The Defiant Princess Read online

  The king stood. “Khalid—”

  “This animosity between our countries could’ve been ended years ago!” He turned away as he released a hiss of frustration. He couldn’t begin to fathom his father’s inaction.

  “You forget, she was only a child and in need of protection.”

  Spinning back on his heel, he was all aggression as he said, “That child has grown up and she should have deposed Mustaf long ago. Damn it! I can’t believe you’ve sat on this. I don’t understand why you’ve allowed Mustaf to rule—why you allowed Hazim to marry Barika when his marriage to Sabihah could’ve put an end to the hostilities between our two countries.”

  For a moment, they both simply stood in the emotionally-charged room, eyes locked. Somewhat shocked at his own outburst, Khalid realised it was the first time he’d ever opposed his father so vehemently.

  His father turned away first, walking slowly around the desk as he broke the silence. “Sabihah was taken to London in secret. Her nanny—supposedly dismissed for allowing the princess to wander off into the desert alone—was actually charged with her care. In the event of a successful assassination attempt on the king and queen, she was told to protect the princess.” He made a gesture of resignation with his hands. “Apart from Sabihah’s parents and the nanny, the only other person who knew her exact location was the head of Rhajian security. He was killed during the assassination. I tried to find them but they vanished so well it was like they never existed. I didn’t know whether they were alive or dead. I stopped searching soon afterwards in case word of my investigations reached Mustaf and placed Sabihah in danger.”

  “You said she was safe, but for all you know she may well be dead.” Disappointment made Khalid bite out each word.

  “A couple of weeks ago, just before Mustaf issued his ultimatum, I received a phone call from our ambassador in Australia.’ The king returned to the desk and perched himself on the corner. “He told me of an incident there that made headline news.”

  Khalid suppressed a groan as he wondered where this new topic of conversation was leading.

  “A young school teacher was on a field trip with her class. There was an accident and the bus caught fire. The teacher managed to get all the children out safely then went back into the flames to help the injured driver out.”

  “Please Father, get to the point. What does an Australian bus accident have to do with our current difficulties?”

  “Our ambassador was struck by the physical appearance of the young woman. He said she could be the double of the former Queen of Rhajia.”

  Khalid frowned. “What are you suggesting? We go to this school teacher and have her pretend to be the lost Princess Sabihah?”

  “Son, you should know me better than that,” his father admonished. “I would never stoop to such deceit.”

  Khalid gave a slight bow. “I apologise, Father. I can see no other relevance to this.”

  “The teacher’s name was Sabrina St. George. Sabihah’s nanny was Helen St. George.” An excited light entered his eyes and the weary, worried expression he’d worn was replaced by hope as he stood once more. “I decided to make investigations. As I suspected, the young school teacher does not need to pretend to be Princess Sabihah, for she is indeed the lost princess.”

  “No.” Khalid shook his head in disbelief. “After all these years you’ve found her?”

  “Fortunately, yes. She’s alive and well in Australia. Apparently the nanny thought that was the safest place for her. Sabihah is now teaching in an outback school.”

  “But, why hasn’t she—?”

  “She has no idea of her true identity.”

  “What?” The king’s tale grew increasingly baffling.

  “The queen wanted her daughter to have a new identity. To be kept far out of Mustaf’s reach. Her former nanny assumed the role of her aunt, and the truth was kept from Sabihah for her own safety.”

  “That’s ridiculous. She’s living a lie!”

  “I agree, my son.” The king nodded, eyes alight with determination. “It was King Akram’s wish that his daughter return to Rhajia when the time was right and I could assure her safety. He wanted her to claim her rightful place on the throne.”

  As Khalid sat, his mind raced. “You’re positive it’s her?”

  “Without doubt.” He smiled. “It’s Princess Sabihah. Not only is she the image of her mother, but she’s still living with her former nanny. For the good of both our countries she must return to Rhajia as soon as possible.”

