Altair (Desert Sheikh Romance, #5), Tee, Marian [e book reader pc .TXT] 📗

Table of Contents

Altair (Desert Sheikh Romance, #5)

About the Book

Altair: | A Desert Sheikh | Romance

Nine years ago

Present time

Three Years Ago

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Author's Note

You are probably unaware of this, but my first glimpse of you was not at the royal palace, with you standing tall and proud while my father came bearing gifts, one of which included...me.

My father was of the old ways. He believed he was doing me a favor. I would be the envy of many, he told me, for I was to be bride of your cousin, the king.

Your cousin, who already had a queen.

But I digress.

As I said earlier, that day was not the first time I met you.

Our story, alshaykh, started much, much earlier than that...

Note: This is a steamy marriage of convenience romance. No cliffhangers! If you enjoy sheikhs sweeping you off your feet in books by the likes of Lynne Graham, Jane Porter, Sharon Kendrick, Michelle Reid et al, then this book is for you. Be a princess for a day, beloved and cherished by the kingdom's most feared warrior sheikh.

About the Book

"Cards on the table," he said softly. "Deal?"

Safiya nodded.

"You know of the charges your father is facing?

"Nem."

"Do you believe him capable of treason?"

"I believe he will do everything he can to make me queen."

"Fair enough," Altair conceded. "And you? You truly do not wish to be queen?

"Only if you wish to be king."

"I don't."

"Then I don't."

"I matter that much to you?"

"Nem."

"Because I'm your hero."

"Nem."

"Why?"

"Because you always do the right thing," Safiya said simply.

"I am not a fucking saint—-"

"I know, alshaykh. You are no saint."

Altair stiffened.

"Because saints die..."

Her voice trailed off, but he heard the rest of her words all the same.

Saints died, and the princess did not want him to die.

The princess, who was a traitor's daughter, wanted him—-

A man she thought was her hero, but also...

A man who had been lying to her and was still lying to her—-

She did not want him to die, and it was just one of the thousand things about her that did not make sense.

Nothing about her ever made sense, but for now—-

"May I kiss you, Safiya?"

He saw her eyes start to shine at hearing him say her name, and when she finally spoke, it was that voice again.

"Yes, please."

It was the kind of voice that loved without saying the words.

Altair:A Desert SheikhRomance

by Marian Tee

Copyright 2021 by Streak Digital Publishing

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Nine years ago

It was over.

The war was finally over, and the thought had twelve-year-old Ahmad delirious.

For the past two hours, he and the other children had hidden themselves under the wooden tables at the marketplace, wide-eyed and terrified as gunfire and screams reached their ears. While such noise was nothing new to them, today had felt different. Ahmad hadn't been able to think of a word for it, but if feelings were to come with its own melody, then he would've described this morning as one razed by a sickening cacophony of desperate violence.

Ahmad had feared such noise would never end.

And yet it did.

Relief was a burning sensation in his chest as Ahmad watched military trucks emerge from the distance, and joyous cheers exploded from his people as they caught sight of the royal banner. The trucks rumbled closer, and Ahmad saw the older people of his tribe begin to weep. It was a heart-wrenching sight, and Ahmad's own eyes started to sting.

The war was truly over then.

He would no longer need to hide. No longer need to merely dream of playing with his friends like they once did. The war was over, and their tribe could finally reclaim their peaceful lives in the desert.

Looking around, Ahmad saw his fellow tribesmen already hard at work, running back and forth to bring water to wounded soldiers.

His heart swelled, and because he also wanted to show his gratitude, Ahmad quickly crawled out from his hiding space and broke into a run. There was only one jar of clean water left inside his family's tent, but he didn't hesitate to grab this, along with the cleanest towel he could find.

Ahmad searched for a soldier who had yet to receive assistance, and the one he found required zigzagging through dead bodies. Such a gory sight might've curdled other people's stomachs, but not him. The corpses that littered the ground were all rebels, and so as far as Ahmad was concerned, these men deserved to die over and over for the way they had pointlessly murdered members of his tribe.

The boy finally reached the soldier he had set his sights on: he was tall and powerfully built, and he was staring down at a decapitated corpse.

"Alsyd?" Master?

Ahmad offered the towel and jar up, in case the soldier wanted to clean his wound. "You are still blee—-" The boy's voice died when the man slowly turned to face him.

Ahmad's knees sank down on the sun-baked sand. Standing before him was none other than Sheikh Altair Al-Atassi. The man was a member of the royal family, but more importantly than that, the sheikh was also the kingdom's strongest and bravest hero, and the realization had Ahmad feeling delirious once again as the sheikh bid him to rise.

Altair took the jug and towel the boy offered with a murmur of thanks, and when he finished wiping his face, he heard the boy gulp audibly.

"A-Alshaykh..." S-Sheikh...

The horror in the boy's eyes made him raise a brow. "That bad?"

Ahmad could only nod. The wound on the sheikh's face was still viciously raw, its edges crusted with blood, and ran from the sheikh's left eyelid