Royal Affairs: Desert Princes & Defiant Virgins: The Sheikh's Virgin Princess / The Sheikh and the Virgin Secretary / Desert Prince, Defiant Virgin. Sarah MorganЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘I am prepared to make many personal sacrifices for the good of my country, but falling in love will not be one of them. In time, I will choose a wife who can give me children. But she will not be some wild, untamed European princess. The people of Zangrar deserve better.’
Omar cleared his throat delicately. ‘But the Princess Alexandra is of royal blood. In one year from now, on her twenty-fifth birthday, her uncle the regent steps down and she ascends the throne of Rovina.’
‘Meaning that she will be in a position to bring even greater chaos to her country?’
Omar allowed himself a smile. ‘Meaning that an alliance between our two countries would offer many increased opportunities that would benefit Zangrar. Trade, tourism—’
‘Am I supposed to overlook her embarrassing reputation and overall lack of dignity?’
‘The Princess Alexandra is said to be quite astonishingly beautiful. Given your own success with women, the simplest approach might be for Your Excellency simply to urge her to moderate her behaviour. It is no secret that you enjoy the company of beautiful women.’
‘In a wife I place moral stature above any physical attributes,’ the Sultan growled, feeling his frustration mount. ‘However, my views on the subject are apparently not relevant, since it appears that there is no way I can break this ridiculous contract my father made.’ Of the legacy of stupidity and weakness left by his father, this was the issue that angered him most, because it threatened everything he had worked for.
Omar’s expression was thoughtful. ‘That is true, Your Excellency. There is no way you can break the contract.’
Something in his tone made the Sultan narrow his eyes. ‘Omar?’
His chief advisor smiled placidly. ‘I have studied the contract in minute detail, and it is true that there is no way for you to break the agreement that your father made.’ He paused. ‘But she can.’
The Sultan straightened his powerful shoulders. ‘You’re saying that the princess has the right to veto this marriage?’
‘Absolutely. But, before Your Excellency becomes unduly encouraged by that option, I should tell you that there has been no hint of dissent from the principality of Rovina. It would appear that the princess is eager to marry you.’
‘And we both know why.’ His mouth set in a grim line, the Sultan contemplated everything he’d read about the Princess Alexandra. ‘Rovina’s coffers are empty, and her spending powers are as legendary as her rebel behaviour.’
‘That could be part of it, but maybe not all. Your Excellency is extremely handsome. You are considered to be something of a matrimonial prize.’
The Sultan gave a humourless laugh and then paced over to the window, his expression bleak. A prize? If the princess knew what she would be taking on, then she wouldn’t be so eager to proceed with the wedding. As cold as the desert at night—wasn’t that how the last female in his life had bitterly described him when he’d abruptly ended the relationship?
He stared down into the courtyard below, wondering why that description didn’t bother him more. Possibly because it was true. He wasn’t capable of love; he knew that. But nor did he see that as a reason for regret. He’d seen what love could do to a person, and he wasn’t interested in sacrificing his judgement in exchange for emotional anguish. What did interest him was acting responsibly for the good of his country. And marrying the most notorious princess in Europe wasn’t going to achieve that objective.
He turned to Omar, his movements swift and decisive. ‘You are sure that the princess has the right to break this contract?’
‘Absolutely. The only person who can free you from this wedding is the woman herself.’
‘Then it will be done.’ The Sultan gave a satisfied nod. ‘Omar, you have excelled yourself.’
‘Your Excellency, I hardly need to remind you that the princess does want to marry you, so the details of the contract are somewhat irrelevant.’
‘Not irrelevant,’ the Sultan drawled softly. ‘The princess may wish to marry me at the moment, but given time and a little—persuasion—I’m confident that she will soon see that this marriage is not for her.’
‘You plan to influence her decision, Your Excellency?’
‘Absolutely. The problem is solved, Omar. The Princess Alexandra is going to decide that marriage to me would be an extremely bad idea. And, given that most women are appallingly indecisive, we are going to offer her every assistance in reaching that conclusion. I intend to see to it personally.’ He gave a grim smile.
No matter what she had in mind, she would not be marrying the Sultan.
CHAPTER ONE
THE blades of the swords clashed viciously, and the room rang with the sharp sound of metal on metal.
Karim tightened his hand on the hilt of the sabre and lunged, sending his blade towards his opponent’s torso with a burst of explosive power that drew a collective gasp from the observers gathered around the room.
Karim ignored them. All his attention was focused on his opponent, whose identity was concealed by the dark mesh of the protective fencing-mask.
Attack, counter attack. Lunge, feint, parry.
They fought with relentless aggression, each trying to outmanoeuvre the other as they fenced for supremacy. The referee stood frozen to the spot, silenced by the sheer ferocity of the duel taking place in front of him.
Even as he fought, Karim was studying his opponent, trying to anticipate his moves. And failing. For the first time in his life, he was equally matched. His nameless, faceless opponent was changing his strategy for each attack, his movements swift and skilled, his footwork immaculate. The man was slight of build, but he moved with the speed and agility of a true athlete.
Karim felt the sweat prickle between his shoulder blades as the pace and intensity of the fight increased.
When he’d been informed that the Princess Alexandra had insisted on watching him fence before agreeing to let him be her bodyguard for the journey to Zangrar, he’d been both amused and irritated. Clearly, she was a real prima donna. It was the first time he’d fought in response to a feminine whim, and he’d strolled into the room prepared to thrash his opponent in a matter of minutes. Instead he was being seriously challenged in a sport at which he’d considered himself unbeatable.
Unaccustomed to meeting anyone who had either the nerve or the skill to take him on, Karim had been pleasantly surprised to discover that his anonymous opponent possessed both qualities in abundance, along with technical and tactical depth. He was even more astonished to discover that he was enjoying himself.
Who was the man in the mask?
Protocol demanded that fencing opponents salute each other at the start of each bout, and his opponent had observed that protocol, but he’d also entered the room fully prepared, his mask already in place.
Accustomed to boredom, Karim felt the adrenaline surge inside him, and vowed to reveal the identity of his partner. Whoever it was would be fencing him again, he vowed as he parried and then thrust, his movements confident and aggressive. The blade struck home in a lightning-fast attack, the force of the blow absorbed by the flex of the blade.
His opponent stepped backwards, his body already poised for the next attack, and Karim gave a low laugh of admiration. Although the man was slightly lacking in height, he was bold and fearless, attacking with an energy and confidence that was unusual.
Briefly distracted by girlish laughter, Karim cast a swift, irritated glance towards the spectators, his attention momentarily drawn to a group of women watching with flirtatious interest.
Which one of those was the Princess Alexandra?
And what indulgent,