THEY LEFT HIS ROOMS, and walked through the maze of halls and corridors with Mikael giving her the history of the palace as they returned to her wing. “This Kasbah is known in Saidia as the Bridal Palace. For hundreds of years this is where the king of Saidia brought his new bride after the wedding ceremony. It is where the royal couple honeymoons, and where the king or prince would introduce his virgin bride to the pleasures of the marriage bed.”
Mikael pointed down one hall, which led to the entrance of the Kasbah. “The bride would arrive, and pass through the same entrance you passed through last night, and then be escorted by her new maids to this wing. On arrival, the bride would be bathed, massaged with fragrant oils, then robed and taken to the first chamber, the white chamber—a room hidden off your room—which historically has been called the Chamber of Innocence. In the Chamber of Innocence, the groom claims his bride, consummating the marriage. In the morning, the bride is transferred to a different suite.
“Here,” he added, walking down another hall to a different corridor and taking a turn to the right. “This is the Emerald Chamber.” He opened the only door in the corridor and stepped back to let her have a look. “This is where the bride and groom spend their second day.”
Jemma carefully moved past him to glance around the room. The walls were glazed green, the floor was laid with green and white tiles. The bed was gold with green silk covers and a dozen gold lanterns hung from the ceiling.
“There’s a courtyard attached,” he said. “The garden is fantastic, and the pool looks like a secret grotto.”
They stepped out of the room, into the hall. They walked in a circular pattern, continuing right, down another hall to another door. “The Amethyst Room,” he said, and it was a room of purple and gold, even more luxurious and exotic than the Emerald Chamber.
“There are eight rooms like these,” Mikael said. “In this section of the Kasbah, the rooms have all been laid out in the shape of a large octagon, with a shared garden in the center. Some of the rooms also have a private courtyard, too. Each of the rooms are significant because they represent a different sensual pleasure.”
He’d just opened a door to the Ruby Chamber but she didn’t even look inside. She stared at Mikael, stunned, and fascinated. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “Each suite has a pleasure attached, and it varies from a form of sex, to a particular position.”
Jemma blushed, suddenly very warm. “You’re making this up.”
“Not at all. Each night for eight consecutive nights, the groom takes his bride to a new room, initiating her into new carnal delights, teaching her, pleasuring her, as well as ensuring she knows how to pleasure him.”
Her face burned, hot. It was almost as if a fire had been lit inside of her and she didn’t know if it was the things he was saying, or his tone, but his words created erotic pictures in her head, pictures that were so intimate and real that she could scarcely breathe.
He led her around to each of the eight suites, and she marveled at each. The Bridal Palace was beyond fantasy. It was magical. Jemma felt as if she’d entered another world. A world she couldn’t have imagined existed anywhere. And yet it did. Here.
The exotic perfection was almost too much to take in, each suite more spectacular than the last, the rooms splashed with jeweled color—violet, sapphire, gold, ruby, turquoise, emerald, and silver. The chambers were connected by tall columned corridors, the white and gold tiles shimmering at all hours of the day, while in the very center was a luxurious walled garden featuring pools, fountains, and exotic red, gold and ivory mosaic tiled pavilions.
She’d thought her courtyard was lovely, but the Bridal Palace’s secret courtyard was so lavish and sensual it stole her breath, and made her heart hurt.
She didn’t know why the Bridal Palace’s sensual beauty created pain. She was certain it’d been designed to delight.
“You’re very quiet,” the sheikh said, turning to look at her.
She passed a small waterfall that tumbled and splashed into a deep bathing pool. “I’m in awe,” she said, thinking this was the kind of place you wanted to be on your honeymoon. The low beds covered with the softest cotton and banked with silk cushions. The fragrant garden both hid and revealed the various gleaming pools.
This was a place for passion. Pleasure. Here anything seemed possible...
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she added, voice unsteady. “It takes my breath away. These rooms, the gardens, they’re pure fantasy. I feel like I’m in a dream.”
“I think that’s the point,” he said, leading her from the central courtyard, through a room shimmering with silver, to the outside hall. “The fantasy element is to help both bride and groom overcome their inhibitions. Here, everything is possible.”
The door shut behind them and they were suddenly back in an ordinary hall, in an ordinary world.
She looked at the closed door, amazed by what they’d just left behind. “The rooms...your story...it’s a fairy tale for adults.”
“But it’s not a fairy tale, or a story. It’s real. Part of Saidia’s culture and tradition. This is where every Saidia king has brought his bride for eight hundred years.”
“Your parents came here?”
He nodded. “My father brought my mother here. And now I’ve brought you.”
