Claiming His Replacement Queen. Amanda Cinelli

he came from. So many questions would be left unanswered once she left.

      And still she walked away.

      She left the club and its swaying music behind as she emerged into the night, the sharp wind making her wish she had brought a jacket. As she looked around to find where her chauffeur had got to, a trio of men in dark suits seemed to appear from nowhere.

      ‘Your Highness,’ the tallest one said in accented English, ‘do not be frightened. We are ordered here to assure your safety.’

      ‘My safety?’ she breathed, looking around the street wildly. ‘Where is my driver? How do you know who I am? Ordered by whom?’

      ‘Ordered by me,’ a familiarly accented voice rang out in the silent night from the nightclub doorway.

      Cressida whirled, inhaling hard as she was met by the sight of the dark stranger from the dance floor walking towards her. Wordlessly, he draped a heavy woollen coat across her shoulders, guiding her a few steps away from the small army of what she presumed to be bodyguards.

      His accented voice rang in her ears, intensifying the sensation of unease along her spine that warned her she had made a grave mistake tonight. She had overlooked something important. Her heart beat frantically in her chest as she met his dark gaze. ‘Who are you?’

      ‘I am Sheikh Khalil Al Rhas, ruler of Zayyar.’ He held her pinned with his dark gaze. ‘And you, Princess, are in a world of trouble.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      CRESSIDA FELT THE weight of his words settle somewhere in her chest. His accent, the way he had looked at her when they’d first spoken—it all fell horribly into place. ‘You can’t be him,’ she breathed.

      ‘And yet I am,’ he said smoothly.

      Disbelief held her body frozen for what felt like an eternity. Gone was the warmth from his eyes, replaced by a hardness that sent prickles along her skin.

      She had sourced a few photographs online of the notoriously private Sheikh Khalil but the images she had seen had shown pictures of a man who seemed older, dressed in traditional white robes, his features obscured by a headdress and sunglasses. Not smooth shaven in a sleek open-collared suit, practically vibrating the air around him with a dark virility that made her knees weak.

      This was her fiancé? The man her father had described as old-world and ruthless? She thought of all the anxiety that had plagued her, worrying what to say when they first met or how she should behave...

      ‘Was this a game to you?’ Her voice was suddenly ice-cold. ‘Was it some kind of test to see how I might...perform?’

      ‘No,’ he said simply, a strange look crossing his features. ‘This was most definitely not a part of my plan for our first meeting.’

      Cressida swallowed hard. ‘Did you know who I was from the start?’

      His jaw seemed to tighten before he answered. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Well, then, I fail to see how you weren’t toying with me.’ She shook her head, unable to stand still a moment longer. She had taken no more than two steps towards the street and he was by her side. A muscular hand encircled her wrist, stopping her progress.

      ‘Let me go,’ she gritted, snatching her hand from him with force.

      ‘You will not walk away from me, Princess,’ he said softly. ‘We have not yet finished our conversation.’

      ‘I most certainly am finished. I never want to see you again.’

      His mouth hardened into a thin line. ‘You can come with me calmly so that we can resolve this privately, or you can make things needlessly difficult.’

      As she watched, his eyes drifted to the handful of men surrounding them. She felt the distinct sensation of being caged in and it was not pleasant. ‘Where is Frank?’ she asked quietly, suddenly worried for her loyal chauffeur.

      He raised one dark brow. ‘Your driver has been relieved of his duties, along with your incompetent bodyguards.’

      ‘You can’t do that,’ she breathed, aghast. ‘They are not at fault for my actions.’

      His head cocked to one side. ‘It’s a little late for remorse now, don’t you think? If a driver can be persuaded to overlook protocol by a pair of fluttering lashes, then he has no business being entrusted with the responsibility.’

      ‘You can’t do this.’

      ‘Oh, I most certainly can,’ he purred, encircling her wrist with his strong hand.

      ‘For tonight, at least, your safety is my responsibility.’

      She did not know why, shock perhaps, but she put up virtually no fight as he guided her into the limousine that lay in wait by the roadside. The team of guards retreated into their own imposing vehicles to the front and behind. Even when it became clear that they were driving in completely the opposite direction to her apartment, she could not speak. She felt cold, the skin on her arms prickling with gooseflesh.

      If her driver and guards had truly been dismissed, then that meant they would have already alerted King Fabian. Her father had already made it clear that he was depending on her to ensure this union went ahead at any cost. Guilt gnawed at her stomach as she closed her eyes, focusing on the gentle sway of the car to distract herself from the many reasons why, once again, she was an utter disappointment to her parents. This was the first and only thing the King had ever asked of her directly, the first time he had spoken to her since...well, since he had decided she was no longer worth speaking to. She had finally been given an opportunity to prove herself, to save her kingdom. And, as per usual, she had failed spectacularly.

      ‘Are we to travel in silence?’ The Sheikh was facing her, one long leg propped over the other, making him seem larger and more imposing in the small space.

      ‘I fail to see how making idle chit-chat with you will make this situation any easier.’ She purposefully directed her gaze out at the passing blur of streetlamps and shadows.

      ‘You seem quite indignant for someone who chose to run away from her guards for a wild night out.’ His voice held only the smallest hint of impatience.

      ‘I am not the one who did anything wrong here.’

      ‘Aren’t you?’ He met her gaze evenly.

      Before she could retaliate, the car came to a stop outside one of the most exclusive hotels in London. They were escorted inside by the Sheikh’s entourage, who shielded them both from view until they were safely inside a private lift.

      The Sheikh’s suite spanned the entire top floor of the building, offering a breathtaking view of the London skyline. She was instantly drawn to look out at the majestic sea of lights of the city she had spent virtually no time exploring in the past five years.

      She was aware of the bodyguards moving around as they performed a thorough check of the rooms. A handful of other men and women appeared briefly, speaking to the Sheikh in a language she assumed to be Zayyari. Her studies had included most European languages, along with ancient Greek and Latin, but she had no experience of Middle Eastern tongues. The way the syllables cut and rolled off their tongues was fascinating; it was a struggle not to turn and observe the conversations.

      After a while she became aware of the lack of noise in the open-plan living space. She turned just as he reached her side.

      Sheikh Khalil cleared his throat gently. ‘Have you spent all of this time appreciating the view or plotting on ways to escape, I wonder.’

      She turned to face him fully. ‘At what point did I become your prisoner?’

      ‘Despite how others may portray me, I am not a tyrant. I assured your family that I would escort you to Monteverre personally and I will not go back