  Khalid ran the fingers of one hand through his hair as he tried to absorb all the information. “You want her to come back and depose Mustaf but you said she doesn’t know who she is?”

  “I’ve spoken with Helen St. George.” He made a sound of disgust. “She was unhelpful, refusing to cooperate and tell Sabihah the truth. It’s up to you to go to Australia and tell the princess who she is. You must inform her of her responsibilities and bring her back here so we can prepare her for her new life.”

  Thoughts chased each other through Khalid’s brain at a million miles an hour.

  “It seems like the obvious solution. But we’re talking about a princess raised as a commoner in a foreign country,” he objected. “A princess with no affinity for her people.”

  “She will learn these things.”

  Khalid grew increasingly exasperated. The more he thought about his father’s expectations the less workable they seemed. “You may have confirmed her identity, but how do you know she’ll want to come back to assume the throne?”

  “She’s the Princess of Rhajia!” A royal fist struck the desk. “She must do her duty to her people. She must honour her father’s memory and his wishes.”

  “I agree that would solve our problems. But we can’t force her to accept her birthright.” Khalid said. “Worse still, what if she wants to for all the wrong reasons?”

  “You either bring back Princess Sabihah or we face war.”

  Khalid groaned. “Father, either way this may end in war. Mustaf won’t give up the throne without a fight.”

  “The council will support the coronation of the rightful ruler. Akram was very popular in the council.”

  “That didn’t stop him from being killed,” Khalid pointed out.

  King Hassan resumed his seat behind the desk. “I have renewed investigations into Akram’s death.”

  “Why? Do you really think you can prove Mustaf’s guilt after so much time has elapsed?”

  “There are some in Mustaf’s inner circle who are disillusioned and may help once a new ruler is clearly identified.”

  Khalid doubted any would come forward after so many years.

  “It would be better to have Mustaf behind bars once Sabihah is queen,” his father said. “I need to build a case against him so that he doesn’t pose a threat to her rule.”

  Khalid leaned forward. “So the first thing is to get Sabihah to rule Rhajia and to depose Mustaf. But, placing a crown on her head won’t be the end of Rhajia’s problems. Sabihah won’t know anything about ruling a country.”

  “She will need strong guidance,” the king agreed. He picked up a folder from his desk. “You must leave immediately, and in secret. Bring her back as soon as possible.”

  “That’s a tall order.”

  The king glanced away from Khalid. “We have been born into positions of power. With power comes responsibility. We must do our duty, and so must she. You will make her realise this. We must all do what’s right for the people of our country and put their needs ahead of our own.”

  Khalid’s jaw clenched tight. With sudden clarity he recalled his father telling him earlier his future would be affected. “What exactly aren’t you telling me?”

  Their eyes locked as the king told him, “Sabihah was betrothed to the Crown Prince of Turastan.”

  “Yes, but Hazim is dead.”

  The king nodded. “You are the new Crown Prince.”

  Khalid felt his jaw slacken and his eyes widen as k
ing’s meaning hit home.

  “Sabihah is now your betrothed.”

  Five words delivered by King Hassan with devastating simplicity. Words that rocked Khalid’s world off its axis.

  Every muscle locked rigid, Khalid stared back at his father as if he’d gone mad.

  No. Surely the betrothal could not be transferred?

  He took a long, deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. “It can’t. I’m planning to marry Inaya.”

  “Impossible.” The king’s refusal was immediate. “You must—”

  “Inaya will be a perfect future queen for Turastan,” he emphasised, interrupting his father. “For all we know, Sabihah could be highly unsuitable. She could be worse for the people of Rhajia than Mustaf.”

  “A woman who dashes into a burning bus, putting her own life at risk to save the lives of others is exactly the sort of selfless person who should rule Rhajia,” the king reasoned.

  “Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean she would make me a suitable wife.”

  “Son, this is your duty.” Threads of steel laced through the king’s voice as he squared his shoulders.

  “You told me to find a bride,” Khalid said with defiance. “I have.”

