Altair (Desert Sheikh Romance #5) Read online

  "If it were up to me," Tarif drawled, "I'd have the bastard locked in the dungeons and throw away the key. Let him rot in there until his death." Such words coming from the kingdom's notorious playboy sheikh would've come as a shock to many, but to the four other men inside the room, the cold-blooded suggestion did not come as a surprise. Tarif's mastery of the art of deception had fooled the world into dismissing him as a lazy, ne'er do well prince...when the truth was the opposite.

  "I'd normally second that," Khalil said with a humorless smile, "if not for the fact that we have yet to uncover the true masterminds behind the coup."

  "Then you're thinking we should use Mahmud to flush them out," Rayyan murmured.

  "If Altair thinks it best," Khalil answered. "I'm sure he has not called this meeting without a plan in mind."

  Altair inclined his head in agreement. "As a matter of fact, there is one course of action I'd like to take." He paused. "And it will require an engagement ring." He saw his brothers stiffen and raised his hand mid-air to forestall their protests. "Hear me out first. Offspring of individuals like Mahmud are usually one of two types," Altair stated. "They've either been groomed to follow in their parents' footsteps from the onset...or they've been made to lead sheltered lives, for one reason or another."

  Altair gestured to the reports his soldier had handed out earlier. "Based on the data our informants have provided, we have reason to strongly believe it's the latter in Princess Safiya's case."

  "And since you mentioned an engagement ring earlier," Khalil said slowly, "are you thinking of having one of us make the princess fall in love...in order to use her against her own father?"

  LADY AFAF WAS GETTING bored. Selfies could only be fun up to a certain amount of time, and it became even less enjoyable when one was a reluctant participant in a class field trip to the royal mosque.

  And now this!

  Afaf marched down the narrow aisle of the bus to demand for an explanation from the substitute professor handling their class. "Why aren't we being allowed to get off the bus? It's been over half an hour since we arrived!"

  "The imam received an unexpected visitor," the older woman responded briskly.

  The answer pissed Afaf off even more, but since this substitute professor was rather notorious for being "unappreciative" of her students' wealthy and noble backgrounds, Afaf had no choice but to stalk back to her seat.

  Fifteen more minutes passed before their bus was cleared to enter the premises, and the identity of the imam's unexpected visitor became thrillingly evident when their bus cruised down the driveway and the mosque gradually came into view.

  The courtyard was practically crawling with palace guards, and Afaf and the other girls started shrieking excitedly when they realized the Imam's unexpected visitor could only be a member of the royal family.

  The girls could barely wait until their resigned-looking professor allowed them to disembark, and the first few moments were one of feverish madness.

  Who could be the first one among them to post a selfie with the royal security in their background?

  Who could have the most likes?

  Who could—-oh my word, was that true?

  One of the girls had managed to wrangle an important piece of news: the Imam's royal visitor turned out to be none other than Sheikh Altair Al-Atassi, Ramil's greatest living warrior!

  More shrieks ensued, and the girls' substitute professor began to have a headache.

  "Jamaea!" Professor! "Who do you think among us three would Sheikh Altair find most attractive?"

  None of you, Professor Anisah Kahveci thought. It was the truth, too, but because these girls were only her students for a day and thus undeserving of her honesty, Anisah simply answered vaguely and hoped that would be the end of it.

  Unfortunately, the girls proved annoyingly insistent.

  "But you are a ward of the palace, aren't you, Professor?" Afaf asked impatiently. "Surely you must have an inkling of what the sheikh finds attractive."

  She probably did, but Anisah doubted the girls would appreciate the truth. Sheikh Altair was first and foremost a man of tradition. He would never be attracted to girls who spent more time on their cellphones than their books or girls whose makeup was so heavy it could have passed off as a niqab all on its own. Most importantly of all, Sheikh Altair was a patriot, and for this reason alone, Afaf - who had voluntarily given up her Ramilian citizenship for an American green card - stood absolutely no chance at capturing the sheikh's interest.

