CHAPTER NINE
BY THE END of her massage she was a human puddle in all the best ways possible. Each and every muscle in her body had been seen to, and after the dancing, the emergency landing, the hiking, and...other things, each and every muscle in her body had needed seeing to.
She was beginning to see a pattern in Zayn’s communication with her. He might be presumptuous and autocratic, but he was tender and thoughtful at the same time. Relaxed and pleased, she asked staff to direct her to their rooms.
Not finding him there, she detoured, exploring the closet prepared for her by the summer palace staff. They’d provided a selection of items for her for every possible island activity she could imagine. Spying the tasteful lingerie among the neatly stored clothing, she added emphasis to the word every.
For the moment, she thought, she wanted to feel comfortable, but also...pretty. Instead of shoving the urge away, she let herself wish for them—for the frivolous things she’d shunned for so long. She wanted to look pretty when Zayn saw her.
And, as if her life had truly turned into a fairy tale, she found what she was looking for in a cashmere lounging set, with an off-the-shoulder top and silk ribbon drawstring pants in a rich, creamy ivory color. The slippers she found were decadently soft, each step a mini foot-rub.
Successfully finding clothing that was both comfortable and pretty, in her own closet, had to be one of the more positive novelties of her new life. And, taking in her reflection in the full-length mirror, she had to admit to herself it definitely had a confidence-boosting effect that was almost magical.
Feeling as soft and decadent outside as she felt inside, she looked for Zayn in his office next, locating it after one wrong turn and a second request for directions, only to find it empty.
She didn’t find him in any of the spas, theaters, lounges, libraries, gardens, or patios she checked either. It was only when she stood with her hands on her hips in the foyer, at her wits’ end as yet another idea turned up with a gorgeous room but no sign of her husband, that a maid stepped forward quietly and tapped her shoulder.
“If you’re looking for His Majesty, Your Majesty, you won’t find him here. He’s down on the beach.”
“Thank you,” Mina said to the woman, before heading down to find him.
Beside the front door was an assortment of styles of sandals. She chose a simple thong sandal before making her way to the beach. There she found a small blanket and towel laid out, but no sign of the King.
Scanning a horizon that was growing ever more golden with each passing hour, with her hand held up to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun off the sea, she saw him only when he crested the waves in a powerful butterfly stroke, the sunlight glinting off the bright tan of his broad shoulders, which were balanced with perfect strength and symmetry. His whole body looked weightless for a heartbeat, before he disappeared once more beneath the water.
He was as perfect and natural at sea as he was on land. She wondered if there was any landscape he wasn’t the master of. He certainly never seemed to lose his footing. Perhaps that came with being born a future king.
Taking a seat on his blanket, she was content to watch him as he swam, his body appearing and disappearing in the surf, which crashed with soothing power and rhythm. On the beach, with the waves lulling her heart, perfectly safe here on a private island—as improbable as that was—watching her gorgeous husband swim, she let go of the last of the grief for her broken dreams.
She had achieved everything she’d set out to do. Not many people could say that. And if the triumph hadn’t lasted as long as she had imagined it would, she was not so lacking in gratitude that she couldn’t be thankful that this was where she had landed after the fall.
There were a lot worse things to be than Queen.
Zayn joined her on the beach not long after, his chiseled body dripping with seawater. As suspected, the reality of it was a thousand times more seductive than the vision her imagination had conjured in the bath the night before.
Staring up at him boldly as he dried fanned the seemingly ever-present flame that existed for him at her core. He watched her just as boldly, noting her every reaction with his amethyst gaze, unhurried by her regard, and when he was satisfied he sat beside her on the blanket, looking out to sea.
“Good swim?” she asked.
“Wonderful. I had forgotten how well the water clears the mind. It’s been too long since I’ve come here.”
“When was the last time?”
“Just after graduation. I spent an entire week here with my father and mother. We jet-skied, hiked, spent a night at the cabin, played charades...”
He reminisced quietly as they watched the pink beginnings of the sunset.
She laughed. “It’s hard to imagine you playing charades. Or your mother, for that matter.”
“But you can picture my father?” he asked, with mock outrage.
Mina nodded. “He had that certain something.”
Flat-voiced, Zayn said, “Don’t say he was approachable.”
“Well, he was...” she hedged.
Zayn growled, and she held up her hands in surrender, giggling.
“He was! But it was more than that. There was something about King Alden that made him seem like he was just like the rest of us. A regular person.”
Zayn snorted. “That was just the image he wanted to project. He was a king, through and through.”
“You miss him,” she said.
He looked away from her then, his eyes going again to the sea. “Every day.”
“You were close?”
“Very. We discussed everything—philosophy, economics, justice, rule. He shaped me, even when we didn’t agree.”
She smiled. “My father was the same. Though he and I were always in agreement. Or at least I always agreed with him,” she amended.
“My father sometimes encouraged disagreement, though it was rare.”
Intrigued, she asked, “What did you disagree about?”
He looked at her then, considering her before he said, “Love.”
