Part 1 can be found here.

The plane was a medium-sized jet, all sleek and white as it stood on the runway. The backdrop to the small airfield was high snow-capped mountains, although standing on the asphalt it was hot.

Megan regarded the aircraft with a nauseous dread as she stood facing it in her hastily bought white cotton clothes and clutching the passport of someone newly born with her face. Ahmed had also given her an envelope containing $5,000, a credit card that matched the name on her travel documents and an address for an apartment somewhere in Seattle. She had been assured that all would stand up to scrutiny and that Ahmed had called upon a legitimate but discreet US Government contact to provide most of the necessary.

“You mean like some kind of witness protection programme?” Megan said sullenly when the prince had explained.

“Something like that,” Ahmed had shrugged, “You can stay in the apartment for as long as you like and I will have someone send word when it is safe to go back to your old life. The money too is taken care of…” he added, “You will be provided with a generous expense account and an income for life approaching double your highest ever salary…”

Megan wasn’t listening, it all felt like an envelope on the mantelpiece from a man desperate not to call.

“When will I see you again?” the words were blurted before she could hold them back. She hated how desperate she sounded.

Ahmed swallowed and looked away. If he hadn’t clenched his fists Megan would have said he was emotionless.

“I can’t say… perhaps in a year or two me might meet up in New York or London…” he said as he turned to face her, but his sad eyes held only warning and regret.

“Oh God,” Megan’s voice cracked and she rushed at him with a bear hug. For a moment it was if she would never let him go.

“The desert is full of people who crossed my grandfather,” Ahmed said bitterly as he gently pushed her away. “But he is old… maybe my uncle will be more… understanding when the time comes.”

Megan made a tight line with her lips and nodded with fake encouragement. It was the best she could do. She might have said more but at that instant the plane’s engines roared into life.

*

Ahmed sat in the 4X4 with his head bowed and both hands gripping the wheel. Sending Megan away was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. If wasn’t for the threat to Megan he would throw it all up and go to Seattle, but he had to stay and play out his role as if nothing had happened. That way the king would save face and when no book materialised this whole thing would blow over. It had to.

He thought about New York and London and his regular visits… maybe, he thought, an apartment… but what life would that be for her? His chest heaved almost forming a sob and he set his head back and snarled it away as his mind seized New York and London like two straws. Then he sighed.

He was about to start the engine for the drive back across the desert when some damn fool started tapping on his window. Didn’t they know who he was? The glass slid down at a button and Ahmed rounded on the audacious person ready to explode in a rage.

“Hi,” Megan said with a cute little wiggle of her fingers. But the nervous grin was more honest.

Ahmed’s heart punched him in the chest and he did a double-take between the white plane climbing overhead and the meek expectant girl standing by his car.

“I decided not to go,” Megan offered in a small voice.

“You decided?” Ahmed gasped.

He was insane, he had to be, his mind told him. At that moment his anger could have smashed worlds and yet he had never been so happy with relief, how could he feel both at once? This silly fool’s life hung by a thread and yet she played stupid games. It had taken everything he had to give her up, twice yet, and she still returned to taunt him… she had disobeyed him… she had… she had…

“You little brat,” he growled as he lunge from the car.

Megan, who had been about to dive into his arms and drown in his eyes leapt back in a posture approaching a cower.

“You…” Ahmed spluttered, “I am going to spank you until you can’t sit down for a week, for a month… I am going get that judicial rod and use until you think 1,000 stokes would be a mercy…”

There were other threats and explosions, but by the time he reached her, his voice was strained and damp and he crushed her to his chest.

*

“What are we going to do?” Megan asked after they had re-crossed the border back into his country.

Ahmed did a slow glance and regarded her with disdain. “I know what I am going to do,” he growled.

Megan flushed, she had a pretty good idea what that was.

“I mean about your grandfather?” she said, ignoring his threat.

Ahmed sighed, he had no idea. But he said, “First things first,” and the car began to slow as it approached a dirt track that led to some ramshackle buildings.

“W-why, why are we stopping?” Megan asked nervously.

“This is an old border post. It isn’t occupied much, but it is part of my command,” he explained, “We will be safe here tonight, besides we have some business to address. As for tomorrow, it has the necessary communications for what I need to do tomorrow.”

Megan opened her mouth to speak but one look at Ahmed’s glare and she thought better of it. So she turned her attention to the shabby buildings they were arriving at. It was would be dark soon and already the angled light from the desert was tinted orange and even as she watched the tatty white washed walls of the stone high-windowed buildings were turning pink.

“There are some officers’ quarters in the smaller building, the backdoor won’t be locked,” Ahmed told her, “Go inside while I park the car out of sight from the road.”

Megan felt an odd tingle in the pit of her stomach as she let herself out and did as she was directed. She had just thrown all the cards of her life up in the air and she felt good. Even if Ahmed put her on another plane tomorrow, at least she had tried.

