by Leslie North
“I’ll take Abbas, then.”
“What?” Bas nearly stumbled, all the breath going out of him in a rush. “What did you just say?”
“I’ll marry Abbas. I’ll marry him in the palace tomorrow. You’ll give us your blessing and I’ll bring him back to my suite, and we’ll—”
“Stop it.” He spun her around, crowded her against the wall till there wasn’t a breath’s space between them. Fiona’s hands slid under his jacket, and he batted them away, only to bury his own in her hair. She gasped, and he kissed her. Fiona bit his lip.
“What was so funny with Rashid?” He pressed even closer, cock throbbing against her. Fiona pushed back, moaning low in her throat.
“I can’t remember when you kiss me like that.”
He kissed her again, and this time, she kissed back. She hooked a leg around him, and he shoved her skirt out of the way. She was wet for him already, but he wouldn’t make it so easy. He teased her, denying her the sensation she craved. “How does it feel, everything you want right in front of you, and you can’t even get a taste?”
“You could, though…” She rolled her hips, trying to get his fingers where she wanted them. Bas pulled back, smirking.
“Or I could torment you all night.” He let her skirt fall back into place. “Do you have any idea how that felt, watching you with all those men?”
“Then why did you bring them here?”
“I must’ve been out of my mind.” Bas flung her door open with a bang, and she half dragged him inside, his tie wrapped around her fist. She pulled him in for a kiss, her free hand fumbling at his belt buckle. “What was I thinking?”
He pushed her panties aside as she freed his cock. Fiona braced herself against the wall as he thrust up inside her. She cried out as he did, a harsh shout of triumph. Bas groaned. If she’d won, had he lost? He didn’t care.
Fiona shuddered against him, finding her climax early. Bas kept going, determined to carry her from peak to peak till the only thing holding her up was his arm around her waist. He watched her face as her eyes turned glassy, watched her jaw go lax as she lost herself to him. Bas felt the exact moment her knees turned to jelly, and he caught her in his arms. For once, she was speechless and entirely at his mercy, and he followed her over the edge on a rush of victory.
She was his, and this time, he wouldn’t be so foolish as to let her go.
Bas came to his senses with the sun in his face. He blinked, bleary and confused, and reached for his phone. It wasn’t there, and neither was his nightstand, which was strange, because—
He sat up with a start, reality crashing home. His phone was buzzing urgently, and he followed the sound to his pants, discarded by the door. Had he really been so reckless?
“Bas?” Fiona shielded her eyes, blinking in the morning sun..
“Just a minute.” He fished out his phone and swiped it open, and the breath went out of him in a rush. A text alert filled his screen, eight words, all caps: “COUNCIL CHAMBERS 10AM. CAT’S OUT OF THE BAG.”
They knew. His council and who else? The press? His brothers?
“Bas, are you—”
“I have to go.” He wriggled into his pants, heart pounding. He couldn’t even look at her, or her tousled hair and sleep-soft face would make him forget everything. He indulged in a glance at her gorgeous, puzzled face and wondered which emotion she’d read on his own: longing or regret.
Fiona said something, but Bas’s phone was ringing. The palace was waking up, the warm smell of baked goods drifting up from the kitchens. Someone was beating a carpet in the courtyard, the dull thumping booming through the halls.
Bas didn’t have a moment to spare.
12
Bas pinched the back of his hand under the table. He was exhausted, on the verge of collapse, and still the council hadn’t finished with him. They’d buried him in work, a thousand pressing matters which only he could handle, and all to keep him from Fiona. They were managing him like a child, dangling duty in his face to keep him distracted, and it was working. He hadn’t found a moment to advise her of the situation, much less apologize for his behavior.
“Your Majesty.”
“Yes.” He straightened up, frowning. Zaid was glowering at him, brows quivering. The man was older than the hills, already middle-aged when he’d come to court half a century ago. Bas should’ve replaced him as his first order of business, found someone who’d at least tried to keep up with the times, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that.
