When would you be mine? - Completed

Chapter Seven

Helena had her doubts when Malik had informed her they were dining with his father. With care she had chosen her outfit that would be of no offense. A mint green caftan with white embroidery with dark green belt, long sleeved with small buttons of white down the front. Malik stayed with his robe, but left off his headdress and bisht. She walked at his side as they weaved their way through the palace towards the other side, where his parent's private wing was. Without Malik at her side, she would have been helplessly lost, and probably never be found again.

Malik paused at the closed door and took hold of Helena's hand that was clammy. "Deep breath, and whatever happens, don't bite, and say nothing. Answer direct questions that is all would be expected of you. Father is from the old country and still lives like that, no matter how I try to bring him into the twenty first century."

"Not a squeak out of this mouse," she promised in the softest voice. He looked down upon her face, hair pulled back in a soft bun at the nape of her neck, jewellery free, only wearing soft mint dangling earrings. Wary hazel eyes searched him out. He raised a hand, caressing her cheek.

"You are going to be fine. First, there would be a formal introduction. Once I introduced him, just bow your head, and say Your Emir. He is, after all, ruler of our country." She nodded soberly and entered the room at his side.

Entering further they found a tall, proud man, standing in front of a wall with a huge portrait of the man in question behind him, holding a falcon, horse behind as well in the desert. He was fully robed, with a bisht, however, left off his headdress, where his jet-black hair was greying at the edges. His features harsher than Malik's and hawk nose more defined. There was a striking, rugged appearance, that she found slightly intimidating.

Malik guided her up towards his father and stood before him. "Father, may I present Miss Helena Foster?" He inclined his head, eyes dark and sharp. "Miss Helen Foster, this is my father, His Emir Sheikh Farraj Najeeb Ridha Al-Kaleen of Jawhrat Earabia."

Hands placed in front of her, she bowed her head. "Your Emir."

For the longest time there was silence. She refused to look up, until she was acknowledged. His long silence was making it very clear, she wasn't a welcome visitor, which should be interesting when he found out they were already married. Malik had remained silent on the subject. Knowing this was some sort of test. A game between father and son and she was the pawn that was going to be moved around like a piece on a chessboard. Perhaps she shouldn't play.

"A pleasure, Miss Helena," came at last. She stepped back, lifting her head, facing his back as he walked away. Releasing a breath, she searched out Malik, who touched her arm, indicating they should follow. One thing she was going to find easy, was keeping her mouth shut, but didn't mean, she wasn't taking notes, and learning how to protect herself from what was coming.

A dark storm front, she guessed. Malik said nothing, but she could feel his tension, and his silence said much. He was far from happy with his father's behaviour. He had actually snubbed her. She reached for his hand and squeezed, reassuring him she was fine. He glanced across and his lips curled ever so slightly, and then pulled back into a straight line again.

They entered another room, where there was a long polished wooden table that sat many. There were three placing set at one end. Helena nearly faulted at the sight of two settings opposite each other. She had hoped, she would be sitting next to Malik, so she could grab his hand when she needed it. "Miss Helena," the king waved at the setting on his left. "My son," he added, sweeping an arm to the one on the right. Malik went over, pulling out the chair for Helena, who stood at its side, looking up at him. He leaned in closer.