The Royal House Of Karedes Collection Books 1-12

A woman who loved a man didn’t walk out on him without so much as a handshake.

He wasn’t so sure about loving her, either. Why would a man love a woman who’d abandoned him? Who was so independent? Why would he want her back in his life?

Logical, all of it. The trouble was, the closer he’d come to her street, the harder his heart had beaten. All his hours of planning and doubt had dissolved like cotton candy in the rain. And when he’d bumped into a man on the stairs, he’d known instinctively it was Joaquin—and known, just as instinctively, that the guy knew who he was, too, and wanted nothing more than to flatten him.

He could hardly blame him.

Hell, it was what he’d have done if the situation were reversed.

The men had taken a long look at each other.

“Are you the prince?” Joaquin had finally growled. At Alex’s nod, the other man’s mouth had thinned. “She loves you, you jerk. And you don’t deserve her.”

Alex had grinned. Then he’d put his hand out.

“You’re right,” he’d said, and after a few seconds Joaquin had smiled. They’d shaken hands. Then Joaquin had stepped aside and Alex had continued up the stairs to Maria’s door when terror had stopped him cold. Certain of everything, sure of nothing, he had resorted to anger…

And then he’d come to his senses.

He would do whatever it took to win his Maria’s heart… and, looking into her eyes, he knew, with a rush of fierce joy, that her heart had always been his for the taking.

Maria loved him. He loved her. And he’d be damned if he’d lose her again.

So, in the end, there were no questions, no speeches, no doubts. There was only a man, baring his soul by stepping forward and opening his arms to a woman. And—thank you, God—there was the woman, his Maria, giving a little cry and throwing herself into his embrace.

He kissed her. Kissed her for a very long time. Her mouth. Her eyes. Her hair.

“Why did you leave me?” he said.

“Because I have no place in your life,” she said, returning each kiss, each caress, each sigh.

“I love you. You are my life.”

Her heart soared, but she shook her head. “I can’t be.”

“Do you love me?”

How could she lie to him? How could she deny what burned in her heart?

“Yes,” she said softly, “I love you. I adore you, Alexandros. But I can’t be part of your life. I—I’m not cut out to be a mistress.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Alex said, in that imperious way that she’d learned to love. “You’re going to marry me and be my wife.”

His words were more precious than any of the diamonds in the Aristan crown. She knew she would cherish them forever, even if what he’d just told her could never happen.

“I can’t marry you,” she whispered.

“Because?”

“Because you’re a prince. You have obligations. Duties.”

“I have nothing, unless I have you, glyka mou. You are my heart. My joy. My love.”

Oh, how easy it would be to give in. To say, ‘Yes, I’ll marry you…’ But she couldn’t. She loved her Alexandros too much to ruin his life.

“Alexandros, listen to me. Your father’s words to me were true.”

Alex’s eyes darkened. “What are you talking about?”

“The night he died—Aegeus said—he said I was wrong for you. That if I loved you, I had to leave you. He said—”

“Was that why he wanted to see you?” Alex’s tone was harsh. “To tell you to go away?”

“No. Yes. It was more than that. He said he wanted the best for you.”

“You are the best for me, glyka mou.”

“Also—also, I think he knew something about the diamond. I think—I think he had something to do with switching the fake for the real one.”

“I don’t care about that diamond right now,” Alex said fiercely. “All that matters is us. What we feel for each other, the life we’ll create together… What?”

Maria was laughing. Or maybe she was crying. He couldn’t tell; he only knew that something in what he’d just said had affected her.

And then, he knew.

Slowly, he clasped her shoulders. Held her just far enough away so he could look at her from head to toe. She looked different. Her face was fuller. So were her breasts. And, under her denim work-apron, he could see the delicate but clear convexity of her belly.

It all came together. Her nausea. Her exhaustion. And now, these physical changes that made her even more beautiful.

“Maria.” He could feel the smile starting to stretch across his lips. “Maria, my heart, my soul, are you pregnant?”

She stared at him. She could lie. She could say, no, of course not…

“Yes,” she said softly.

Alex grinned. Then he gathered her in his arms and rained kisses on her face.