  “I wasn’t aware then that Sabihah could be located,” King Hassan argued, “nor that she would be so necessary to defuse Mustaf’s threats.”

  “This is too much to ask.” Khalid slammed his hands down on his father’s desk in protest. “I’ve made my choice. Inaya will be good for Turastan.”

  “I gave my word to Akram years ago that Sabihah would marry the Crown Prince.”

  “Yet you allowed Hazim to marry Barika.”

  “By then Sabihah was a woman in her early twenties. I decided she was old enough to contact me if she wanted to return to Rhajia. She hadn’t contacted me and I had to assume that she wouldn’t. Besides, it was clear Hazim was completely in love with Barika. Can you stand there and tell me that your union with Inaya would be a love match?”

  No. He couldn’t.

  “Your marriage to Sabihah is the solution to the difficulties between Rhajia and Turastan. The return of the princess will be the salvation of the people of Rhajia.”

  Khalid strode restlessly around the room. He felt caged. It wasn’t the first time royal duty had made him feel this way, but this was worse than anything expected of him before. He’d railed against the whole idea of marriage. Having to choose his own bride had been difficult enough, but having Hazim’s betrothed foisted on him was intolerable. Just when he’d finally decided to marry as his duty dictated, he couldn’t believe that his father would overrule his choice of bride.

  Whilst he hadn’t proposed to Inaya yet, this had been the first relationship he’d entered into where he’d done nothing to discourage her hints that they had a future together. He had never hurt a woman in the past. All of his lovers had known the score—short-term mutual pleasure and expensive trinkets for the duration of their affair. It went against the grain to change his plans and hurt Inaya in the process.

  Adamant, he told his father, “If Sabihah agrees to claim the throne, her succession alone may solve our problems. I will do what I can to convince and support the princess, but marriage is out of the question.”

  “Your betrothal to Sabihah will be honoured.” King Hassan was immovable. “It was the wish of the royal family of Rhajia and it’s still my wish to unite our countries through marriage. Your marriage. Not your sister’s.”

  Unease bubbled through Khalid’s veins as he sought an argument that would sway his father against his current plans.

  “Hazim is no longer Crown Prince, Khalid. This responsibility is yours and yours alone.”

  His father’s words drew guilt to the surface and served as a reminder that he must step up to fulfil the responsibilities that had previously fallen to his brother.

  It would be impossible to dissuade his father from this plan. For now, his best course of action would be to return with Sabihah. Hopefully his father would see that Inaya was the better choice of bride.

  “Khalid.” The king’s voice softened. “Are you truly in love with Inaya?”

  Khalid controlled the urge to storm away. Love wasn’t an emotion he believed in. Love was something he thought he’d found once when he was young and naive. It had proved as false as an illusion of an oasis in the desert to a dehydrating man. “We are compatible. Inaya is my choice.”

  “Love is not something we choose, Khalid. It just happens. If Inaya is simply a choice and your heart is not involved, then I insist you honour this betrothal arrangement with the Crown Princess of Rhajia.”

  “I—”

  The king raised a hand to stop him. “There is no other solution. The only way forward is to have Sabihah return to depose Mustaf. As you point out, the princess will be a complete foreigner in her own country. She will need strong guidance if she’s to rule well. As her husband, you will provide that guidance.”

  A muscle ticked in Khalid’s jaw. “Arranged marriages may be accepted by many as part of our culture, but you can hardly expect her to go along with your plans. She’s bound to have been thoroughly Westernised.”

  “Khalid, you have women from all over the world falling at your feet. You shouldn’t have any problem getting her to agree to the marriage.”

  “Father—” Khalid started to object.

  “You would rather put us all at risk and have Lalita marry Hamil?”

  Khalid swallowed hard. Duty tasted sour in his mouth and bitter resentment pressed down in the area of his solar plexus. At the moment he had no other option than to go to Australia and convince the Rhajian princess to return. He would lend her the support she would need to overthrow Mustaf, and could help her select a first-rate group of advisors to assist her in restoring Rhajia to its former prosperity—but marrying her would not be necessary.