“Well? What are you going to do about it?”
He cleared his throat, loath to admit he’d been woolgathering. “Could you go over that again? I didn’t quite catch that last part.”
“I said that ward of yours has been wandering in the garden. What are you going to do?”
“Do? She isn’t a prisoner. If the fresh air gives her comfort—”
“What it gives is the wrong impression, a young woman walking the grounds on her own. Considering your indiscretion—”
“Which is none of your business—”
“On the contrary. It’s everyone’s business.” Yasir slid into the conversation, oily as ever. “You’re the king. You belong to us all. You set a path, and Al-Mifadhir follows. Would you have them follow you into lawlessness? What good are rules and values if even the king makes a joke of them?”
Bas glared. Yasir had a point. If Fiona were his betrothed, it’d be one thing, but she was his ward. Under his protection.
“It’s unheard of,” said Yasir, echoing his thoughts. “You’re her guardian. Her father trusted your father to find her a husband, and that duty now falls to you. Your…dalliance is expressly forbidden. It’s been taboo since our laws were first written, and for good reason. A guardian and his ward! Unheard of!”
Bas said nothing. Duty or no, he’d been put in an impossible position. Fiona was no child. She was his equal, a gorgeous, passionate, creative woman. Breaking this rule felt like the most natural thing in the world, but the taboos were real.
He had to get a grip.
“You’re toying with her future,” continued Yasir. “The scandal might look bad for you, but it would cost that girl everything.”
“I know.” He stood up abruptly. The room felt too small, the air thick with tension. “You’re right, of course. I’ll present her with the final candidates today. If that concludes our business?” Bas swept the table with a withering glare, daring any man to venture an opinion. When nobody did, he pushed back from the table.
“Just remember—”
“I know.” He stalked off, stiff-legged, scowling as his advisors rose to follow. He needed time alone, time to lick his wounds. Time to let go of what might have been.
You set a path, and Al-Mifadhir follows.
What path would he be setting, choosing his happiness over his kingdom? Fiona could never be his. He was deluding himself, pretending he could sacrifice duty for love.
Relief flooded Fiona’s heart as she caught sight of Bas. He’d been missing in action for days, ever since their night of passion, and she was tired of coming second, tired of this push and pull. She hurried to join him as he emerged from the council chamber.
“Bas! I couldn’t find you anywhere, and I thought—"
“Fiona!” He lowered his voice to a hiss. “What are you doing? You have to—”
“Oh, is this the young lady?” A white-bearded fellow emerged from behind him, peering at Fiona like she was some kind of exotic bug. “She’s quite comely,” he said. “I’m surprised you haven’t found her a match.”
Bas stiffened, but that was all. The old man was leering at her, gawping unabashedly, but Bas didn’t say a word.
Fiona crossed her arms over her chest, reddening under the scrutiny. “Bas? What is this?”
“Your Majesty, to you,” said another man, shouldering his way to the front. This one was younger, but not by much, and he regarded Fiona with open disdain. “Quite impudent, too. My granddaughter’s the same:
give her a choice and she’ll draw it out forever. Just hand her a name, tell her—”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, I think you should excuse yourself.” The whitebeard pursed his lips. “This is a place of business.”
Fiona turned to Bas in disbelief. She’d thought he cared, at least enough to defend her from a direct insult.
But all he said was, “Enough, gentlemen, Fiona. We’ll speak later.”
“It seems I’ve interrupted Your Majesty,” she said. “Excuse me.” She gave a curt nod, the barest bob of her chin, and took her leave. Her eyes stung, but she held back her tears. Bas didn’t deserve them. He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was, the man she imagined she’d glimpsed in the gardens, and again in her suite. She’d had it backward all along. The real Bas was the king, the man who’d always choose his crown over his wife. Being his would be the prison she’d always feared, a marriage as empty as her parents’.