The door at the back of the blockhouse was indeed open and led into a small office with two interior doors. One led to some crude WCs and on to a room with a large table and a kitchenette down one wall, the other to a bedroom with a desk and its own private bathroom.

“The larger building is for the guards and the armoury,” Ahmed said as he came in behind her. “I might check it for supplies tomorrow, but at night the light will show on the road and a patrol may investigate if they see it.”

“I thought they were your men?” Megan said as she looked around the rooms with an expression of distaste.

“Oh they are, we will get no trouble, but they will report my presence in case their superiors think it is an inspection. I really don’t need that kind of attention just now,” he replied, but his answer was a distraction and most of his attention was on her. “Now you little… I am furious, have you learned nothing? Come here,” he snarled.

“You can’t…” Megan wailed as Ahmed grabbed her with ease and picked her up like a doll.

She felt helpless as he flopped her across his lap and even more so when he hauled down her cotton pants and then her sensible travel panties.

“Oh I can, and believe me, I am just getting started… ah this will do,” he said sharply as he took something from the desk.

Megan craned her neck and saw he held a springy heavy plastic or Bakelite shield from an old typewriter sitting on the desk. It was over a foot long and half again as wide as a man’s hand. It made for quite a paddle.

“N-no-nooo,” Megan spluttered as he patted her bare bottom with his firm swatter.

“Like I said, I am just getting started,” Ahmed snapped.

The splat came with a burn and Megan squealed. The second spank was no softer, and nor were the third, fourth and subsequent impacts that came steady and fast.

An “Eeie no, ahh,” escaped her mouth and then a sustained, “hmmm,” as she tried to supress her cries before finally gasping a pained, “eeeeeieshss,” as she rode the sting.

Her breathing was suddenly hoarse and her eyes glazed over in moments. Her small heels kicked within the limited motion afforded by the pants at her ankles and her domed tight bottom was a glassy red and deep all over both cheeks so that two firm russet ovals described them.

“This is effective,” Ahmed said with genuine admiration, “We are taking this with us,” he chuckled.

“Oh jeeesaahachcriiiist,” she moaned, “Please, ahhh… I’m sorry….”

“No you’re not,” he snapped as he slammed the typewriter paddle down over and over as if he was in a race.

“Okay, I’m not but… fuck, this hurts,” she yelled.

“Oh does it? Not as much as it’s going to,” he barked as he redoubled his efforts.

“Okay, okay…” and the she screamed and spluttered to some real tears.

“From now on you’re going to get this and a whole lot more every time you disobey me,” he told her without breaking his rhythm.

“Yes Sir,” she squealed.

“I might even spank you every day until we have this mess sorted out,” he said angrily, “if you’re going to be my wife I may even spank you like this every day forever, do you hear me? Good prince’s wives do as they are told and do not… I repeat do not disobey. Feel that burn, it is the last of your old western life, get used to it.”

There was more, but between the unbearable burn and the word ‘wife’ Megan wasn’t listening.

“What makes you think I’d marry you?” she sobbed.

The paddle paused in mid-air. “Will you?” Ahmed said, sounding faintly surprised.

“But you can’t, we can’t, you…” she sniffed.

“Will you?” Ahmed asked her again.

“Yes,” she gasped gleefully through copious tears, “Oh yes.”

“Good enough,” Ahmed shrugged and resumed the spanking.

Megan squealed anew and yelled, “Bastard.”

“Is that so?” Ahmed sighed, “I think this may take a while yet.”

“Nnnooo I’m sorry, pleeease…” Megan howled.

*

Megan had sobbed for 20 minutes without pause even after the spanking had stopped. Every tear shed had been with her nose pressed close to the corner of the officer with her coal-hot bottom blazing like a desert sunset. She had been absolutely forbidden from rubbing, a prohibition almost as difficult to sustain as the spanking itself. Now almost an hour since she had been spanked she finally garnered the courage to speak.

“Can I come out now?” she asked miserably.

“Is that all you have to say?” Ahmed said.

Megan sucked in a grizzled sniff and made a pout into the wall. “No,” she said sullenly.

He waited.

“Did you mean what you said about marrying me?” she breathed, punctuating her question with a hard bite of her lip.

“I grant you it lacked romance, but under the circumstances… you did say yes?” Ahmed sought reassurance.

“But…” she gasped and then letting slip a curse she wheeled around and hugged him.

“My father will support me and… my uncle too I think… so long as you agree to some adjustment in your attitude. In public anyway, at least until my grandfather…” he didn’t finish his treasonous thought. “If my family don’t accept you then I will join you in exile. They say Seattle is nice.”

Megan hugged him until she thought she would die.

“But I meant what I said about obeying me and I am not finished spanking you… you…” his words were obscured by her kiss.

“Remember the desert,” she said huskily.

He frowned quizzically and pulled back to see if she wasn’t just rambling.

“There is a bed in there,” she said archly.