“Pregnant,” he said, as if he were the first man in the world ever to hear such news. “My God, sweetheart, we’re pregnant!” He held her inches from him, his eyes searching hers. “Say the words, Maria. Tell me that you love me as I love you, and that you will do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

Maria thought of how far they had come, of a time her Alexandros would have demanded to know if he was really the father of the baby in her womb. She thought of how he had crossed the ocean to claim her. She thought of King Aegeus’s warning, and how cold and empty the life he’d foreseen for his son now seemed.

“Alexandros,” she said, because if life wasn’t worth risks, what was the point? “Alexandros. I love you. And it is you who do me honor, my beloved, by asking me to marry you.”

Alex gave her a solemn look. “Is that,” he said carefully, “a yes?”

Maria laughed, though she was crying again, this time tears of joy that streamed down her face.

“Yes,” she said, “yes, yes, yes!”

Her Alexandros kissed her. Then he kicked the door shut, swept her into his arms, and carried her to the bed.

We chatted to Sandra Marton about the world of THE ROYAL HOUSE OF KAREDES. Here are her insights!

Would you prefer to live on Aristo or Calista? What appeals to you most about either island?

The two islands are both fascinating, but I would much prefer to live on Aristo. I love the contrast between the sophistication of Ellos and the wildly beautiful cliffs that wind above the Bay of Appollonia, the gentle climate, the white sand beaches kissed by the sea. My husband and I took a wonderful trip to Greece a few months ago; all the time we were on the island of Santorini, I kept thinking how easily beautiful Santorini could be Aristo.

What did you enjoy about writing about THE ROYAL HOUSE OF KAREDES?

I was very fortunate to write the launch book for the series. That gave me the chance to give substance to Aristo and to the Karedes family. Breathing life into Aegeus and Tia, the princes and princesses was great fun. I especially loved creating my hero, Alexandros. I’ve always thought the lives of royals must be hard, all that balancing of personal needs with public demands, and here I had the chance to show some of the inner conflicts that are part of a royal’s existence. I loved creating Maria, too. Because I was born and raised in New York, I was able to give her a background with at least some similarities to mine. Like Maria, I attended its schools. I went to university there. My first job was in the part of Manhattan where I put Maria’s loft and, believe me, her feelings on riding a crowded subway car were a mirror of my own.

How did you find writing as part of a continuity?

It was great fun but also a challenge. I had to be sure to introduce my secondary characters in ways that wouldn’t be a problem for the other authors, and to describe places (the palace, for example) so that the other authors could “see” it as clearly as I did. I’ve always loved writing my own miniseries because I love the scope and depth a writer gets from dealing with ongoing characters and intertwining plots. Writing BILLIONAIRE PRINCE, PREGNANT MISTRESS gave me that same feeling.

When you are writing, what is your typical day?

Hmm. Let’s see. The maid draws my bath, brings me my morning coffee… Oh, if only! Seriously, my working day isn’t a glamorous one. I get up anywhere from six to seven-thirty, shower, put on what I think of as my summer outfit (shorts, T-shirt, thong sandals) or my winter garb (jeans, T-shirt, sneakers), head down to the kitchen where my husband, bless him, is generally already brewing the coffee. Breakfast is toast and coffee with the morning news playing in the background. Then I give my husband a kiss, head for my office, turn on my computer, play a few rounds of Spider Solitaire—it’s addictive—and settle in to work. I take a break somewhere between noon and one o’clock. My husband’s office is upstairs and he comes down and joins me for lunch. Then it’s back to work until he calls me on the intercom and reminds me—by then, I’m lost in what I’m writing—that it’s time for a glass of wine. Depending on my mood, I’ll either put together an easy meal—not much cooking goes on when I’m working!—or he’ll grill something on the deck, or we’ll go out somewhere local for supper. After that, I generally curl up beside him on the sofa to read, catch the eleven o’clock news, and then stagger off to bed.

Where do you get your inspiration for the characters that you write?

I’m an inveterate people-watcher. Plop me down in a café in New York or San Francisco, Paris or Athens, and I’m content. I’m very aware of people’s body language and facial expressions. Those things communicate a lot to me. Many of my characters have come to life through my observations of complete strangers who have no idea I’m taking mental notes! Friends sometimes think I’ve based my characters on them. I never do. If I know someone well, I can’t see them as anything but themselves, if that makes sense.

What did you like most about your hero and heroine in this continuity?