When he didn’t come after her, it was almost a relief.
13
Fiona tried a bite of apricot cake. It tasted like nothing. Everything did. She set it back down and leaned back in her chair.
“Are you all right? Have some tea.” Edlyn poured her a cup, but Fiona didn’t need to taste it to know it wouldn’t help.
“Is it my brother? Has he said something stupid?”
“No.” Bas had been honest. It was Fiona who’d been stupid, letting herself get wrapped up in the fantasy. Even so, her heart leaped as Bas stepped onto the balcony.
Edlyn reached for the teapot. “Are you joining us?”
“Not today.” He looked past them, out to the garden. “Fiona? Might we speak in private?”
“In private?” She blinked dizzily. It was like all the color had rushed back into the world at once, and it was blinding. Could he have seen the error of his ways? Maybe she’d judged him too harshly. He’d been caught in an awkward position, between her and his council. He’d panicked, forgotten—
“Fiona?”
“Of course.” She rose and followed him, heart pounding. He’d come for her in person, all nervous and tense. He wouldn’t do that just to reject her again. This had to mean he’d seen what she’d seen, the hint of a future they couldn’t pass up.
He wouldn’t propose so soon. That would be unseemly. But a courtship, a public announcement, that would make sense. He’d needed time, that was all, time to clear it with his advisors. Time to quiet any hint of a scandal.
Bas ushered her into his office and sat down at his desk. “I’ve narrowed the names to three,” he said. He pulled a folder toward him and thumbed it open. “You and Rashid seem to get along well; Abbas is a good choice. And Philippe of Monaco has expressed an interest, and with his patronage of the arts—”
Fiona reeled, ears ringing. Names? Rashid? She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and Bas wasn’t done.
“I can give you two weeks to choose, but no more. You’ll need time for a formal, if brief, courtship, then the wedding, of course. We can put that off till the last, and still come in under the wire.”
“The wedding…” Fiona sat down heavily. She felt faint. Spots danced in her eyes, and she blinked them away. Bas was still talking, but in her mind he was already handing her off to another man. And which one would it be? Rashid, still in college? Abbas, who’d barely finished mourning his first wife? Or Philippe of Monaco, and which one was he again? How long before the affairs started, the nights spent alone, the solitary dinners in her suite? She caught Bas’s eye, unable to conceal her hurt.
“What is it?” He flipped the folder closed. “Had you set your sights on someone else?”
She couldn’t believe he had to ask. “You,” she said. “Why can’t it be you?”
“Me…” Bas looked down at his hands. “I won’t pretend I haven’t entertained the idea. But I’m your guardian. There are rules. And your father’s will was clear. I can’t betray his trust.”
“So you’ll betray mine instead.”
Bas sighed, a harsh and ragged sound. “Believe me, I’ve wrestled with this every which way. Nothing would please me more than to offer you everything that’s mine. But I keep coming back to one thing: if a ruler can’t hold himself in line, what hope is there for his people? If I break this taboo—”
“What taboo?” Fiona bit her tongue to keep from shouting. “I’m an adult. So are you. Where’s the shame in falling in love?”
“You’re still my ward,” said Bas. He stood and went to the window, clasping his hands behind his back. “I might regret this forever, but my mind is made up.”
“Then so is mine.” Fiona rose as well and drew herself up to her full height. “You can call off the hunt: I won’t marry a man I don’t love. I’ll leave your care a single woman.”
“You can’t.” Bas leaned his forehead on the glass. “Unless you’d also leave penniless, with no home to call your own.”
Fiona’s throat closed up. “What are you talking about?”
“Did you never wonder why you weren’t called to the reading of your father’s will?”
A chill coursed through Fiona’s body, freezing her in place. She hadn’t wondered. She’d assumed it was a kindness, as the will was a formality. The reading had come the day of the funeral, the day they’d buried two empty caskets. There’d been nothing left of her parents, nothing left of their plane but a black streak down the mountainside, and she’d wanted nothing more than to retreat from the spectacle.