  King Hassan extended the folder. “All the details are in here. This is your kismet. Forget Inaya. You must do what is best for your country.”

  Chapter Two

  “You must leave!”

  The words were desperate.

  Sabrina’s senses switched to full alert as she entered through the back door of the two-bedroom home she shared with her former nanny—the woman she called Aunt Helen.

  She heard agitation pulse through each syllable as Helen pleaded, “Please go before she comes inside.”

  A knot of apprehension balled in Sabrina’s stomach. More reporters? Surely not. It had been a couple of weeks since the accident and the interest in the story of her so-called heroism was dying out.

  A deep, well-modulated male voice responded to Helen’s plea, but Sabrina couldn’t make out the words. Whoever it was didn’t sound threatening.

  “I don’t want you here!”

  Definitely time to intervene. There was now a note in Helen’s voice that bordered on hysteria.

  “I won’t leave until Sabihah knows the truth.” This time the visitor’s assertive words carried through to the kitchen and stopped Sabrina in her tracks.

  Sabihah. It was a name she hadn’t heard in a long time. Could it be—?

  “I spoke with King Hassan,” Helen returned sharply. “I told him this plan will only place her in danger.”

  “I understand your anxiety.” The words flowed like dark, melted chocolate. They aimed to placate. “You’ve protected her for years, but it’s time she knew the truth.”

  “I …”

  The voices faded from Sabrina’s conscious mind as it shut down from the present. Strong memories overloaded her senses. Her brain crowded with vivid images of her father and the last time she’d seen him. She closed her eyes, crossed her arms over her chest and placed a hand to each shoulder as she relived that day.

  She felt her father’s strong arms gather her up. One of his hands stroked lovingly through her hair and his words resonated through her …

  “You must be brave, Sabihah. Our family is in danger. We must send you away to keep you safe and
soon Helen will come to you. We love you.” His voice began to falter.

  She looked up at him in bewilderment. “I love you too, Father.”

  “Always remember you are the Crown Princess of Rhajia. One day either I, King Hassan or Prince Hazim will come for you. It could be a long time. You must never forget our people and our ways. Don’t ever forget who you are and where you come from. You belong in Rhajia.”

  Hot tears welled in her eyes now as the images replayed like a technicolour movie in her mind. Her throat felt thick with loss. She remembered her incomprehension at her father’s words. The dampness of the tears on his cheeks as he’d pressed his face against hers had been confusing and distressing.

  When her mother had hugged her earlier that day and said goodbye, it really had been goodbye. It was the last day Sabrina had seen her parents. The last time she’d inhaled her mother’s favourite perfume, and received her father’s loving kiss on her forehead.

  “Your mother asked me to give you this, Sabihah.” He produced a gold pendant—the exquisite national flower of Rhajia—pulled back her hair gently and fastened it around her neck. “Wear it until we are together again.”

  Sabrina had been in turmoil. Her lip had begun to tremble uncontrollably and her eyes had stung with unshed tears as she grew anxious at her father’s words.

  “You must go now, my little flower of the desert.” The hug was over, the warmth and security gone. “Remember, be brave.” His voice broke slightly, his last words heavy with anguish. “Stay safe until you are sent for. One day you will rule our country well.”

  He had turned and left. Sabrina had been whisked away in a helicopter with the head of security. The last image she retained from the Bedouin camp they were visiting was of her mother, half-concealed behind a huge tent, blowing a kiss toward her in the chopper. The queen’s shoulders had been moving in a jerky fashion as though she was sobbing hard.

  Sabrina squeezed her eyes shut and the image was gone. Reality returned and she stood in the small kitchen, her fingers stroking the gold pendant she had never taken off.

  Seventeen years ago.

  Helen had broken the news to her that her parents were dead but had refused to provide her with any specific details. Sabrina soon learned to stop asking. The topic of her parents and her life in Rhajia was taboo.