I love creating Presents heroes, men who are strong and loving, protective and powerful, and maybe just a little bit arrogant. Alexandros is all those things. He’s also a man accustomed to not showing his feelings. I find that, always, a special challenge for a heroine. And my Maria is, I think, the perfect woman for Alexandros. She’s independent, spirited and tough in the best possible meaning of the word. She, too, has learned to keep her emotions in check. That’s why the passion they discover in each other’s arms is so exciting. It changes them, forces them to examine their own true needs, their own true desires. Fate has created Alex and Maria for each other. For me, that fierce sense of destiny is what Presents, passion and enduring love are all about.

What would be the best—and worst—thing about being part of a royal dynasty?

The best would probably be the good one can do as a royal. The worst would surely be the public exposure demanded of royals. I tried to convey some of that in Alexandros’s story.

Are diamonds really a girl’s best friend?

It depends on the girl. A serious answer? No, absolutely not. When you get down to basics, what women—all women—want is happiness. And happiness comes from much more precious things than diamonds. Good friends. Good health. A loving family… Above all, the love of one special man. Those are the qualities that make a woman’s life full and rich. The glow of diamonds is lovely but the glow in your lover’s eyes when he sees you means far, far more.

The Sheikh’s Virgin Stable-Girl

SHARON KENDRICK started story-telling at the age of eleven, and has never really stopped. She likes to write fast-paced, feel-good romances with heroes who are so sexy they’ll make your toes curl!

Born in west London, she now lives in the beautiful city of Winchester—where she can see the cathedral from her window (but only if she stands on tiptoe). She has two children, Celia and Patrick, and her passions include music, books, cooking and eating—and drifting off into wonderful daydreams while she works out new plots!

With special thanks to Charlie Brooks, Andrew Franklin and Jenny Hindmarsh for making me understand why people are so passionate about horses. And to Gerald O’Rourke for his advice on gambling.

CHAPTER ONE

THERE was no reason why a scorpion shouldn’t be lying dead on the ground—but not when Eleni had only just swept the yard. She stared down at its curved black shape and a certainty which defied logic whispered its way in a cold chill over her skin. It was an omen, surely. An evil portent—coming moments before her father’s mysterious guest arrived. She swallowed. For wasn’t desert legend full of signs as ominous as this?

‘Eleni!’

Her father’s shout echoed through the hot, still air and Eleni tensed as she tried to work out what kind of mood he was in. At least the tone was steady, which meant that he was sober, but it was impatient, too and her heart sank—for that could mean only one thing. That he was eager to begin his game of cards—and that his fellow players were growing impatient. Loud, laughing men who were stupid enough to gamble away everything they had worked for.

‘Eleni!’ The voice had now become a roar. ‘Where in the desert’s name are you?’

‘I am here, Papa!’ she said, quickly kicking the scorpion to a dusty grave in a small pile of sand outside the stables and then hurrying towards the house, where Gamal Lakis stood waiting in the doorway. His wizened and sunburnt face was sour as he looked her up and down.

‘What are you doing that keeps you away from the house and your duties?’ he criticised.

It was pointless telling him that she had just come from the stables, where she had been speaking softly to his beloved horses. And that such constant care and vigilance kept them in prized and peak condition—making Gamal Lakis one of the most envied men in this desert kingdom. She knew from experience that there was no explanation that would ever satisfy this most discontented of men.

‘I’m sorry, Papa,’ she said automatically, lowering her gaze to the ground before looking up once more to flash him a reassuring smile. ‘I will come and bring refreshment to your guests immediately.’

‘No, no. We cannot yet drink, nor eat the food which has been prepared,’ said her father unexpectedly. ‘For we await the arrival of our guest of honour.’ His faded eyes glinted and he gave a rare and crafty smile. ‘And do you know who this guest is, Eleni?’

She shook her head. The visit had been shrouded in mystery for days now, but Eleni knew that it was not her place to ask. Women were told when men deemed that the time was right and not before, especially in households like theirs. ‘No, Papa, I do not know.’

‘No less than one of the most important men in the whole of Calista!’ he boasted. ‘I wonder if you would like to make a guess just who that might be?’

Eleni took her cue, asking him the question he clearly wished to be asked, though his wild extravagance was now making her wonder whether her father was quite as sober as she had first thought.

‘Won’t you tell me who he is, Papa—so that I may wait on him with due deference when he arrives at our home?’