Jemma’s mouth opened, closed. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. It was all too incredible...the exotic beauty, as well as the seductive nature of the Kasbah. Everything in this palace was hedonistic. Indulgent. And he was using the promise of pleasure to cast a spell over her.
“Tonight is the first of our sixteen nights here. For the next eight nights, I shall pick the pleasure, and then on the ninth night, it becomes your choice.”
He was walking her back to her suite now, and Jemma was glad he was leading. She felt dazed. Lost. Caught up in the most impossible dream.
“Not tonight,” she said as they reached her door. “I’m not ready.”
“A kidnapped bride is never ready,” he said, and yet he was smiling to soften his words. “I also am not insensitive to the strangeness of our situation. I understand you have fears, and misgivings, but I believe it is better to begin sooner than later. You will be less anxious once we know each other.”
“But shouldn’t that happen before physical intimacy?”
“The physical intimacy will bind us together. It is the act of physical love that distinguishes the relationship, separating us from others.”
Jemma pressed her hands together, fingers locking. “One more day. Please.”
“But you had one day already. We had today.”
“I slept most of it away!”
“Which should mean you are rested and refreshed for tonight.” They’d reached the entrance to her suite of rooms. He gestured to her door. “Inside your room you will find several presents from me. You will receive more later. For the next eight days and nights I will shower you with gifts, jewels, and my undivided attention. I think you shall soon discover that these eight days and nights will be everything you ever dreamed...and more.”
His gaze met hers and held, even as his words echoed in her head, making her nerves dance.
Everything you ever dreamed...and more.
Just like that the night crackled, the air hot and heavy, sultry in the exotic pavilion.
Mikael was so close that he made the hair on her nape rise and her skin prickle. All she could think about was the sheikh stretching his big powerful body out over hers. Blood rushed to her cheeks and she fought to control her breathing.
“You are awfully confident, Your Highness.”
“We are married. Don’t you think it’s time you used my given name?”
“I do not feel married.”
“That will change soon.”
* * *
Jemma disappeared into her room, pulse racing. She turned from the door and nearly tripped over the mountain of trunks stacked just inside the entrance to her sitting room.
The young maid was standing next to the trunks, smiling. “For you,” she said. “From His Highness.”
Jemma backed away from the trunks, panicked by the tower of gifts.
She didn’t want presents. Didn’t want to be showered with expensive gifts and jewels.
She wanted the life she had in London. She wanted her friends. Wanted her work. She wanted her own identity and freedom.
The maid watched Jemma, her dark eyes bright, expression cheerful and excited. “Shall I start your bath, Your Highness? We have much to do to prepare.”
Jemma shook her head, feeling anything but excited. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t go through with this. She wasn’t the kind of woman who just gave up, who just gave in. She was not meant to be Mikael’s queen. Her future was not here in Saidia, nor did she have any desire to bear the children that would heal the rift between families and countries.
“It is a very big day,” the maid added carefully, her confident expression slipping, revealing the first hint of concern. “Much to do. Much tradition.”
Jemma sat down on the edge of one of her low white sofas, her hands folding in her lap. “These are not my traditions.”
The maid knelt next to Jemma. “Your Highness, do not be frightened. His Highness, Sheikh Karim, is a very good and powerful man. He is very fair. A man of his word. If he tells you something, it is so.”
“I think you would say that about all Saidia kings.”
“No. I would not say that about the last king, Sheikh Karim’s father. The old king was not a good man. He made his first wife very sad. I think His Highness, Sheikh Karim, saw much as a boy. I think he saw things a child should not see. This is why he is different from his father. He has worked very hard to be a good king. The people love him. He honors and respects Saidia people, and Saidia tradition.” The maid smiled. “The king will be good to you. You will be happy. I am already happy for you.” Her hand indicated the trunks. “Already he has sent many gifts. He tries to show you already he is pleased with you. That you bring him honor.”
Jemma shook her head. “He’s trying to buy me.”
The maid frowned. “Buy you? Like a camel?”
“Yes. But I’m not a thing to be bought.”
“His Highness does not buy you. His Highness honors you. Gifts show respect. In Saidia, gifts are good things.” She smiled more brightly. “Maybe now you look at your gifts, and then we get ready for tonight.”
Jemma struggled to smile. “You open the trunks for me. Show me what is inside.”
For the next several minutes, all the maid did was unpack the trunks, starting with the largest leather trunk on the bottom of the stack.
The biggest trunk was filled with clothes. Kaftans, skirts, sarongs, tunics, slinky evening gowns. The medium trunk contained shoes and heels and elegant jeweled sandals. The small trunk held jewelry and accessories.
