The Sheikh's Collection. Оливия Гейтс

truth. She needed him to know, craved for him to accept the whole of her and what she’d done. ‘Every piece of advice he gave me was to benefit himself. And there were worse things. He forged my signature on cheques. He even stole some of my mother’s jewels, which weren’t hers to begin with. They were part of the crown jewels and they belonged to the government.’

      She closed her eyes, filled with remorse and shame. ‘I was completely clueless, pathetically grateful for all his support. Markos uncovered it, and had him sent to prison. Kept the scandal from breaking in the press, thankfully—not for my sake, but for Thallia’s.’

      ‘That must have been very hard.’

      ‘Yes.’ Her throat was so tight it hurt to speak, but she kept going. ‘You know what’s really sad? Sometimes I still miss him. He completely betrayed me in every way possible, and I actually miss him.’ She shook her head, suddenly near tears, and Khalil reached over and covered her hand with his own.

      ‘He seemed kind to you, and during a time when you craved that kindness. Of course you miss that.’

      ‘Do you miss your father?’ she blurted, and Khalil stilled, his hand tensing over hers.

      ‘I’ve hated my father for so long,’ he said slowly. ‘And I can’t ever forget what he did.’ His face contorted for a second, and she knew how difficult this was for him to admit. ‘But I do miss his kindness to me. His—his love.’

      ‘Of course you do,’ she murmured and Khalil gave her a wry and rather shaky smile.

      ‘I never realised that before. I was too busy being angry.’

      ‘Are you still angry?’

      ‘I don’t know what I am,’ he said, sounding both surprised and confused, and then he shook his head. ‘We weren’t talking about me, though. We were talking about you. You shouldn’t blame yourself, Elena, for trusting a man who did his best to endear himself to you.’

      ‘I should have known better.’

      Khalil shook his head, his hand tightening on hers. ‘You were young and vulnerable. It wasn’t your fault.’

      ‘The Council thinks it was. Or, at the very least, it completely undermined any confidence they might have had in me. Markos has been working steadily to discredit me ever since.’

      Khalil frowned. ‘How?’

      ‘Rumours, whispers. Gossip that I’m flighty, forgetful. So far I’ve managed to keep him from destabilising me completely. I hope—I hope my record speaks for itself.’ She turned to him, needing him to believe her just as he had once needed her to believe him. ‘I’ve worked hard since the whole Paulo debacle, Khalil. I’ve poured my life into my country, just as my father wanted me to. Everything I’ve done has been for Thallia.’

      ‘I know it has,’ Khalil said quietly. He squeezed her hand. ‘Your devotion to your country is something I’ve never questioned.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘After all, you were willing to marry for it.’

      ‘As were you.’

      ‘Hopefully it was a wise decision on both our parts.’ He removed his hand from hers and sat back, his brow furrowed.

      Elena suspected he regretted the intimacy of their conversation. She knew that wasn’t part of their marriage deal. And yet, watching him covertly, remembering how her body yearned and her heart ached for him, Elena wondered how she could have fooled herself into thinking she’d ever be satisfied with a marriage of convenience.

      With Aziz it had been different. He’d been a stranger, and she’d given little thought to their marriage beyond the hard practicalities. Now she wondered how she could have been so blind. So naïve. How could she have coped with such a cold approach to marriage, to motherhood? How would she now?

      She stared out of the window, realisations trickling despondently through her. She didn’t want a loveless arrangement any more. She wanted more from her marriage. More from Khalil.

      She glanced back at Khalil; he looked distant and preoccupied. The things she wanted now seemed more unlikely than ever.

      * * *

      Khalil stared out of the window as the jet descended towards the runway, the waters of the Aegean Sea sparkling jewel-bright in the distance. He could see the domes and towers of Thallia’s ancient capital, the sky a bright blue above, the sun bathing everything in gold.

      He turned to look at Elena and saw how pale she’d gone, her hands clenched together in her lap so tightly her knuckles shone bony and white. He felt a shaft of sympathy for her, deep and true, in that moment. She’d endured so much, yet had stayed so strong, even if she didn’t think she was. Even if she didn’t trust herself.

      He trusted her. He believed in her, believed in her strength, her courage, her goodness. The knowledge made something in him break open, seek light. He leaned forward and reached for her hand. She turned to him, clearly startled, her eyes wide with apprehension.

      ‘You’re stronger than they are, Elena,’ he said quietly. ‘And smarter. They may think you need me, but you don’t. You are a legitimate and admirable ruler all on your own.’

      Her cheeks went pink and her eyes turned shiny. For a moment Khalil thought she might cry. Then her lips curved in a wobbly smile and she said, ‘Thank you, Khalil. But you’re wrong—I do need you. I needed you to tell me that.’

      They left the plane, blinking in the bright sunlight as they took the stairs down to the waiting motorcade. The paparazzi, thankfully, weren’t present; Elena had told him there would be a press briefing from the palace after they met with her Council.

      He hadn’t liked leaving Kadar, but he understood the necessity of it. A marriage made deep in the desert was essentially no marriage at all. They both needed the positive publicity, the statement their marriage would make not just to Elena’s Council but to Aziz.

      I took your bride. I’ll take your throne. Because both are mine by right.

      Khalil felt the old injustice burn, but not as brightly or hotly as it had before. In that moment, looking at her pale face, he was more concerned for Elena than anything that was happening in Kadar. The realisation surprised him, yet he didn’t fight it, didn’t push the feelings away. He reached for Elena’s hand once more and she clung to him, her fingers slender and icy in his.

      ‘Welcome back to Thallia, Your Highness.’

      Khalil watched Elena greet the royal staff who had lined up by the fleet of cars. She nodded and spoke to each one by name, smiling graciously, her head held high.

      She looked pale but composed, elegant and every inch the queen despite the fear he knew she had to be feeling. Admiration and something deeper swelled inside him. Queen Elena of Thallia was magnificent.

      Two hours later they were at the palace, waiting outside the Council Room. Elena had changed into a modest dress in blue silk, feminine yet businesslike, her heavy, dark hair pulled back in a low coil. Khalil wore an elegantly tailored business suit and, as they waited to be admitted to the Council Room, he wondered what this Markos was playing at. Was he keeping Elena waiting on purpose, to unnerve her? A petty show of power? Based on what Elena had already told him, it seemed likely.

      He turned to Elena. ‘You should go in there.’

      ‘I’m meant to wait until I’m summoned.’

      ‘You are Queen, Elena. You do the summoning.’

      ‘It’s not like that, Khalil.’

      ‘It should be. You’re the one who can change things, Elena. Remember that. Believe it.’

      She stared at him uncertainly for a moment and he imagined how hard it must have been for her, all of nineteen years old, devastated by grief and so utterly alone, trying to assert herself against the sanctimonious prigs of her Council. The fact that she was still here, still strong, both amazed and humbled him.

      ‘You