Gamal’s thin lips gave another wet and triumphant smile, pausing like a man who held the trump card in a high-bidding game. ‘What would you say, my daughter—if I told you that a royal prince was coming to the home of your father?’

She would say that he had been drinking, after all. But never to his face, of course. If Papa was having one of his frequent flights of fancy then it was always best to play along with it.

Eleni kept her face poker-straight. ‘A royal prince, Papa?’ she questioned gravely.

‘Yes, indeed!’ He pushed his face forward. ‘The Prince Kaliq Al’Farisi,’ he crowed, ‘is coming to my house to play cards with me!’

Her father had gone insane! These were ideas of grandeur run riot! And what was Eleni to do? What if he continued to make such idle boasts in front of the men who were sitting, waiting to begin the long night of card-playing? Surely that would make him a laughing stock and ruin what little reputation he had left.

‘Papa,’ she whispered urgently. ‘I beg you to think clearly. What place would a royal prince have here?’

But she was destined never to hear a reply, even though his mouth had opened like a puppet—for there came the sound of distant hooves. The steady, powerful thud of horses as they thundered over the parched sands. On the still, thick air the muffled beat grew closer and louder until it filled Eleni’s ears like the sound of the desert wolves which howled at the silver moon when it was at its fullest.

Towards them galloped a clutch of four horses, and as Eleni watched, one of them broke free and surged forwards like a black stream of oil gushing out of the arid sand. For a moment, she stood there, transfixed—for this was as beautiful and as reckless a piece of riding as she had ever witnessed.

Illuminated by the orange gold of the dying sun, a colossus of a man could be seen, with an ebony stallion between his thighs as he urged it on with a joyful shout. The man’s bare head was as dark as the horse he rode and his skin gleamed like some bright and burnished metal. Robes of pure silk clung to the hard sinews of his body and as he approached Eleni could see a face so forbidding that some deep-rooted fear made her wonder if he had the power to turn to dust all those who stood before him.

And a face so inherently beautiful that it was as if all the desert flowers had bloomed at once.

It was then that Eleni understood the full and daunting truth. Her father’s bragging had been true for riding towards their humble abode was indeed Prince Kaliq Al’Farisi. Kaliq the daredevil, the lover of women, the playboy, the gambler and irresponsible twin son of Prince Ashraf. The man, it was said, could make women moan with pleasure simply by looking at them.

She had not seen him since she was a young girl in the crowds watching the royal family pass by. Back then, he had been doing his military service and wearing the uniform of the Calistan Navy. And back then he had been an arresting young man—barely in his twenties. But now—a decade and a half on—he was at the most magnificent peak of his manhood, with a raw and beautiful masculinity which seemed to shimmer from his muscular frame.

‘By the wolves that howl!’ Eleni whimpered, and ran inside the house.

‘Highness!’ simpered Gamal, and as the Prince’s horse entered the battered gates he bent as low as his creaking bones would allow.

Kaliq dismounted with the same speed and grace as he would remove himself from the body of a woman he had just made love to. Jumping to the ground, his riding boots dusty beneath the fine, flowing robes which denoted his high status, he glanced around him, making no attempt to hide the faint curve of his lips as he took in his surroundings.

It was as he had thought—a hovel of a place! Lowly and rough—but a place which promised him something which he hungered for. Indeed, his heart’s delight. His gaze flickered over the stable door before returning to the grovelling figure before him.

‘Get up, Lakis,’ he ordered.

Gamal obeyed, rubbing at his back and wincing slightly. ‘May I say how honoured am I to have the most venerable prince partake of my—’

‘Cut the smarm,’ snapped Kaliq, with the arrogance he had learned at one of the many international schools he had attended. An arrogance which had been necessary to protect him from the greed and ambition of those who craved royal patronage. His eyes glittered as he tempered his curt reply with the silken charm which his sister Yasmine complained could lure the birds from the trees.

‘I have not come for your craven admiration, Lakis,’ he admonished softly. ‘But to play cards with a man—and this I have on good authority—a man who is unbeatable at cards. Are you that man, I wonder?’

Gamal smirked and puffed up his chest. ‘It has been said, Highness.’

Kaliq drummed an impatient finger on his riding crop. Was the fool not aware that a commoner should never boast of superiority to a royal prince? Idly, he tossed the crop to one of his bodyguards, who was only now just climbing down from his horse and looking a little shamefaced.