  A noisy commotion at the back distracted Afaf into looking over her shoulder, and all at once she forgot about waiting for the professor's answer.

  Sheikh Altair had appeared!

  Afaf and her friends rushed to join the other students in trying to get past the human barricade of the sheikh's security.

  Alshaykh! Sheikh! We love you so much!

  Anisah wrinkled her nose as the cries of her students reached a near-deafening volume. Oh well. It had only been a few months since the king and his vassals rode dashingly to the queen's rescue.

  This kind of adulation was only to be expected, Anisah decided. Personally, she thought it a little too much, but since the students' hysterics appeared harmless, it was best to simply wait for the girls' excitement to die a natural death.

  Afaf, meanwhile, was already lost in her own daydreams. He's so large and powerful. I bet he's going to crush me in bed.

  The other girls' thoughts pretty much echoed the same thing, and many found themselves wet and horny just staring at the sheikh's exceptionally formidable build. Since Ramilian men were generally known for their leaner physiques, the sheikh's particularly brawny build called into mind mythical heroes of old. Add to that the fiercely carved edges of Altair's handsome features along with the infamous scar that ran from his left eyelid down to his jaw, and the result was one devastatingly attractive man made even sexier by his air of brutal strength.

  Sheikh Altair was not an ordinary sheikh and never would be. Most princes only wielded their swords for show. Sheikh Altair, however, had willingly lived in the shadows, turning himself into an assassin to avenge his father's death. He was danger and nobility personified, and even to this day, Ramilians were just as excited and passionate when swapping stories of Altair's battlefield victories during the blood-drenched years of the Sand Wars.

  Ramilian males saw Altair as a modern-day warrior they could only hope to emulate in their next lifetime. Ramilian women, on the other hand...

  Afaf and the other girls only had one thought in their minds as they watched the sheikh descend the steps of the mosque.

  Oh, to be the lover of such a man as Altair Al-Atassi...

  Let it be me!

  Let it be me!

  Let it be me!

  OBLIVIOUS TO THE AMOUNT of attention he was attracting from the opposite sex, Altair headed straight inside his limousine, and the sheikh was already contemplating his next move even before his back hit the seat.

  When he had told the other sheikhs of his plan, he had known right away that his younger brother would be the first to refuse an engagement with Sheikh Mahmud's daughter. Malik, after all, had already given his heart away years ago, and Altair's brother was only waiting for the right time to claim his woman.

  Khalil, too, had been automatically out of the equation. The king was not only married, but the man also loved his queen with all his heart.

  As for Rayyan...

  Altair had never voiced his suspicions to anyone, but he was certain that Rayyan's affections were otherwise engaged, and he therefore hadn't been surprised when the other sheikh coolly expressed his unwillingness to take part.

  In the end, the choice had boiled down between him and Tarif, and although Altair was privately convinced the role of fiancé would've suited the other sheikh better—-

  His thoughts drifted back to the advice the palace's imam had given him. While Altair did not consider himself Christian or Muslim, he had always respected the imam's wisdom, and for the most part, the older man's counsel had always been helpful.

  Now, however...

  Innocent or not, traitor or not, the princess should not be your excuse to dishonor yourself.

  The holy imam had cautioned Altair against doing anything he might regret, but if ever things came down to choosing between what was right and what would keep everyone alive—-

  He just could not...and would not lose another member of his family again.

  Chapter Two

  Travel brochures frequently described the luxurious resort town of Alfiraz as one of Ramil's crown jewels. A lush and modern oasis set amidst sand dunes and fields of cacti, brittlebush, and Joshua trees, Alfiraz was also home to the royal family's vacation estate. It was the only privately owned property in the area, and it was here that the princess of Farigha had been quietly spending her days since her father, Sheikh Mahmud, had been quietly placed under house arrest.

