The Sheikh's Collection. Оливия Гейтс

connect her to the Kadaran palace? Her Head of Council, who would probably be delighted by the news of her capture? In any case, she most likely couldn’t get a signal out here.

      Then she’d wondered if she could make a friend of one of the guards, get him to help her. That seemed even less likely; both of the guards she’d met had appeared utterly unmoved by her predicament.

      Could she cause a fire, so its smoke might be caught by a satellite, a passing helicopter or plane?

      Each possibility seemed more ludicrous than the last, and yet she refused to admit defeat. Giving in would mean losing her crown.

      But the longer she stayed here, the more likely it was Aziz would marry someone else, no matter what Khalil said or thought. Or, even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t marry her. Maybe he would call this referendum and win the vote. He wouldn’t need her at all.

      But she still needed him, needed someone to marry her in the next month as she’d promised her Council, someone she was willing to marry, to father her children...

      The thought caused her stomach to churn and her heart to sink. Her plan to marry Aziz had been desperate; finding another groom was outlandish. What was she going to do?

      Sighing, she rose from the bed. A female voice sounded outside her tent, and a second later a woman entered, smiling and bearing a pitcher of fresh water.

      ‘Good morning, Your Highness,’ she said, ducking a quick curtsey, and Elena murmured back her own greeting, wondering if this woman might be the ally she was looking for.

      The sight of the water in the woman’s hands reminded her of her bath last night—and Khalil seeing her in it. Even now she felt her insides clench with a nameless emotion at the memory of his arrested look. The heat in his eyes had burned her with both pleasure and pain. To be desired, it was a fearsome thing—exciting, yes, but terrifying too, especially from a man like Khalil.

      It had been foolish, she supposed, to take a bath, but when the two surly, silent guards had brought in the huge copper tub and filled it with steaming water, Elena had been unable to resist.

      She’d been tired and sandy, every muscle aching with physical as well as emotional fatigue, and the thought of slipping into the rose-scented water, petals floating on top, had been incredibly appealing. A good wash would clear her head as well as clean her body and Khalil, she’d assumed, would not see her again that night.

      And yet he’d seen her... Oh, how he’d seen her. She blushed to remember it, even though logically she knew he couldn’t have seen much. The high sides of the tub would have kept her body from his sight, and in any case her back had been to him.

      Even so she remembered the feel of his stilled gaze on her, the heat and intensity of it and, more alarmingly, her own answering response, everything inside her tightening and tautening, waiting...

      ‘Is there anything else you need, Your Highness?’ the woman asked, her voice pleasantly accented.

      Yes, Elena thought, my freedom. She forced a smile. She needed this woman to be her friend. ‘This is lovely, thank you. Were you the one who arranged the bath last night?’

      The woman ducked her head. ‘Yes, I thought you would like a wash.’

      ‘It was wonderful, thank you.’ Elena’s mind raced. ‘Where do you get the water? Is there an oasis here?’

      ‘Yes, just beyond the rocks.’

      ‘Is it very private? I’d love to have a swim some time, if I could.’

      The woman smiled. ‘If Sheikh Khalil approves, then I’m sure you could. It is lovely for swimming.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Elena didn’t know if the oasis might provide her with an opportunity either to escape or attempt some kind of distraction to alert anyone who might be looking for her, but at least it was an option, a chance. Now she just had to get Khalil to agree to let her have a swim.

      ‘When you are ready, you may break your fast outside,’ the woman said. ‘Sheikh Khalil is waiting.’

      That was the second time the woman had called Khalil ‘sheikh’. Was he a sheikh in his own right, Elena wondered, or did she already consider him as having the throne of Kadar? She wanted to ask Khalil just what made him feel so sure of his position, but she knew she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to know more about this man or, heaven forbid, find some sympathy for him. Her physical awareness of him was alarming enough.

      A few minutes later, dressed in a pair of khakis and a plain button-down shirt that had been provided for her, her hair neatly plaited, Elena stepped out of her tent.

      The brilliance of the desert sun, the hard, bright blue of the sky and the perfect clarity of the air left her breathless for a moment. She was dazzled by the austere beauty of the desert, even though she didn’t want to be. She didn’t want to feel anything for any of it.

      Khalil was eating by himself under an awning that had been set up above a raised wooden platform. He rose as she approached.

      ‘Please. Sit.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She perched on the edge of a chair and Khalil arched an amused eyebrow.

      ‘Courteous today, are we?’

      Elena shrugged. ‘I choose my battles.’

      ‘I look forward to the next one.’ He poured her coffee from an ornate brass pot; it looked thick and dark and smelled of cardamom. ‘This is Kadaran coffee,’ he told her. ‘Have you ever tried it?’

      She shook her head and took a tentative sip; the taste was strong but not unpleasant. Khalil nodded his approval. ‘Would you have taken on Kadaran ways, if you’d become Aziz’s bride?’

      Elena stiffened. ‘I could still become his bride, you know. He might find me.’

      The look Khalil gave her was arrogant and utterly assured. ‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Your Highness.’

      ‘Yours certainly seem high enough.’

      He shrugged, one powerful shoulder lifting slightly, muscles rippling underneath the linen thobe he wore. ‘As I told you before, the people of Kadar do not support Aziz.’

      Surely he was exaggerating? Elena thought. Aziz had mentioned some instability, but not that he was an unpopular ruler. ‘Outside of Siyad, you said,’ she recalled. ‘And why wouldn’t they support him? He’s the Sheikh’s only son, and the succession has always been dynastic.’

      Khalil’s mouth tightened, his tawny eyes flashing fire before he shrugged again. ‘Maybe you should take my advice and brush up on your Kadaran history.’

      ‘And is there a book you suggest I read?’ She raised her eyebrows, tried to moderate her tone. She was not doing herself any favours, arguing with him. ‘Perhaps one I can take out of the library?’ she added, in a poor attempt at levity.

      Khalil’s mouth twitched in a smile of what Elena suspected was genuine amusement. It lightened and softened him somehow, made him even more attractive than when he was cold and forbidding. ‘I have a small library of books with me. I’ll be happy to lend you one, although you won’t find the answers you’re looking for in a book.’

      ‘Where will I find them, then?’

      He hesitated and for a moment Elena thought he was going to say something else, something important. Then he shook his head. ‘I don’t think any answers would satisfy you, Your Highness, not right now. But when you’re ready to listen, and consider there might be more to this story than what you’ve been told by Aziz, perhaps I’ll enlighten you.’

      ‘I should be so lucky,’ she retorted, but for the first time since meeting Khalil she felt a flicker of real uncertainty. He was so sure. What if his claim had some legitimacy?

      But, no, he was an insurgent. An impostor. He had to be. Anything else was unthinkable.

      To her surprise