“Oh, really? What thoughts did the man who betrothed his son before his birth have on love?” she asked archly.
A lopsided smile tilted Zayn’s face. “Believe me, I’ve asked myself that question a number of times over the past months,” he said.
The light chuckle he added took the sting out of the statement. They were no longer adversaries, Mina thought, but in this together. Somewhere in the past two days they’d gone from being two strangers to a team.
“No. Ironically, he insisted that my top priority be falling in love—the very health of the nation depended on it, he said.”
Mina frowned. “And you don’t agree?” she asked.
He shook his head, not catching her shadowed expression. “I think the nation benefits most from a skilled monarch who brings something of value to the crown.”
Keeping her voice light, Mina asked, “And what do I bring to the crown?”
“Initially, I wasn’t sure,” he said frankly, “but then you took care of me during our hike, so it’s obvious you were destined to bring ease to the crown.”
He spoke loftily, his nose in the air high enough to ensure she knew he was teasing, and she had another glimpse of the man he’d been before tragedy had replaced his carefree life with rock-steady rule.
Drily, she replied, “I’m so glad I can bring so much value to the crown.”
Laughing, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. “You keep surprising me with your hidden talents. I’m sure I will never know the limits of your value.”
Cheeks now aflame, she didn’t know what to say. His smile turning wicked, he leaned closer, and she somehow knew that if he kissed her then—if his lips touched hers while her heart was still stuttering from his words—something terrible would happe
n...something that would change her forever.
Her mind grasped for the first thing it could, to put space between them before he closed the distance. And because, no matter how her life changed, she couldn’t change who she was, what came out was about his work.
“So, tell me about the Ambassadors’ Dinner?”
The blurted-out question was enough to halt him for the moment, but rather than look irritated by her evasion, he let his smile turn arrogant.
Leaning back, he said, “This dinner is particularly important for securing a diplomatic relationship with the Farden, a small German-speaking country with excellent mineral resources. This is their first visit to the island and we want them to see that we are sophisticated and modern—that establishing ties with us is not a risk to their reputation. As members of one of the few remaining constitutional monarchies of Europe, you and I represent both our entire nation and an outdated, increasingly unfavored form of rule. As such, it is crucial we convey progressive thought and current awareness.”
Mina nodded, finding herself intrigued by the concept of strategizing an event appearance. “That all makes sense.”
“My goal is a verbal commitment from the Chancellor that we will formalize a diplomatic relationship between our two countries by the end of dinner. Conversation will be in English throughout the evening, which makes it a great relief to find that you speak it so well.”
Mina smiled, warming under his praise. She spoke German like a natural-born citizen as well, having learned in the cradle and spent summers there with her grandparents before her studies began to tether her to her desk, but didn’t mention it for fear of looking like she was fishing for praise.
Unaware of her private bashfulness, Zayn continued, “We’ve secured relationships with England, Sweden, France, Italy, Spain, Australia, New Zealand, Ireland and Greece already, so I have no doubt we can do so with Farden as well.”
Mina agreed. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t. Cyrano shows all the signs of being Europe’s next ‘undiscovered gem.’ It would be in their interest to smooth the way for their citizens to take advantage.”
Zayn leaned forward, his eyes lighting, “My thinking exactly. And Cyrano will benefit because the relationship will serve as an example of exactly the kind we need to ensure that it truly becomes just that.”
She laughed. “That’s a rather calculated game of chicken and egg.”
He smiled, his expression wide, open, and genuine. “Not an incorrect description of statecraft.”
They continued their conversation on the beach, strategizing on how they would approach the Ambassadors’ Dinner, until the beginning chill of the evening and hunger sent them inside.
That night they dined on exquisitely prepared fresh seafood, and then made love in the summer palace’s stunning master suite until neither could breathe.
The next three days continued in much the same fashion: hiking, swimming, bird-watching, dining al fresco and, of course, having massages. All too soon, though, it was time to return to the real world—and, more importantly, the Ambassadors’ Dinner.
Their plane was due within the hour.
Mina’s attire for the dinner would be waiting on her arrival in the Queen’s Wing, along with Roz and the entire team, ready to prepare her yet again for the state function. Mina had made it clear following the ball that, while she wanted none of them to feel beholden to her, she would welcome each and every one of them to her permanent team. They had all accepted.
It was good to be Queen.
The King’s guards, as well as Moustafa and d’Tierrza, met them at the private airport. Zayn nodded to his guards, who fell into their usual positions around him. Mina greeted her own guards with a smile that was bright and beaming and pulled each one into a hug. Moustafa stiffened, but quickly relaxed into the embrace. D’Tierrza returned it with strong-armed enthusiasm.
Zayn said goodbye to her when they reached the palace. “I need to check in with my assistant before dinner. I’ll see you tonight.” He bowed slightly to her, kissing her temple before leaving.
Mina, Moustafa, and d’Tierrza met Roz’s team in the Queen’s Wing.
“What happened to you?” Roz rasped.