There was one last trunk, but this one wasn’t leather, but silver. The silver box’s gleaming surface was embossed with elegant scrollwork and a jeweled handle. Jemma carefully unfastened the latches. Inside the silver box was a white garment bag, white shoes and a small, delicate white silk pouch.
“This is for tonight,” the maid said, unzipping the garment bag to remove a long white satin gown that looked like something from a Hollywood movie. “Your bridal gown.”
“My wedding gown?” Jemma corrected, thinking maybe she’d misunderstood the girl’s English.
“No. The honeymoon gown. For pleasure.” The maid smiled, her cheeks pink. “Tonight is the first night. You go to him in white. You meet him in the Chamber of Innocence.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I come from the same tribe as Sheikh Karim. My mother and grandmother served the new Karim brides. And now I serve you. It is my job to prepare you for the king’s pleasure.”
Jemma was neither a virgin nor an innocent and yet she blushed, furiously, feeling ridiculously embarrassed, and shy. “I’m not sure about this.”
“You don’t need to worry. His Highness will know everything. He will teach you.”
Jemma flushed again, her cheeks burning, trying not to feel mortified. The maid must think she was a timid virgin.
“Do you want to try it on?” the maid asking, admiring the long white satin gown.
“No.” Jemma turned away from the gown, the fabric soft and begging to be touched, focusing instead on the remaining wedding night gifts and accessories. White satin shoes. Delicate white satin undergarments. And of course, the white silk pouch.
Curious, Jemma loosened the silver strings and emptied the pouch into her hand. Glittering diamond and pearl earrings spilled into her palm. A small card slid out last, landing on top of the stunning diamond drop earrings.
My first gift to you. Please wear them tonight. I think they will look magnificent on you.
Jemma read the card twice, and then slowly exhaled, her heart hammering.
Was this really happening? Would she really go to him tonight, dressed like a virgin sacrifice, dazzling in diamonds and white?
Jemma slipped the earrings back into the silk pouch, and then placed the pouch and shoes inside the silver trunk before closing the lid and fastening it shut.
Yesterday afternoon she’d been in the middle of a photo shoot when Mikael arrived. She’d known nothing about him, and very little about Saidia, and yet now she was his wife, and being prepared for his bed.
She still couldn’t wrap her head around it.
Jemma sat back on her heels and looked at the young maid. “Have you ever heard of a royal groom not satisfying his bride? Have you ever heard your mother or grandmother mention a kidnapped bride returning to her family? Has it happened in Saidia history before?”
The maid nodded. “Yes.”
“A long, long time ago, or more recently?”
“During my great-great-grandmother’s time, I think. Many, many years ago. And...” The maid chewed her lip, looking unsure of herself. “Maybe my mother’s time.”
Jemma frowned. “Your mother served my husband’s mother.”
“Yes.”
“Mikael’s mother was unhappy?”
“Not at first. Not during the honeymoon, but later.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I do not know. My mother would never say.”
The maid left to start Jemma’s bath, and rather than argue with the maid about privacy, Jemma stripped her clothes off and spent the next half hour soaking in the deep marble tub, lost in thought.
The Kasbah was a palace within a palace, and Mikael descended from a line of royal men who’d been taught that it was necessary to know how to please a woman in bed, and even his duty to give his woman pleasure. But not just pleasure. He was expected to make her fall in love with him. She needed to want to stay in Saidia. She needed to be happy. And if, during the honeymoon, the Saidia groom couldn’t make his bride happy, she could leave him after sixteen days.
The history fascinated Jemma. But it wasn’t just history. They were facts. And the facts gave her pause.
If a Saidia man couldn’t please his wife, he had to let her go.
Did that mean Mikael would let her go if he couldn’t please her?
Out of the bath, the maid set to work rubbing exotic fragrant oils into Jemma’s skin, and Jemma provided no resistance, lost in thought.
She’d been brought here as Mikael’s first wife. But perhaps now she could force him to free her following their honeymoon. If she wasn’t happy after eight days, she’d refuse him the next eight and demand to be allowed to return to her tribe.
While the oil dried, Jemma walked around the courtyard in her cotton kimono, letting the sun’s warmth help her skin absorb the oil.
She knelt by the pool in the courtyard, and gazed down into the clear blue water, the bottom of the pool covered in cobalt blue tiles. Her face reflected back at her, her dark hair pulled back from her face, her expression appeared surprisingly serene in the water. Her calmness belied her resolve.
She would leave here.
She would not be charmed.
She would not fall in love.
She would not give him children.