He grinned as the penny dropped.

“Come on,” she giggled, “You can spank me again later.”

*

The buzz of the wind blew like a low clarion trumpet across the multi-coloured sands and dust devils dances attendance as if for a king. But it was still hot and Ahmed had assured Megan that no sandstorm was forecast. But a tempest was coming all the same and all she could feel was dread.

The feeling wasn’t helped by the khaki-clad soldiers in traditional headdress that stood as sentinels at various high points all around them. Or the fact that the rather dour man in the suit who Megan knew was Ahmed’s uncle the crown prince hadn’t spoken once since he had arrived.

“Why are we meeting here in the middle of nowhere?” Megan hissed to her man. “It had been hours now.”

Ahmed had earlier warned her not to speak and now he just glared as he put a single finger to his mouth.

If they were going to treat her like a child then she might as well be a petulant one, she thought, but for once she knew that the consequences of such behaviour might get her more than just a spanking. So instead she gave out with a loud sullen sigh just to announce her presence. Ahmed swatted her still tender rear.

“Ow,” she muttered and rubbed her bottom.

This action at least drew a response from the crown prince, who allowed himself a brief smile and Megan blushed.

There was no time for any other response as at that moment a helicopter spluttered overhead and although it came no closer it heralded the sudden appearance of half a dozen black limousines kicking up dust as they turned off the sand-scattered metalled road across the valley.

As the king stepped from his car Megan felt sick. She was terrified now; especially as for a second Ahmed’s grandfather scoured her with a glance. Everyone but the soldiers gently bowed and Megan wondered if she should too or whether she should courtesy. She was still pondering this when she realised that the moment had passed and no one had noticed her indecision.

Ahmed’s uncle and another man shook the king’s hand and then formed a small huddle of three and whispered low.

“Who is the third man?” Megan whispered.

“My father,” Ahmed said simply and squeezed her hands. “Now be silent woman.”

The men talked for a few minutes and Megan just knew they were talking about her. Only the feel of Ahmed’s hands on hers gave her any comfort. Then the king nodded and all attention turned to her.

“Miss Kent, it seems you just can’t stay away,” he said smoothly as he walked towards Ahmed and her. “And how is my favourite grandson?”

Ahmed bowed and smiled as he spoke a string of words in his own tongue.

“English please,” the king said with magnanimously, “Where are your manners?”

“Your majesty,” Megan said and forsaking a courtesy she bowed.

The king ignored her slip and extended a hand first to his grandson and then to Megan.

“Do you think you could be happy here as a royal wife?” he asked her.

Megan swallowed and looked at Ahmed. No one moved or spoke. So taking a breath she nodded and said, “Yes.”

“Perhaps,” the king said thoughtfully.

“I mean to have her, whatever you say grandfather,” Ahmed said sharply, his eyes defiant.

“I think that is now clear to me,” the old man said with a dismissive indulgence and then he paused to look around at the desert. “Do you see how the wind shapes the sand?” he said to no one in particular, “How great mountains are formed from the ever shifting dust? One never knows what shapes will be made or how high they will grow. A man would be a fool to try and guide the wind. The sands will blow where they will.”

Megan frowned and looked at the alert warriors on the hills of sand watching every move. It was all she cared about the dunes at that moment.

“There are many princes between the throne and my grandson here, but if it should come to pass and he is one day king, would you share him with another more suited for the role of queen?” the king asked so casually that the answer might not matter.

“I will always do my duty,” Ahmed snapped, “But if it should come to pass, I will chose my own queen,” he said.

The king chuckled but his eyes never left Megan.

“If and when the time comes I will do whatever is necessary to aid your grandson in his duty,” Megan said firmly.

“Then it is settled,” the king said with a wave of his hand and began to walk to his car. Then he stopped for a moment and reached into his robe. In his hand he took out a short lightweight whip of exquisite leather with polished gold mountings on its coiled handle. “Take this, a wedding gift,” he chuckled, “It has polished the bottoms of many a royal princess and one day you may need it.”

Megan was confused, even more so when Ahmed took the whip and grinned. But neither spoke until the king had returned to his car and the whole entourage moved off in a cloud of dust.

“What just happened?” Megan asked in consternation.

“We just got engaged,” Ahmed replied, but his face smashed open into a smile.

Megan took a second to recover her jaw from the floor and barely able to speak she gasped, “Oh my God.” Then she squealed as she grabbed Ahmed for an impromptu dance, “Oh my God.”

“No more blasphemy from you,” Ahmed scolded, but there was no force to his words.”

By the time they stopped the celebrations and ended in a kiss they were alone with the desert.

“There is just one thing I don’t understand,” Megan said.

Ahmed looked at her quizzically, pushing out his lower lip.

“Can I still write my book or not?” she asked in a serious tone.

The look that crowned her prince’s face was not gentle, but it was one that Megan would come to see often in the years that followed.

The end.