He saw again the curve of her breast straining in Christobel’s tight clothes, her downcast eyes when she spoke to him, and there was a flash of something else when their eyes occasionally met that had Zakari pondering.
Lucky the man whom she gave her heart to, Zakari thought to himself.
‘One day I might meet someone.’ Effie shrugged. ‘Some of the servants at the palace show some interest, but that is only because I have my own home… I know they are not really interested in me.’
‘You should not talk about yourself like that.’
‘How should I, then?’
‘You should expect to be treated well.’ It annoyed him that she shrugged. ‘If your boyfriends have treated you poorly in the past, it is because you have allowed them to.’
Still she shrugged; still it irritated.
‘Perhaps.’
‘When a king offers advice, most people take it,’ Zakari said tartly.
‘Of course, Your Majesty!’ Chastised, instantly Effie apologised. ‘It is not that I disagree, it is more…’ she shrugged again, only this time it didn’t irritate ‘…there have been no boyfriends. If that day comes, I will take your advice—I am truly grateful for it. It is just, at the moment, marriage isn’t something I dream of.’
‘So what do you dream of?’
‘I don’t know…’ Effie frowned in confusion.
‘If not marriage…’
‘To be happy, I suppose.’
‘You are not happy.’
‘I am…’ She was really confused now, because she actually was happy—here, now, talking to him, being with him, for the first time since her mother’s death, Effie was actually happy. Her eyes lifted to his, blinking as she admitted the truth she had just learnt herself. ‘Right now I am happy.’
‘Yet you don’t have dreams?’
‘Of course I do…’ Effie blushed darker. ‘But dreams are private, dreams are just that, dreams aren’t real.’
‘What do you dream of?’ His eyes held hers. ‘Tell me.’
‘Tell you?’
‘Tell me,’ he said again as she hovered on the edge of indecision, unsure, so, so unsure whether to reveal her thoughts, ashamed that she was even considering it, yet Zakari took care of it for her. As if he could read her mind, he revealed it, or some of it. ‘Do you dream of princes who will take you away from your job?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ A soft smile played on her full lips, but her heart was hammering…
‘Of what, then?’ Zakari demanded, and there was no hope of even pretending this was idle conversation. His black eyes were boring into her, the air so thick with tension she was having trouble dragging it into her lungs. The flirting, the little teases she had ignored these past couple of days, had convinced herself were borne from her imagination, were all concentrated now into this one heady moment.
‘I dream of kings…’ Effie swallowed, biting down on her lip, having voiced her most private truth.
‘Kings?’ Zakari checked, a soft smile playing on his full mouth.
‘One king,’ Effie whispered as her eyes locked with his.
‘And in your dream—does this king dress you in finery, does he lavish you with jewels?’
‘No…’ Her cheeks burnt under his scrutiny. ‘That would be an impossible dream for a woman in my position.’ However unwritten, there were the first etchings of a contract being drawn up and Effie knew that.
‘What would you want from this king?’ He saw a flash of tears in her eyes, saw the confusion buzzing in them, then she shook her head, breaking the spell and dispersing the thick hum of desire that hung in the air between them, but as she stood he knew she was dizzy.
‘I must get on.’
How she longed for the palace, longed for walls to separate them, for people, for routine, but there was no escape here in the desert. Even though he ignored her at dinner, even though, this night, he didn’t ask her to join him on the cushions, still there was no escape from the genie she had let out of the bottle, the knowledge that she had flirted, had let him glimpse her inner desires.
The night stretched endlessly. Sitting in the staff quarters, she read a book as she waited for Zakari to retire, then tidied up the living area before heading to bed herself, but sleep evaded her.
The night was sultry, and Effie lay awake in the oppressive heat with no escape from her thoughts.
Sex had never been at the top of her agenda—had never really been on her agenda at all. Her virginity hadn’t been kept as some prize to give when the love of her life appeared, it was just something she had kept.
