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.
Chapter Three
The sheikhs convened in another closed-door meeting the next day, and Altair wasted no time in briefing them about his first visit to Alfiraz.
"Yara might not be someone who trusts easily," Rayyan allowed, "but it is also as Altair said. Our cousin vouching for her is simply insufficient proof of the princess' integrity."
"What do you plan to do next?" Tarif asked.
"I'll be heading back to Alfiraz after our meeting," Altair answered curtly. "I'll be sure to speak with the princess this time, see if I can feel her out. I also want our envoy to speak with Sheikh Mahmud. He must be made to believe that because I've fallen in love with his daughter, I do not wish to make her unhappy by having him imprisoned. Instead, we will be settling for a compromise: he may return to Farigha and rule as figurehead. As long as he doesn't breathe a word to anyone else about the arrangement, no one will be the wiser."
Khalil was beginning to see where his brother was going with this. "You want Mahmud to think the princess has you so wrapped around her fingers, he may be able to use his daughter against you?"
"Nem."
While Malik knew better than to convince his older brother to change his mind, he also didn't bother hiding his disquiet about the entire situation. "Are you truly sure this is how you want to proceed?"
"There's nothing else to do," Altair said flatly. Games like this were as old as time, and members of royalty like him and Safiya were destined to play it, whether they wanted to or not.
The sheikh was back in Alfiraz in an hour's time, and his cousin was once again waiting by the front steps to nag his head off about the princess being this and that. Altair had hoped additional time spent away would give him a better perspective on the princess, but he soon came to realize the girl was an even bigger puzzle than he gave her credit for.
With Yara's (grudging) assistance, the sheikh found the princess in the library this time, and he was somewhat disconcerted to realize that his earlier assessment of her had been correct.
She still felt different, and as to why that was...
The princess' beauty was still as breathtakingly perfect like a doll's, with the ebony cascade of her hair and the seductive fringe of her lashes. The elegant delicateness of her cheeks and the blush-pink tint of her lips. Altair had never been the type to spout flowery words, but the princess' looks were so that it actually made a fucking poet out of him.
The point was, the princess was still beautiful as ever, but as for the side of her that made him once think of her as something as lifeless and empty as a doll?
She had always been a proper little thing around the other sheikhs. Seemingly insipid even.
But now...
Altair had a hard time believing this was the same blank-looking girl he had first seen months ago. What changed about her was now all too clear to see. Unlike before, the princess now had a vibrancy to her that was enchanting and all too exquisite. She was so fucking alive, and this...unexpectedly turned out to have an unwanted impact on his body.
Fuck.
The princess was still openly staring at him, and Altair barely kept himself from releasing a string of expletives as he felt his flesh harden under her gaze. Knowing that his cock was just seconds away from poking out and drawing attention to itself, he made quick work of dispensing with the formalities, and in moments he and the princess were seated across each other. More importantly, there was a big fucking library table between them, and safely hidden underneath it was the massive boner he was still currently sporting.
Honor, Altair reminded himself grimly. He had to conduct himself with honor, and there was no fucking honor in pounding the princess' pussy with his cock. If she turned out to be innocent, then he could end up taking her virginity under false pretenses, and if she turned out to be a traitor as well, then it would be like spitting on his father's grave if he were to sleep with the enemy.
So just do what you have to do, Al-Atassi, and—-what the hell?
Altair belatedly noticed the princess staring at his scar...like it was some damn beauty mark.
What the fuck?
While both the passage of time and wonders of technology had reduced Altair's scar into a barely-visible disfigurement, he also knew he would never look the way he once did. The truth of this was what he saw staring back at him in the mirror each day, and it was also in the way he was still subjected to the odd stare now and then.
The princess, however...
A memory nagged at Altair then, and it was of that time again. Sheikh Mahmud, in the midst of presenting his daughter to the royal family, had described his own daughter like she was nothing but cattle he had raised for auction. But throughout it, the princess' face had been a mask of serenity, and he remembered how the girl's expression hadn't changed even when it was Khalil himself speaking to her.
Altair's gaze drifted back to the princess.
Muzthahi! Impossible!
What he was thinking was preposterous to say the least, but what other reason could there be when one considered the way she was now looking at him like he was some damn celebrity heartthrob?
Think of your honor, goddammit!
Honor, Al-Atassi!
The holy imam had been very clear in his advice. Altair must always act with honor towards the princess, and it was what he planned to do. But when he saw the way the princess' chest had suddenly started to rapidly rise and fall—-
Well, fuck.
The princess had finally realized he had caught her staring, and Altair's body turned even more rigid as he saw her cheeks turn a becoming shade of pink.