  The staff manning the estate had been with the royal family for over a decade. They were experienced and well-trained, and in their years of service, they had the opportunity (but not always the pleasure) to attend to A-list celebrities, dignitaries, billionaire tycoons, and - as this was par for the course - other members of royalty as well.

  Upon Princess Safiya's arrival, the staff believed they knew everything there was to expect of the girl.

  But they were wrong.

  Two months had come to pass since then, and by now everyone was well used to the princess' charming...eccentricities. Whereas most other royals nitpicked on just about everything, the princess mostly nodded and quietly thanked all sixty-plus members of the staff...by name. Whereas most other royals demanded to be waited on hand and foot, there hadn't even been a day the princess had slept in; she was always up and about on her own early in the morning, and her bed properly made up by the time the attendants came in.

  Everyone had been understandably suspicious at first, and no one more so than the special agent working undercover as the princess' personal maid. But eventually, she and the rest of the staff had come to realize the princess was truly what she seemed: a nice person plain and simple, and it was because of this Yara was now in a bind.

  Yara would never have accepted this assignment if she hadn't owed Altair a favor. With a few rare exceptions, Yara saw royals as cruel and useless idiots. The princess, however, wasn't just nice. She was also different...in one of the saddest ways there was.

  Yara had seen her fair share of abuse and injustice in the course of her work under the kingdom's defense department. And unfortunately, the more time Yara spent with the princess, the more it became obvious that the fairytale existence the world attributed to the girl was nothing but an illusion. Yara knew a victim when she saw one; there were certain signs one had to look out for...and the princess unfortunately exhibited all of them.

  To be fair, the princess was rather good at hiding these signs, and the entire staff clearly didn't notice anything amiss. The other employees simply saw Sheikh of Farigha's daughter as well-mannered and surprisingly easy to please. Yara, however, had witnessed up close how evil lowlifes operated and how their victims turned out after surviving hell on earth. While the rest of the staff didn't see past the surface, Yara did, and what she saw...hurt.

  There wasn't a single meal that didn't have the princess' eyes glowing like she had hit the jackpot, and the way she savored each bite made it seem as if she had only lived on stale bread and water before coming to Alfiraz. In the afternoons, Yara would sometimes catch the princess yawning, and the first time Yara had asked the girl if she wanted to rest, the princess had appeared stunned, almost as if she had grown up on the belief that an afternoon nap was a mortal sin.

  There were only three kinds of people who made up their beds with the kind of precision Princess Safiya did: a five-star hotel housekeeper, a military recruit...or someone who had learned to do so while having a gun pointed at her head.

  It was rare for Yara to feel overly protective about anyone, but once security informed her about the sheikh's impending visit...

  ALTAIR WAS PRIVATELY surprised when Yara greeted him by the estate's front steps, all the while looking ready to bite his head off. Although Yara was a distant relation of the royal family, he and the other sheikhs had always considered her as their little sister. And so for her to act if he were the enemy, and it was the princess whom she owed loyalty to—-

  "Is anything wrong?" he asked bluntly.

  "La, alshaykh." No, sheikh.

  Yara's tone was perfectly bland, and Altair frowned. Something was definitely up, but since he had more pressing matters at hand, Altair decided to set the issue aside. "I'm here to speak with the princess," he murmured. "Could you take me to where she is?"

  He saw his cousin hesitate for a moment before nodding with visible reluctance. What the hell was wrong with her?

  Yara led the sheikh past the courtyard until they were in front of a pair of ornately carved doors, and Altair stared at his cousin in disbelief. The estate's entertainment facilities rivaled that of a five-star hotel and theme park combined...and yet she was expecting him to believe that the princess willingly chose to spend her time at the chapel?

  "It's only for half an hour or so each day," Yara said stiffly. "She enjoys praying. I see nothing wrong with that."

  Altair's expression turned impassive. Prior to this assignment, Yara had been one of the more cynical and cold-blooded individuals to work under his supervision. So for her to not think this was a mere act...

  "She's obviously won you over."