What she’d give him were eight days and nights, and during those days and nights he’d have access to her body. But he’d never have her heart.
The maid fetched Jemma from the courtyard to do her hair.
Jemma’s stomach churned as she sat at the silver dressing table, while the maid combed and twisted her hair into place, roping in strands of pearls and clusters of diamonds until Jemma’s long dark hair was a glittering, jeweled work of art.
Was Mikael aware that he’d given her a way out? Did he know that she understood her freedom could be won?
But first she’d have to surrender to Mikael for eight days, and eight nights.
Could she do it?
Could she give herself to him totally? Handing over her body, her will, her need for control?
“Shall I help you with your dress now?” the maid asked, Jemma’s hairstyle complete.
“No,” Jemma said suddenly. She couldn’t finish dressing, couldn’t slip into the white satin gown, not until she’d seen Mikael. She needed to speak to him. She needed his promise that he’d honor Saidia tradition. “I need to go see His Highness, now. Will you please take me to him?”
The maid opened her mouth as if to protest and then nodded. “Yes, Your Highness. Please, follow me.”
* * *
The maid knew the palace corridors and they walked swiftly from her wing to his.
The maid knocked on the outer door of Mikael’s suite and then stepped back, discretely disappearing into the shadows.
Jemma drew a deep breath as she waited for the outer door to open. It did, and Mikael’s valet gestured for Jemma to enter the king’s suite.
Jemma glanced up into Mikael’s central hall with the soaring ceiling topped by a skylight. She remembered the skylight and the second floor lined with balconies, reminding her of the New Orleans French Quarter.
“Looking for me?” Mikael’s deep voice sounded behind her.
Jemma turned, blushing as she spotted Mikael in nothing but a snug white towel wrapped securely around his waist, revealing broad shoulders and muscular torso.
“Yes,” she said, forcing her gaze from his impressive body up to his face. His black hair was damp, and glossy, his jaw freshly shaven. His gaze met hers and held.
Handsome, she thought, dazzled by the play of golden light over his bronze features. He was too handsome for his own good. No wonder he was arrogant.
“What can I do for you?” Mikael asked as his valet disappeared.
“We need to talk.”
“And I thought you’d come to thank me for my gifts,” he answered, smiling faintly.
“They are...lovely,” she said hesitantly. “So yes, thank you. But—”
“But you want something else?” he interrupted.
She flushed. “Yes. You could say that.”
His eyes, fringed by those endless lashes, narrowed. His gaze swept over her and even from across the courtyard she felt the heat in his eyes, felt the possession.
“What is it?” he asked.
Jemma grew hot. Her pulse quickened. She’d walked quickly the entire way from her room but it didn’t explain this new heat in her veins. This was his fault. When he looked at her, he made her head light, made her feel ridiculously dizzy and weak. “I want something that isn’t a physical gift.”
“You don’t care for jewels and clothes?”
“They’re fine, but not my favorite gifts.”
“I thought every woman loved jewelry and exquisite clothes.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you.”
He circled her slowly. “You don’t disappoint me. You intrigue me. I’m intrigued right now. What it is that you want so badly you’d race to my room just an hour before we are to disappear into the Chamber of Innocence?”
Mikael watched color sweep Jemma’s cheeks. She was beautiful in the pink kimono robe, and she sounded breathless and all he could think of was peeling the thin fabric from her shoulders and kissing the pale skin at her collarbone.
She had a beautiful body. He wanted her body. He wanted her.
“Would you care to sit?” he asked her.
“No. I think I’m better standing.”
“Does what you need to say require courage?” he asked, wondering if she knew how beautiful she was. He doubted it. She was surprisingly modest. She had no airs or attitude. Someone in her family had done a good job raising her.
“It depends on how you’ll take it,” she answered.
“Then perhaps let’s not talk now. Tonight is special. Tonight is about pleasure.”
“Tonight cannot happen without us speaking, Your Highness.”
He sighed, an exaggerated sigh. The sigh was purely for show. He was playing with her, enjoying her fire. “Laeela, I confess I’m not pleased with the direction our relationship is taking. We do a lot of talking. Or more accurately, you do a lot of talking, and I seem to be doing a great deal of listening.”
“You’re wrong, Your Highness. You actually never listen.”
“I’m sure that’s not right. It seems like you talk a great deal.”
“That’s maybe because you’re not used to a woman who has a brain and wants to use it.”
“I see.” It required effort not to give in to the smile. “That might explain it, but I’m wondering if talking now will maybe interfere with our pleasure tonight? Perhaps we should wait and talk later.”
“Most men probably never want to talk, Your Highness, but we must.”
