The Royal House Of Karedes Collection Books 1-12. Кейт Хьюит

      ‘BY THE desert’s storm!’ murmured Eleni with a sense of wonder as she gently drew the horse to a halt. Her arduous journey over the inhospitable desert terrain was forgotten as she gazed up at Prince Kaliq’s magnificent palace—easily visible from the magnificent stable block where she had been taken and which was to be her new home.

      She still couldn’t quite believe she was here—that her father had let her go so easily. He had simply shrugged his shoulders when she’d gone to say goodbye.

      ‘You are just like your mother.’ He had scowled. ‘I shan’t miss you.’ Then he had spat a piece of tobacco onto the ground and Eleni had shuddered. She suspected that he would miss her more than he anticipated—and wondered how he would feel about having to pay someone to cater to his every whim. The sheikh must have given him a princely sum, Eleni realised—for her father to accept her leaving the family home without trying to give her a beating.

      And now she had a new home. A sheikh’s palace—surrounded by gardens of unbelievable splendour which seemed to make a mockery of the harsh desert which lay outside its high walls. Again, Eleni shook her head in wonder.

      ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she blurted out.

      ‘Indeed, it is famed for its loveliness,’ agreed the bodyguard, who had accompanied her on the long ride from her father’s home. ‘Sometimes the people arrive at the gate to pay homage to His Highness—they leave flowers for him and sweetmeats, too. And naturally the women come—to gaze upon his face.’ He turned to Eleni. ‘You have never seen the prince’s home before?’

      ‘No, never,’ Eleni said shyly as she dismounted Nabat and stroked his gleaming flank.

      She had seen the main Calistan palace of course—in its strategic position which overlooked the busy Port of Aquila. She remembered her mother taking her there once on Flag Day—which was Calista’s biggest national holiday.

      And what a bright and colourful day it had been—just the two of them—and the last such trip before her mother’s death. Maybe that was why it was etched for ever in Eleni’s memory.

      The streets had been bursting with throngs of people who had flocked from all over Calista—all waving their flags and eager to see the royal procession as it passed through. To a young girl who was a stranger to the city, Eleni had been excited for days beforehand.

      She had worn her best tunic with the matching trousers which Calistan women of all ages wore, and her long, thick hair had been woven with a pale green ribbon the same colour as her eyes. Beneath the wide, shady canopy of the date-trees which lined the route, her mother had given her sugared almonds and dried melon to eat. They had drunk the sweet juice of pomegranates while one of the court performers had sung the Destan, which was an epic poem sung in honour of the royal family.

      As the coaches had gone by, Eleni remembered thinking how serene Queen Anya looked—and what a wonderful woman she must have been to have taken on Sheikh Ashraf’s seven motherless children. Seven! Imagine that. And she remembered her eyes being drawn to the ruggedly handsome Kaliq and wondering why his twin brother Aarif was nowhere to be seen.

      Now she stared at the blue and golden palace which glittered in the afternoon sun with a faint sense of disbelief clinging to her skin. Who would ever have thought that she—Eleni Lakis—would one day stand in front of that same Kaliq’s home, employed as his stable girl! That his home was to be her home?

      ‘You will be shown to your quarters,’ said the bodyguard, but Eleni shook her head.

      ‘Thank you, but that must come later. First, I must settle Nabat into his new home.’

      ‘One of the lads will do that for you.’

      ‘No.’ Eleni shook her head firmly. She was aware of her responsibilities and aware too of how important it was for her to remain valuable to the sheikh. Because what would happen if she displeased him? Might he not send her packing straight back to her father?

      She shuddered. Surely he would not do that. Hadn’t she sensed that the sheikh understood her relief to be away from the repressive and limited future which had lain ahead of her—or was that just wishful thinking on her part? No matter. She must now show him that he had made a wise decision to bring her here with him. She would be loyal. She would work her fingers to the bone. Up at first light and last to bed—she would make herself so indispensable that the sheikh would wonder how he had ever managed to run a successful stable without her!

      ‘I must do it myself,’ she said stubbornly.

      The bodyguard shrugged. ‘Then I will return in half an hour with a female servant who will show you to your quarters.’

      But Eleni barely noticed him go as her eyes drank in the royal stable complex. Here was everything a horse could possibly want—comfort, space and security—and for the first time she appreciated what a wonderful time Nabat was going to have.

      Hosing him down until he was good and wet, she scraped him off, then gave him some hay and a drink. She was just putting a rug on his back when she heard the sound of footfall behind her and some instinct made her turn round and a strange shiver whispered its way over her skin when she saw just who stood there.

      It was Kaliq.

      He was standing in the doorway, the illumination of the magnificent sky behind him throwing his tall figure into silhouette. But the dark outline only seemed to emphasise his muscular physique and dominating presence—as vibrant and as powerful as the stallion itself.

      A strange tremble began to whisper its way over her skin and her heart began to pound in that way which made Eleni feel very slightly faint. She wanted to seek sanctity from that blazing black gaze by looking at the ground as she had been taught over a lifetime of lessons in modesty and subservience. Yet had not the sheikh himself forbidden her to do that?

      Ignoring the girl completely, Kaliq stood staring at the horse, just admiring the sheer magnificence of his latest acquisition until something untoward caught his eye. His lips curving with distaste, he walked over to the horse and lifted a corner of the worn rug which lay over the animal’s back. ‘What is this?’ he questioned acidly.

      ‘A rug, Highness,’ said Eleni helpfully. ‘I brought it with me. I always cover Nabat’s back with straw after I’ve hosed him down and then put this rug straight on top—you can see I have punched holes in it, so that the excess water can escape during the night. It is an excellent method of keeping the horse comfortable and dry.’

      Kaliq was now staring at her in disbelief. ‘You mean, that you’ve brought this filthy old blanket with you all the way from your father’s house?’ he demanded.

      She willed herself not to react to the insult. ‘Yes, Highness.’

      ‘But what about your clothes? Your belongings?’

      ‘They’re in that holdall over there,’ she said, pointing.

      He scowled at the modestly sized and threadbare carpet-bag which was sitting on the straw. ‘And that’s all you’ve brought?’

      ‘Yes.’ Shamefully, Eleni felt a blush begin to stain her cheeks.

      ‘But you’re supposed to be here for good!’ he exploded. ‘Not for an overnight stay!’

      ‘There is no problem—I can wash my clothes out by hand every night, Highness. It is what I am used to.’

      The irony did not escape him. One moment she was modestly looking at the ground—and yet now she was telling her prince about washing out her most intimate garments! Kaliq felt a slow rage begin to simmer in his blood—and not simply because she had been insubordinate. No, because that flush of pink to her cheeks had made her eyes look as green as pistachios and as bright as new leaves—and, unwittingly and inappropriately, he could feel the sudden hot stir of lust at his groin.

      It was a familiar ache. An appetite which demanded to be fed. Desire could sometimes be all the more powerful when it was indiscriminate—and