Mina laughed. “Too much to recount—and we covered what’s important when we spoke on the phone. Tonight it is imperative that I project the correct image—as well as the extra part I mentioned.”
Roz nodded, a wicked light brightening her countenance. “Right. Cool, modern, and bringing the King to his knees within the appropriate limits of a state dinner.”
“Exactly!” A little thrill trilled through Mina’s blood.
The team got to work. Chloe, Roz’s assistant, as usual all in black, ran errands for the rest of the team—fetching a brush for Byron, the hairstylist, an eyeshadow for Sabine, the aesthetician with the perfect face, and pins for Catriona, the designer with the asymmetrical haircut.
When they were done, Mina was once again transformed. This time she was all sharp edges and shadows. Her hair had been pulled back into a sleek and elegant French twist, without a wisp out of place, and she wore a custom-fitted black one-piece pantsuit.
Deep V cutouts adorned the chest and back of the suit, with panels of sheer fabric in dark black sewn in for modesty. The design displayed the distinct impression of the curves of her breasts without showcasing any actual cleavage. The sleeves were fitted and full-length, tapering to narrow slightly at the wrists. Everything she wore followed and hugged the lines of her body—no one would dare call this suit boxy.
Roz had chosen diamonds as her only accessory—enormous teardrops at her earlobes and a monstrous solitaire hanging on a long platinum chain in the center of her breasts.
For shoes, they’d selected simple black leather pumps with heels high enough to add a few more inches to her legs. Once again the heels had bright red soles and a foreign name tastefully stamped into the leather.
Sabrina had made her eyes look smoky and large, without being overly dark and dramatic, and used a muted dusky rose for her lips, ensuring she looked alluring, yet professional.
Dressed in all black, she would be the perfect complement to Zayn, ensuring that they presented an image of sleek, young and modern monarchs, just as he wanted. She would be everything he said a queen ought to be: temptation in an untouchable package—at least not until long after the dinner was over.
His face when she met him in the foyer justified the effort. His gaze heated, igniting an answering flame in her that she let him see, but she kept tortuously outside of his arm’s reach. He wore a black suit with a black button-up shirt and tie.
“You look lovely. Excellent choice for the evening.”
She smiled at his compliment. Roz had taught her an important lesson—one she had already subconsciously observed in academia: clothes made the man—or the woman, the professor, or the Queen. Tonight she had dressed the part. Together they were a pair of silk-clad ravens, grave and imposing. And the sporadic flares of electricity between them only emphasized the intense magnetism that paired them.
Mina inclined her head with a cool, “Thank you.”
He led the way to the entrance, where their driver held open the limo door. Mina thanked the man as she entered the vehicle, and slid along the smooth leather seats to sit beside the window. Zayn followed her into the car and the driver shut the door.
They arrived at the venue to find a red carpet and flashing cameras. Cyrano was certainly developing a celebrity culture—paparazzi and press included.
Zayn slid an arm around her waist, the heat of the contact branding her through the layers of fabric that separated them, and he smiled, obliging the media covering their arrival and sending a thrill down her spine at the same time.
He was an excellent multitasker.
The dinner was being held in the grand ballroom of the Palace Museum—an aristocratic palace i
n the capital that had fallen out of the hands of its original owners nearly a century before and had been purchased by a private citizen and art collector. Upon his death, the palace and the collection it housed had been converted into a museum.
Mina had been to private events at the Palace Museum throughout her academic career, but nothing as grand as the occasion before her now. The museum had clearly spared no expense for the evening, and every effort had been made to impress the distinguished guests, which included all of Cyrano’s standing ambassadors and their families, in addition to other delegates from the nations Cyrano was courting relationships with, as well as members of Parliament and the bulk of the island’s aristocrats.
As they approached the Chancellor Klein, Mina’s nerves around the importance of the encounter, coupled with the constant exertion of withstanding her inconveniently relentless attraction to her husband, had her pulled taut as a bowstring. Practiced smile in place, however, she vowed to herself that she would do nothing to jeopardize the relationship Zayn sought.
In fact, filled with an oddly protective determination, Mina reached for Zayn’s hand and squeezed it as they walked, unthinkingly mirroring the reassurance her father had used to give her before every big event.
The memory flashed through her without any of the acrid tang that memories of her father had recently taken on, and she was glad, hoping that it meant the process of forgiveness had begun. She might never be able to think of him in quite the same way again, but their love had been real. His peerless rooting for her had been real.
She didn’t understand why he’d done it, but she could accept that her father had arranged the betrothal out of love. And somehow, as if acknowledging that had shattered the shield of ignorance that had been protecting her, as her hand clasped his, she realized that she loved Zayn.
Not in the enduring and mellow way she loved her mother, and not in the vague, patriotic way she loved Cyrano. It wasn’t the complicated, angry, nostalgic, yearning love for her father either, and it wasn’t her captivating love of study.
Stolen To Wear His Crown (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Royal Guard, Book 1) Page 13
