FREE AUDIO VERSION - This book is now being posted to my YouTube channel where I'm reading the story myself. If you'd like to listen to the entire story as it's being uploaded, please check out my channel at this link: https://www.youtube.com/@IckyC...
Califar gawked at Ahalamin's royal princess while she engaged in the worst temper tantrum he'd ever witnessed. Oily slime dripped from her nose and chin as verbal threats promising diabolical forms of torture spewed from her mouth.
Rashid, limping pitiably, approached the Princess. Califar knew his head was in jeopardy but he couldn't mask the amusement in his voice. Gesturing toward Victoria, he questioned Rashid. "Does this belong to you, my Lord? Perhaps you require some assistance?"He watched Rashid scoop up his wife in silent ruthlessness and then give him a look that would do credit to an executioner.
Ahalamin's Princess fought her husband like a newly caged tiger. Califar admired her courage. He knew strong, hardened men who wouldn't dare to provoke Rashid's temper. However, his new Princess didn't seem to know she should be afraid.
She turned her head and stared at him. Her accusing glare singed his conscience. "I don't belong to anyone!" she shouted at him. "I demand you make this fool release me. Don't just stand there...do something!"
"Do you wish to release the Princess, my Lord?" Califar asked with just a hint of impertinence. "She does not seem much taken with you at the moment."
Rashid snarled an unintelligible reply and tossed Victoria through the air.
Califar scrambled to make the catch, nearly dropping her in the shock of the moment. To lay one's hands on another man's wife, especially a royal wife was unlawful, unthinkable.
Rashid snapped a reply through bared teeth. "She is in need of a protector. If you do not remove her from my sight, I will administer the punishment she deserves."
"My Lord...?"
"Please, just do as I ask. For her safety, secure her in my compartment."
Califar had seen Rashid angry before but never had he seen his control reduced to mere threads. He nodded in understanding.
****
The startling flight from the arms of one captor to another dumbfounded Victoria. Exhausted, mentally and physically, she barely noticed when Califar stood her on her feet at the bottom of the loading ramp and led her onto the waiting plane.
"Princess, I believe you will find everything you need to refresh yourself in the adjoining compartment."
His composed manner, reassuring and calm, impelled her along and she followed him through the lounge and into a private compartment.
"The telephone on the side table connects to the seating area we just passed through. You may communicate any additional services you require."
This man was not as overbearing or threatening as Rashid. Perhaps he would listen to her. "Who are you? Why are you helping him? Don't you understand? I don't belong here, or to him? If you really want to be of service, get me away from him."
"Excuse me, Princess. I should have introduced myself at once. I am Califar Kadin, Prince Davar's First Regent, and loyal servant. As to where you belong...this is for your husband to decide."
"But he's not my husband. I mean, I didn't agree to this." She shook her head vehemently.
"Please take time to refresh yourself and rest. Prince Davar will be here soon to calm your doubts."
Victoria stared in dismay as Califar bowed and backed through the door. Dizzy and weak, she scanned the room for somewhere to sit. A massive round bed dominated the small area, its black satin coverlet mounded with pillows of red, gold, and ivory. Electric candle sconces lit up the mirrored walls.
The woman in the mirror posed a ghastly sight. The oversized robe hung askew, dragging the floor on one side and giving her the appearance of a war-weary refugee. Something else reflected in the mirror. Draped across the edge of the bed was an emerald, diaphanous nightgown. Surely there was not an equal to its exquisite beauty.
A heated blush crept up her cheeks at the dawning realization the gown was intended for her. The man possessed an unlimited supply of unmitigated gall. The only way he would see her in the sensual creation is if he buried her in it. Flooded with a renewed contempt for his pigheaded arrogance, she decided to confront him face to face. She'd walked onto this plane on her own two feet and she could walk off the same way.
Stalking back to the door, she grabbed the handle and yanked. Nothing happened. She pulled harder, twisting the knob in both directions. The door under her hands took on the character of her abductor; she assaulted it with her fists. To hold back the compulsion to plead, she shouted murder and mayhem instead.
