Chosen by the Sheikh by Kim Lawrence

wearing. ‘I’ll have to change.’
    Sayed cleared his throat and explained tact fully, ‘Actually, I think the request was of the immediate variety.’
    â€˜You mean it was a summons?’ Beatrice clutched her head and expelled a shaky sigh before firming her mouth. ‘Oh well, I suppose I might as well get it over with,’ she said, in the tone of a condemned woman. ‘I’ve no idea what he’d want to say to me. Couldn’t you just tell him I’ve booked my flight?’
    â€˜Oh, I would imagine he already knows. Little in the palace happens that the King doesn’t know about.’
    â€˜Did you try and make that sound sinister to spook me out?’
    This time Sayed did permit himself a grin.
    The King’s private apartments were in the oldest part of the palace, and it took a good fifteen minutes before they reached them. Beatrice still hadn’t come up with anything he might want to say to her beyond the obvious—Hands off my son—but she had thought of quite a few things she would like to say to him.
    The small court yard she was taken to was a lot less intimidating than the throne room she had imagined. The space was empty but for the King, who sat on a carved stone bench dressed in flowing white robes, his head bare, revealing his leonine silvered mane.
    He was reading a book that he set aside when she entered.
    â€˜Take a seat, Miss Devlin. You have been with us some time, and we have not had an opportunity to meet before today, but I have been aware of your…actions.’
    Did Tariq report to him?
    â€˜Tariq has not discussed you with me.’
    Tariq, it would seem, had inherited his spooky perception from his father. ‘Does everyone have their own set of spies here?’ a startled Beatrice blurted.
    The King did not look offended. ‘I need other eyes and ears, as I do not leave my apartments these days.’
    Beatrice decided that on balance she didn’t want to know what those eyes and ears had been telling him about her.
    â€˜My son…Tariq…he—’
    â€˜He—’ she cut in, unable to contain the indignation and anger that been building inside her on the way over. ‘Tariq—your son—’ She broke off, breathing hard as she tried to control her feelings. Her grip of royal protocol was shaky, but even she knew you couldn’t tell a king that he ought to consider the consequences his reclusivness had on other people.
    â€˜Tariq…?’ the King prompted gently.
    â€˜I thought you were some sort of invalid—but look at you. You’re fine…totally fine !’
    The King looked startled by the accusation.
    â€˜So you need a stick?’ she conceded, her glance shifting to the cane at his side. ‘And you feel a bit self-conscious about your speech?’
    â€˜My people need to see a strong ruler.’
    â€˜I’m a stranger, but even I know the people here love you. Have you for got ten that?’
    The King’s eyes narrowed. His glance was steely as it rested on her face. No slurring was evident as he spoke, a regal warning in his stern voice.
    â€˜You forget to whom you speak.’
    Of course she had gone too far. But she reasoned it was too late to pull back—and what did she have to lose?
    â€˜I know I’m no great loss to diplomacy, and I’m sorry—I know I’m speaking out of turn—but I hate to see Tariq… Oh, I know his shoulders are broad and he’s capable—he’d be the first person to tell you he’s the most capable person on the planet—’ she vented a dry laugh and tucked her hair behind her ears ‘—and I’m well aware that he’s not exactly troubled by lack of self-belief, and I know it will be his job one day. But not yet.’
    The King had allowed her to continue speaking partly because her forthrightness had a certain novelty value. But as he listened to what she