Aware she wasn’t a classic beauty, she had assumed that was the reason that no man had ever made advances, but what was it that Zakari had said—that she should expect to be treated well? Maybe she could, if she just had a tenth of Christobel’s confidence…or even an ounce of her experience!
Effie blushed in the dark at her own dangerous thoughts. Sex and romance had been but a distant dream, just a tiny occasional dance on the periphery of her existence. But since she’d been here, since she’d seen him so beautiful and naked, it had startled her into awakening. His image was one she couldn’t banish from her mind.
Maybe she could have, had he not spoken to her.
Had he treated her as nothing more than a lowly maid, she could maybe have moved on, but lying in bed at night, each night, it was his face that drifted before her tightly closed eyes.
Lying there now, she thought of him and that intimate moment she had witnessed, those beautiful black eyes closed in bliss. As she saw again his fingers wrapped around his length her own thighs were heavy, and low, low in her stomach this dull ache throbbed. Dragging in a breath, she almost felt his hands on her waist, her hips. She had felt his eyes on her breasts that evening and as if in reflex her nipples stiffened at the memory as she guiltily explored her body, only through Zakari’s eyes.
And then she stopped, a sob of frustration on her lips as she rolled over and willed sleep to come, scolding herself for even daring to imagine that a king could grace her dreams.
She willed it to be morning, when he would head out to the desert and she could breathe freely again.
CHAPTER THREE
EXCEPT the desert had other ideas.
Effie woke from a restless, thwarted sleep, to the screams and cries of desert winds.
Oh, she’d witnessed sandstorms from the safe confines of the palace, had gazed out of the windows in awe as the winds picked up the landscape and shifted it, and she had heard the tales and fables too.
That the screams of the wind were actually lost souls calling for company. Screams that sounded so real they would lure sane, rational people out from the safety of shelter to explore.
That the banshees would lure them to their death.
She hadn’t believed the tales, but as the wind battered the tent, as it screamed its wild lament around them, Effie believed them now. Washing quickly, she tried to ignore them but every now and then she could have sworn she could hear a woman crying, screaming, calling and begging her for help.
‘Damn!’ Effie cursed as she saw her bra and knickers still soaking. In her frantic quandary last night, she’d forgotten to hang them up, and, given she hadn’t packed for her time in the desert, there were only Cristobel’s things to choose from.
New things, Effie realised as her shaking hands opened tissue paper. The King must give her an allowance, because no maid could afford silk and satin and velvet.
Slut’s things, Effie thought, dropping them like hot coals on her bed when she saw the tiny knickers and decadent, lacy bras. Only her curiosity was again piqued, and, of course she couldn’t serve the King breakfast without underwear, Effie told herself, gingerly picking up what appeared the safest option.
A white bra and knickers—only there was nothing virginal about them.
The tiny ribbons on the panties cut into her flesh and she could see the tiny remains she had left of her intimate curls through the flimsy fabric. And as for the bra…
The only thing she had in common with Christobel was a generous bust, but when she put it on the straps cut into her back and shoulders. Yet, as uncomfortable as it felt, she shivered in curiosity as she gazed at herself in the mirror. Her breasts had always been shoved into a sensible bra that served only to cover her, and did nothing to support her, but now they stood uplifted, giving her endless cleavage, clamping her mother’s necklace in their grasp. She could see the pink of her areolae through the shamelessly sheer lace, see her hard nipples staring at the fabric, and Effie blinked at the changes such a small garment made to her body—for the first time she actually had a waist. Brushing her teeth, she saw her flushed cheeks and wild hair in the tiny mirror, and she dragged it back into a low ponytail, splashed her face with cool water, but nothing helped—the genie really was out of the bottle now and nothing could tame her wantonness.
Even pulling on her frumpy maid’s uniform did nothing to calm her.
She knew.
Heading out to prepare his breakfast—Effie knew what she wanted.
Thoroughly untogether and jangling with nerves, she brought jugs of coffee and fruit juices to the table, spilling one and having to hastily clear the mess and replace the cloth, before Zakari came to eat.