“Fine. You talk, and I will listen, provided there is no more of this Your Highness when we are in private. You’re my wife, about to come to my bed. I understand you must call me Your Highness in public, but we are alone at the moment, and my name is Mikael.”
She blinked and wet her lips, her face awash in rosy color, her eyes a brilliant green in her lovely face, flashing fire.
“Now, what is it you had to say?” he added, reaching out to touch her pink cheek.
She just looked at him with wide green eyes and he savored the moment. “What is it?” he persisted. “Tell me.”
She drew a quick breath. “I want you to make me a promise.”
She was negotiating with him. Interesting. “Yes?”
“I want you, as the king and leader of the Saidia people, to promise me that you will honor Saidia tradition, and the custom of your tribe.”
He could see from the tilt of her chin that she expected him to fight her. She expected a problem. She was preparing to battle.
“I always try to honor Saidia tradition,” he said.
“Then promise to honor this tradition.”
“Perhaps you need to tell me what it is, first.”
She looked into his eyes and then away. She seemed to struggle to find the right words, and then she shrugged, and blurted, “If you cannot make me happy in the first eight days and nights of our honeymoon, I want you to promise to send me home, to my family. My people.”
She’d shocked him. For a moment he could think of nothing to say.
“During the tour you explained why the honeymoon is so important,” she continued. “It made sense to me, and it made me respect your culture more. I am grateful you come from a culture that believes a woman should be happy, because I, too, believe a woman should be happy. I believe all women should be happy, just as I believe all women should have a say in their marriage, and future.” She drew another quick breath. “I need to have a say in my future. I need my voice heard. You must give me my voice back.”
“But you have your voice. I hear you quite plainly.”
“Then give me a gift I will cherish, the gift of your word. Promise me I will be free to return home if you cannot make me happy.”
“You doubt me?”
“I won’t if you promise me I can trust you.”
“I’ve told you my word is law.”
“Then say to me, ‘Jemma, if you aren’t happy in eight days, I will put you on a plane, and send you back to London.’” Her green eyes held his. “That is all you have to do, and I will believe you, but I need a promise from you, or it is impossible to give you my body, or my heart, if I’m afraid, or full of fear and doubt.”
He said nothing.
“Mikael,” she added more softly, persuasively, “I need to know that I can trust you. I need to believe you will take care of me. Your promise is the gift of dignity and honor. Your promise means I feel safe and respected, and that gives us the basis for a future. Otherwise, we have nothing. And how can you build a future on nothing?”
She was like a queen, he thought, watching her. Beautiful and regal. Proud, slender, strong. With her dark hair and stunning green eyes, she could easily be one of the great Egyptian queens. Cleopatra. Nefertiti. Ankhesenamun.
If they had met under different circumstances, he would have made her his lover or mistress. He would have enjoyed spoiling her with gifts. He liked to spoil his woman, liked to please her. But he didn’t love. He didn’t want to love. Love complicated relationships. Love wasn’t rational.
He was determined to be rational. He was determined to be a good king.
She reached toward him, her hand outstretched. “Mikael, I need to know you have not just your best interest at heart, but mine, too.”
He stiffened. “As king I have all my people’s best interests at heart.”
“As my husband, you must have mine, too.”
“I do.”
Her hand lightly settled on his chest. “Then promise me, and I can meet you tonight with calm, and confidence, and hope.”
He glanced down at her hand where it rested so lightly on his chest, just above his heart.
He captured her hand in his, holding her small fist to his chest. His thumb swept her wrist. He could feel the wild staccato of her pulse. She was afraid. He didn’t like her fear. “You’ve no need to be afraid.”
“That is not the same thing as a promise.”
“You are still getting to know me, but you will discover I am a man of my word. I do not make rash promises, nor do I break my commitments.”
She bit her lip and looked at him from beneath her long dark lashes. “So what does that mean?”
“It means I have eight days to make you happy.”
He could see her bite down harder, her pink lip turning white in the center, where her teeth pressed into the tender flesh.
He both envied and pitied the spot.
Once she was completely his, he would suck and lick that poor lip to make amends. His body hardened in anticipation. He would very much like to suck and lick all of her. He would like to feel her tighten beneath him, and then shatter. “But I also understand your mistrust of men. Your father abandoned you, and then your fiancé did the same. You’ve been surrounded by men who only think of themselves, making rash promises, which is why I can safely give you my word that I will make you happy.”
“And yet, if you cannot, you will let me return to London?”
His dark gaze raked her, appreciating the jut of breasts and swell of hips beneath the thin kimono. “Yes.”