‘We shall see how unbeatable you are,’ Kaliq said carelessly. ‘And I am in the mood for good sport tonight—but first I wish to drink. Do you have nothing to offer to quench the parched throats of these travellers, Lakis—for we have ridden long and ridden hard across the desert from our royal palaces?’

‘Oh, forgive me, Highness, forgive me,’ stumbled Gamal. ‘You will please enter my humble abode and anything you desire shall be brought to you.’

The smoke-filled salon was lit by oil-lamps with a bright, spotlight glare over the poker table and Kaliq dipped his head as he entered the room, noting that one of his bodyguards had slipped in before him. The faint scent of incense mingled with the smell of tobacco and the deep voices grew silent as the assembled men sprang instantly to their feet.

Kaliq’s smile was wolfish as he waved at them to resume their seats. For wasn’t the number one rule of defeating the opposition to first give them a false sense of security? ‘No, no. Tonight you do not stand on ceremony; tonight we are as equals,’ he instructed softly. ‘For the cards cannot be played properly if one insists on hierarchy. Tonight I am not a prince of your land—I am simply a man, just like you, Lakis.’

Standing just outside the door and summoning up the courage to enter the room, Eleni wondered if her father knew what he was up against. Because as she listened to the prince’s drawled statement, it somehow didn’t ring quite true. As if this powerful prince would ever desire that these ruffians should be his equal!

‘Eleni!’

She was just about to call, ‘Yes, Papa,’ when she heard his next words.

‘My servant girl will bring us food and drink! Eleni—come now!’

In spite of her nerves, Eleni almost smiled. How wily her father was. Not only was he elevating his status in front of the prince by bringing in an extra, female servant—but by using his daughter he would guarantee absolute discretion. As well as not having to pay her anything!

Sucking in a deep breath, Eleni entered the room, keeping her eyes down and resisting the terrible overwhelming instinct which made her long to look at the prince again, which wasn’t easy since servants were never permitted eye-contact with a member of the ruling family of Calista. She knew too that protocol demanded she make a deep curtsey—not something she was used to doing.

‘Your Highness,’ she said softly, and, bending one knee behind the other, she made a sweeping kind of bow—glad that all her years of riding had given her a certain grace. ‘What does my master request that I should bring to his honoured guest?’ she added quietly.

Kaliq glanced over at her, his antennae automatically alerted by the sound of a woman’s voice. It was soft and soothing, he thought—like cool, running water running through this oppressive and stuffy room. And it was curiously fluent for a servant. His eyes narrowed, but he could not see whether she was plain or beautiful.

Her head was covered with a veil and the clothes she wore were drab and concealing—and while they were entirely appropriate for a woman of her class and status, he would have preferred to feast his eyes on something attractive. Some buxom young thing with her breasts half spilling out, who would pleasure him with the yearning in her eyes!

‘A drink,’ he ordered curtly, forcing his thoughts away from the subject because he was here tonight to play cards—not to lose himself in the delights of a woman.

‘You will drink some Zelyoniy with us?’ questioned Gamal hopefully.

Kaliq suppressed a shudder. As if he could bring himself to drink Zelyoniy! The potent green spirit made from cactus plants was banned in most of the country, though he knew that its use was still widespread in the rougher regions. But might it not assist his game if his partners were partial to hard liqueur? ‘Not for me,’ he answered silkily. ‘But the rest of you must drink what pleases you. Bring me pomegranate juice instead,’ he told the servant girl.

‘At once, Highness,’ said Eleni, and hurried off.

Kaliq leaned back in his chair as the dealer opened the new pack of cards and a familiar excitement began to steal over his skin. He wanted to win, yes, because he loved winning—but more important than victory was the risk involved. He shouldn’t really be here, associating with these low-life racehorse breeders and trainers—but that, of course, only added to the evening’s appeal. The sense of the unknown, the forbidden and the elicit.

Because sometimes Kaliq grew bored with his privileged life—a life which took him to cities all over the Western world. Cities where he could slip easily into the role of the playboy sheikh—as the international newspapers were so fond of calling him. Impossibly rich from the wealth of his country’s diamond mines, he could have anything he wanted—and mostly he did.

But sometimes he wanted harsh contrast and that was what brought him to places like this. Where the hardships and toughness of desert life made the flesh-pots of Europe fade into insignificance. As the cards began to be dealt around the table Kaliq felt the familiar thrill of expectation.