“Tell me,” she croaked.
“You’re to be engaged by your twenty-eighth birthday, and married within thirty days of it, or your estate will be divided among your father’s favorite charities, with smaller shares for your cousins. Your mother left you what she had, free of conditions, but it’s hardly enough to leave the country, let alone start a new life.”
“So I never had a choice.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you couldn’t have mentioned this before?”
“His will forbade it. He wanted you to be obedient for obedience’s sake, not for the money.” He turned to face her, his expression softening. “I can’t marry you. I must be seen to obey the rules. But in this, between the two of us… I can keep you from poverty. No one has to know.”
“My noble king.” She chuckled, disbelieving. “And my loving father. Even in death, he controls my life.”
“With your refusal to pick a husband, I had no choice but to tell you. I hoped…” Bas reached for her hand, but Fiona jerked away. “I’m sorry. I really am. But you deserved to know the truth.”
“And now I do.” She took a stiff step back. “Will that be all?”
“Fiona…”
“Thank you for trying to preserve the last of my illusions,” she said. “And for all your efforts on my behalf. But the day I come of age will be the day I leave Al-Mifadhir, inheritance or no inheritance.” She turned to go, eyes stinging. Bas started after her.
“Wait. Fiona. Where will you go?”
“What does it matter? Once I’m twenty-eight, I’m no longer your concern.”
“But I—”
“No.” She shook him off and fled his study. He followed her this time, but she broke into a run. There was nothing left to say, and worse still, she wasn’t sure she could hold back her tears. She couldn’t bear Bas trying to console her, not after the blow he’d just dealt her.
This pain was hers alone, and so was whatever came next.
14
Fiona reached for the fancy little clock and hesitated. Was there even any point in taking it with her? It had belonged to her father, like the rest of the decorations she’d brought from home. Would she be expected to return them when her birthday rolled around? How about her dresses, bought with family money? Nothing in her suitcase was truly hers, but soon her life would be. She was taking it back, no matter the cost, and the first step was getting out of this prison.
She scrubbed at her eyes, furious. Her father didn’t deserve her tears, but they kept coming all the same. She’d th
ought he loved her, thought he always would. Even when he’d dismissed her painting as child’s play, her studies as frivolous, she’d thought there was humor in it, a sort of gruff teasing. He’d been a generous man, and he’d taught her to give—taught her by example. He’d founded schools, funded research, but when it came to his own daughter, his kindness came with strings.
Fiona dropped to her knees and buried her face in her hands. It hurt more than she’d have thought possible. Her chest hurt and her stomach hurt, and a dull ache had settled behind her eyes. She’d cried through the night and resolved to be done with it, but this was like losing her father all over again. Saying goodbye to the man she’d thought she knew.
She straightened up and dabbed at her eyes. The sooner she got out of here, the sooner she could put all this behind her. Bas too, though the thought of that had her welling up again. She’d always planned to leave, but this felt too final. She’d never see him again, she was sure. He’d be angry—his ward slipping out without permission would be breaking all the rules. He wouldn’t forgive her, and soon enough, he’d forget her.
She pulled her white dress off its hook, the one she’d worn the night of the party. If she’d known that night would be the last she’d spend in his arms, she wouldn’t have slept. She’d have stayed up and listened to Bas breathe, etched every line of his face in her memory.
“Miss Nadide?” Somebody tapped at her door, three quick raps. “Miss Nadide, are you in there? You have a visitor in the dayroom.”
Fiona scowled. This was all she needed. “Who is it?”
“Rashid al-Abadi, miss. He hoped you’d join him for a walk.”
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her pale cheeks, her bloodshot eyes. Rashid was just what she needed—no pressure, no heartbreak, just his goofy cheerfulness. “Give me fifteen minutes,” she said. “Serve him tea and cakes and tell him I won’t be long.”
