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He paid no attention to the words, knowing they were but a way to disguise her true feelings. “What’s wrong?” he asked grimly.

Kyria bit her lip. “Nothing.”

“There can’t be nothing when you look like that.” A torn expression appeared on her face, and he said gently, “If you don’t tell me, I’d have to call Malik—-” Kyria could be surprisingly obstinate when she wanted to, but they all knew how much she adored his younger brother. Whatever Malik wanted, Kyria would strive to do.

Horror filled the young girl’s face at the threat. “You mustn’t!”

Altair’s turned into puzzlement at Kyria’s reaction. “What’s wrong, Kyria? Do you not trust me to help you?”

“Of course I do, but...” She bit her lip again. “You must promise me first you won’t tell Malik about it. Or anyone who could tell Malik.”

He nodded, knowing Kyria would be satisfied with it. Only a fool would doubt the word of Altair Al-Atassi, and his baby sister certainly wasn’t one.

“It’s just that...” The girl started wringing her hands. “I know this may sound crazy, but I think...” She took a deep breath and then blurted out, “I don’t think Malik’s happy being away from Ramil.”

“I see.” The sheikh’s face turned expressionless.Poor baby brother, Altair thought. It only showed how much Kyria cared for Malik that she would realize such a thing, but it also showed how different Kyria’s feelings were from whatever Malik felt that she didn’t fully understand what she was seeing.

Malik had only been racing professionally for a year, and he had already won most of the world’s major races. Although the prize money he won was a mere drop in the bucket compared to his personal fortune, the accolades and fame that came with every victorious race was nothing to scoff at. With analysts already predicting he’d be the youngest jockey to gallop his way to a Hall of Fame induction, companies had been sending out proposal after proposal to the palace, all of them clamoring to have the sheikh as the ambassador of their brand. And if Khalil, their half-American cousin, was to be believed, the women who were after Malik literally numbered in the hundreds.

And yet...it was as Kyria said.

Malik Al-Atassi was the most miserable bastard on the planet, but it wasn’t because he was away from home. It was because he was away fromher.

“Do you miss him?”

“Of course.” There was no hesitation in the manner she answered, and the look that she directed at him was odd, as if Kyria couldn’t understand why he would evenneedto ask such a question.

“And do you want him back here?”

This time, even Kyria’s good manners weren’t enough to keep her from frowning. “Why are you asking these questions, Altair? Of course I want him back. He’s our brother.”

And so he was, Altair thought.And so he was...but only in Kyria’s eyes.He mentally sent his gravest condolences to Malik, thinking that Vanna was right in insisting that his younger brother spend time away from Ramil.

Malik might be the best husband a girl could ever ask for, but Kyria still deserved to make up her own mind.

Five years ago

With only a day before Usbue Min Al-Abtal or Heroes’ Week began, the entire kingdom was caught up in a rush of excitement. Citizens willingly and eagerly volunteered to help local officials put up décor all over the city, hanging up welcome banners for their favorite heroes and wrapping flower chains around street posts. A modern and fast-paced version of the kingdom’s national anthem also played constantly from the government’s public speakers, and local news channels happily showed real-time footage of citizens dancing to the tune of it, smiles wreathing their faces.

The Sand Wars, which comprised of the kingdom’s bloodiest years in modern times, were over, and for the next seven days, the citizens would pay tribute to those who suffered and lost their lives in the name of freedom.

And so with the people’s attention diverted mostly to ongoing preparations, Malik was able to slip back into Ramil unnoticed and thus keep his arrival a secret. He was looking forward to seeing the look of surprise on Kyria’s face once she saw him – and learn that he was back for good – but when he arrived at the palace, his plan backfired and he was the one left reeling from an unpleasant shock instead.

Fuck.

He was fucked.

He was so royally fucked.

She stood at the center of the palace’s private stone garden, dark tresses flowing freely down her back, her eyes glowing as the four sheikhs around her traded jests with each other. Granted, one of them was his brother and the other three his cousins, but even so they were all still too pretty for their own good, and he wanted them to stay at least ten feet away from her at all times.

Something Tarif said made her throw back her head with a laugh, the action exposing the elegant length of her pale neck, and Malik whitened.

FUCK.

This was not how it should be.

FUCK.