‘You will take food, Highness?’

Kaliq glanced up. The servant girl was standing before him and putting a goblet of pomegranate juice before him. He shook his dark head impatiently. As if he would eat with people such as these!

‘No. I have no appetite for food.’ And then he glanced at the drink. ‘But my thirst is great. Taste it,’ he instructed the girl.

Eleni’s heart raced in confusion. Surely the prince did not intend her to drink from his glass? ‘But—’

‘I said, taste it,’ he repeated softly. ‘Or I will begin to worry that you are trying to poison me.’

With nervous fingers Eleni lifted the heavy cup—her father’s best—to her lips and sipped at the sweet, tangy juice, the tip of her tongue automatically removing its sticky trace from her lips. How horrible for the prince to have to live with such terrible fears, she thought, her heart giving an automatic little tug of compassion. Did he have to watch his back, wherever he went, she wondered—afraid that some unknown assassin was lurking in the shadows?

Aware that his piercing black eyes were fixed on her, she felt as if she had been turned to stone. What was she supposed to do now? And how long did they have to wait to see if she had been poisoned?

‘Well?’ Kaliq shot the word out.

Eleni swallowed as she stared down at the goblet. ‘I think the drink will please you, Highness.’

‘Then give it to me,’ he ordered silkily.

At this, she was forced to lift her gaze upwards as she held the juice towards him and as Kaliq stared into her face he felt the first shimmering of astonishment. For she had green eyes—pale green and glittering! The fabled green eyes of Calista—a throwback to warriors from Persia who had briefly conquered this land and its women many centuries ago, before being defeated by one of his ancestors. Legendary eyes—rare and lovely and spoken of in the palaces and tea rooms—but he had never seen them before now.

‘By the desert storm,’ he murmured beneath his breath, a strange wild beating in his heart as he sipped some of the juice and stared into them. ‘Such beautiful eyes.’

But then the cards began to fly from the dealer’s hands and Kaliq turned his attention to the game, the servant dismissed from his mind, her eyes forgotten.

There was a lot of money at stake, but it soon became clear to Kaliq that he and Gamal were playing to a different agenda from the other men, and soon their natural aggression ensured that there were only two of them left in the game. But Gamal was drinking too much alcohol—and Kaliq knew that there was one place in the world where you could not afford to be drunk, and that was at the poker table.

As the dealer skimmed them each two cards he saw Gamal try and fail to hide his smile of triumph and Kaliq sensed that his moment was drawing near. He looked up to find that the green eyes of the servant girl were fixed on the table with a look of terror. Was she perhaps worried that her master would gamble away all his livelihood, and her job into the bargain?

Glancing down at his own cards, Kaliq leaned forward. ‘A thousand to play,’ he said softly to the soft gasp of one of the onlookers.

Gamal immediately pushed a pile of hyakim notes into the pot. ‘Three thousand,’ he croaked, licking his lips.

Kaliq leaned back in his chair, sensing the man’s greed and certainty that he was going to win and the prince smiled with the confidence of a man who held an unbeatable pair of cards in his hand. ‘You look as if you’d like to bet more, Lakis,’ he said silkily. ‘Shall we raise the stakes? I’ll allow you to make a larger bet if you wish.’

Gamal’s eyes gleamed. ‘How much?’

Kaliq shrugged. ‘Well, as you know, I have no use for money—but if you want to sweeten the pot with that Arab stallion of yours that I’ve heard so much about, then I’ll put in a million. What do you say to that, old man?’

Unable to believe what she was seeing, Eleni dropped a spoon in an attempt to bring her father to his senses but the atmosphere in the room was so tense that nobody even noticed it clattering to the ground. This was like a bad, bad dream—her drunken brute of a father threatening to use his prize stallion as a wager. Her own beloved horse and just about the only thing which kept her sane in the harsh environment in which she lived.

‘A million, you say?’ questioned Gamal greedily.

‘A million,’ agreed Kaliq.

Eleni wanted to scream at her father not to persist with this foolishness—for even she could see from the prince’s demeanour that he must hold the winning cards. But how could she possibly boldly assert herself in this company of men, and in front of their royal guest? Why, Kaliq would probably have one of his bodyguards carry her from the room and slapped into the jailhouse in Serapolis!