaps she and her father are tourists? Or journalists?’

      ‘It does not matter who they are,’ Tariq said. ‘We will deal with them as we have dealt with all the rest.’

      Which involved a stint in the dungeons, a few threats, and then an ignominious return to the border, where they would be summarily ejected into one of their neighbouring countries and told never to return again.

      ‘This one in particular might be difficult,’ Faisal pointed out. His tone was absolutely neutral, which was a good sign that he disapproved of Tariq’s decision in some way. ‘She is not only a foreigner but a woman. We cannot afford to treat her the way we treat the rest.’

      Irritation gathered in Tariq’s gut. Unfortunately, Faisal was right. So far he’d managed to avoid any diplomatic incidents following his treatment of outsiders, but there was always a first time for everything—and, given the gender and nationality of the person concerned, Ashkaraz might indeed run into some issues.

      England wouldn’t be happy if one of its own was roughly treated by the Ashkaraz government—especially not a woman. Especially not a young, helpless woman. The man they might have got away with, but not her. She would draw attention, and attention was the last thing Tariq wanted.

      Then there was the issue of his own government, and how certain members of it would no doubt use her as ammunition in their argument on how closed borders didn’t help them remain unseen on the global stage, and how the world was moving on and if they didn’t have contact with it, it would move on without them.

      Tariq didn’t care about the rest of the world. He cared only about his country and his subjects. And, since those two things were currently in good health, he saw no need to change his stance on reopening the borders.

      His vow as Sheikh was to protect his country and its people and that was what he was going to do.

       Especially when you’ve failed once before.

      The whispered thought was insidious, a snake dripping poison, but he ignored it the way he always did.

      He would not fail. Not again.

      Ignoring Faisal’s observation, Tariq crouched down beside the little intruder. The loose clothing she wore made it difficult to ascertain visually whether she carried weapons or not, and since he had to be certain he gave her a very brief, very impersonal pat-down.

      She was small, and quite delicate, but there were definite curves beneath those clothes. There were also no weapons to speak of.

      ‘Sire,’ Faisal said again, annoyingly present. ‘Are you sure that is wise?’

      Tariq didn’t ask what he meant. He knew. Faisal was the only one who knew about Catherine and about Tariq’s response to her.

       Given what that led to, he has every right to question you.

      The irritation sitting in Tariq’s gut tightened into anger. No, he’d excised Catherine from his soul like a surgeon cutting out a cancer, and he’d cut out every emotion associated with her too. Everything soft. Everything merciful.

      There was no need for Faisal to question him, because what had happened with Catherine would never happen again. Tariq had made sure of it.

      Though perhaps his advisor needed a reminder...

      ‘Do you question me, Faisal?’ Tariq asked with deceptive mildness, not looking up from the woman on the sand.

      There was a silence. Then, ‘No, sire.’

      Faisal’s voice held a slight hint of apology. Too slight.

      Tariq scowled down at the woman. Obviously, given Faisal’s clear doubts, he was going to have to deal with this himself.

      ‘I can get a couple of the men to have a look around to see where she and the other foreigner have come from,’ Faisal went on, perhaps hoping to assuage him. ‘We could perhaps return them both with no one any the wiser?’

      It would be the easiest thing to do.

      But Tariq couldn’t afford ‘easy’. He’d instituted the law to keep the borders closed and he had to be seen to uphold it.

      A king couldn’t afford to be weak.

      Hadn’t he learned his lesson there?

       You should have listened to your father.

      Yes, he should. But he hadn’t.

      ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘We will not be returning either of them.’

      He leaned forward, gathering the woman up and rising to his feet. She was so light in his arms. It was like carrying a moonbeam. Her head rolled onto his shoulder, her cheek pressed to the rough black cotton of his robes.

       Small. Like Catherine.

      Something he’d thought long-dead and buried stirred inside him and he found himself looking down at her once again. Ah, but she wasn’t anything like Catherine, And, anyway, that had been years ago.

      He felt nothing for her any more.

      He felt nothing for anyone any more.

      Only his kingdom. Only his people.

      Tariq lifted his gaze to Faisal’s, met the other man’s appraising stare head-on. ‘By all means send a couple of men out to see what they can discover about where these two have come from,’ he ordered coldly. ‘And get in touch with the camp. We will need the chopper to be readied to take them back to Kharan.’

      He didn’t wait for a response, turning and making his way back to the horses and the group of soldiers waiting for him.

      ‘Perhaps one of the men can deal with her?’ Faisal suggested neutrally, trailing along behind him. ‘I can—’

      ‘I will deal with her,’ Tariq interrupted with cold authority, not turning around. ‘There can be no question about her treatment should the British government become involved. Which means the responsibility