  Yara met the sheikh's gaze head on. "She is nothing like what most people would normally expect a princess to be, alshaykh." Yara received a mere grunt in answer, but she simply shrugged this off. "You will know this for yourself sooner or later."

  "We shall see." The sheikh's tone was bland. "Were you the one who told her about the betrothal?"

  "Nem." Yes.

  "And she did not object to it?"

  Yara nearly made a face at the question. While it wouldn't be entirely accurate to describe the princess as either aloof or secretive, she had come to notice how the girl appeared more relaxed and inclined to even display a rare smile or two every time the sheikh's name was mentioned.

  To say that the princess was keenly interested in the sheikh would be a vast understatement, but since she was also under no obligation to reveal anything that was not a threat to national security—-

  "No objection," Yara said finally, "but she did mention she hoped to speak with you first before it was made official."

  While Altair had a feeling Yara was keeping something from him, his guts also told him it wasn't the kind of secret that would constitute a betrayal. But since it was also fairly obvious his cousin now saw herself as a lioness and the princess her defenseless cub...

  Yara fought to keep her face expressionless as the sheikh informed her of his intention to speak with the princess...alone. She had a feeling he considered her fondness for the princess a weakness, but she also knew no amount of explaining would convince him otherwise.

  It was just as she told him earlier. He would know the truth for himself sooner or later, but in the meantime...

  The sheikh was an honorable man, Yara reminded herself. The princess would not be harmed, no matter what. Right?

  THE DOORS SHUT CLOSED silently behind Altair as he entered the chapel, which he found empty save for the princess. She was on her knees in prayer, a dainty figure dressed in a plain black abaya and an equally plain hijab that hid her hair from view.

  The sheikh moved to the side of the chapel to have a better look at the princess' profile, and this time he saw that her eyes were closed while her heart-shaped lips were moving in murmured tandem to the wooden rosary beads running between her fingers.

  Unquestionably lovely, Altair noted dispassionately, and if circumstances had been different, Altair was certain the Emir Sheikh would have been pleased to make this girl his wife. But such was how fate often operated, with Khalil unexpectedly falling in love with his American queen, and the princess' destiny now in Altair's hands.

  Time glided past, and Altair wondered if the princess could indeed be as comfortable as she appeared. While Altair's sire was a renowned hero, all signs pointed to her father likely being exposed as a traitor. But if this were so, why then did Altair always have a hard time finding the right words to say when praying...while the princess appeared perfectly at ease in God's presence?

  The sheikh thought back to the first time they met. Her father, Sheikh Mahmud, had been presenting her to the king with much fanfare, and he remembered how looking at her had simply left him...cold. He remembered looking at her and thinking how the princess was very much like a doll with how beautiful her face was...and how vacuous her eyes were.

  She had left no lasting impression on him at that time, but now...

  Altair's jaw clenched.

  She felt different this time, and he couldn't understand why that was.

  Nothing about her appearance seemed to have changed, and yet something about her...was different. Even with her so quiet and still, there was just something about her...

  Yara was startled to see the sheikh stride out of the chapel...alone.

  "Alshaykh?" Sheikh? Yara's voice was stiff. "Why is the princess not with you?"

  "Because she's still praying," Altair answered sardonically, "and I thought it better not to disturb her."

  Yara still couldn't help feeling a little suspicious. Just that? Really?

  The sheikh arched a brow, saying mockingly, "I am not the enemy here, anisdi."

  Anisdi meant 'milady' in their language, but even though Yara had a feeling the sheikh was being sarcastic overall—-

  "I know you're not the enemy," Yara allowed, "but the princess isn't either."

  Altair's gaze became hooded. His own cousin, albeit in not so many words, was personally vouching for the princess' integrity. But while he respected and trusted Yara, he could not make himself forget what he had suffered in the past. The last time he had allowed himself to believe in someone who had every reason to be his enemy, it was his father who had paid the price. There was no way Altair would allow the same thing to happen again.