by Maisey Yates
“That is not what I’m saying, Samarah,” he said. “Hell. I didn’t know…. I didn’t…”
“Because in so many ways, you are the innocent here, Ferran. I have lived in the dark. You only played in it for the afternoon.”
“The thing about something like that is that it never leaves you,” he said. “On that you can trust me. You know, even if you’ve cleaned blood it shows beneath fluorescent lights. That’s how I feel. That no matter how many years pass, no matter how clean I think I am, how far removed…it doesn’t ever really go away. The evidence is there. And all I can do is make sure I never become the man I was in that moment ever again.”
“This is one of the many things about my association with you that troubles me, Ferran,” she said, grabbing her braid and twisting it over her shoulder.
“Only one? Do you have a list?”
She lifted her brows. “It’s quite long. I made it last night. About what I want. About what all this means for me. And about what I find problematic about you.”
“Is it a physical list?”
She nodded. “But this is just one of the things. Before you, everything was black-and-white to me. I hated you for what you did. I didn’t have to know your side. I didn’t have to see multiple angles. I just had to know you were responsible for the death of my father. But now I know you. Now I’ve heard your side. I should hate you more, knowing you ended my father’s life, and yet I find it only makes me feel worse for you. Because coupled with it, comes the revelation that my father killed your mother. That you saw it. That…in your position, I would have acted the same, and that in many ways, had you not made him pay for what he’d done, I would have judged you a coward.”
“I should have had him go to trial, Samarah. That would have been the right thing to do in the black-and-white world. In the one I aspire to live in.”
“I think of that day like being in the middle of a war zone. It’s how I remember it. I was just a child, and I saw very little. I was so lucky to be protected. My mother ensured that I was protected though…have you ever considered my father would have come for us next? For her? Would he have come for me too, Ferran, ultimate vengeance on my mother, if you hadn’t acted as you did?
“Samarah…you’re assigning heroism to me, and that is one thing you should never do. It’s conjecture. Who knows what would have happened?”
“Yes, who knows? I only know what did. But now I know it from more angles. I miss my blinding conviction. The less I knew, the easier it all was. I could just…focus on one thing in particular.”
“Your rage for me.”
“Yes. And I could move forward, using that as my target. And now? Now everything has expanded and there are so many more possibilities. For what my life could be. For what I could do with myself and my purpose. But it’s scarier, too.”
“Scarier than gaining access to my palace? Being thrown in a dungeon? Facing possible trial?”
“Yes. Because when I was in that state I didn’t want anything. I had accepted that I would probably die carrying out my mission, and that meant an end to… Life has been so hard. I’ve had no great love for it. But you came in and you offered me more, and the moment you did…things started to change. Now…now I don’t want to turn away. I don’t want to go back to how it was. And yet…and yet in some ways I do. It makes no sense to me, either.”
He laughed. It was an absurd thing to do under the circumstances. Neither he nor Samarah had anything to laugh about. And yet, he couldn’t help it. It was as if she was discovering emotions for the first time. Discovering how contrary it could be to be human.
“Is this your first experience with such confusion?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Emotions are wobbly. Conviction isn’t.”
“I’m very sorry to have caused you…feelings.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m…sorry in many ways to be experiencing them. Though not in others. Really, is it always like this?”
“Not for me,” he said. “I’m not overly given to emotion.”
“I suppose you aren’t. Though, passion seems to be a strong suit of yours.”
“No, it’s a weakness.”
She let out a long breath. “You’re getting off topic. I have my list.” She reached into the pocket of her athletic shorts and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Now that I’m not merely surviving, there are some things I would like. I would like to be comfortable,” she said, unfolding the paper and looking at it. “I would like to be part of something. Something constructive. Something that isn’t all about breaking a legacy, but building a new one.”
“Lofty,” he said, standing, his stomach tightening as he looked at her, his beautiful, brave fiancée, who didn’t seem to be afraid of anything, least of all him. She should be. She should have run. He’d given her the chance and she had not.
Why had she not run? Any normal woman would have turned away from him. From the blood on his hands.
She should be afraid.
He moved nearer to her, fire burning through his blood. A flame to alcohol, impossibly hot and bright. She should be afraid. He wanted to make her afraid. Almost as badly as he wanted her to turn to him and lean in, press her lush body against his chest.
“Is that your entire list?” he asked.
“No,” she said, her voice steady. “I want to feel like I have a life. Like I have…”
“Sex,” he said, leaning in, running his thumb over the ridge of her high cheekbone. “Is sex on your list?”
He let his hand drift down the elegant line of her neck, resting his palm at the base of her throat. He knew that she wouldn’t fear his wrath. She would fight him to the death if need be. Here was where he had the undisputed upper hand. Here was where his experience trumped hers.
He felt her pulse quicken beneath his thumb. “I don’t know.”
“If you stay, there is no option, do you understand?” He slid his thumb along her tender skin. “You are my prisoner in many ways.”
And it was true. A hard truth that settled poorly.
“It is better than the streets,” she said, arching a brow.
“A high compliment,” he said.
“It is,” she said. “For in the beginning, I would have said death was better than this.”
“Oh, my little viper.” He moved his hand upward and cupped her jaw. “You are so honest.”
“I am not,” she said.
“Your eyes. They tell me too much.” Liquid, beautiful and dark as night, they shone with emotion. Deep. Unfathomable. But the presence of that emotion twisted at his gut. Convicted him.
“Do not trust me, Samarah,” he said, his voice rough. “I don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
“See that you don’t. You may be a warrior. You may be a strong fighter. You may not hesitate to cut my throat…now. But in the bedroom, I have the experience.”
“Sixteen years celibate,” she said.
He wrapped one arm around her waist and drew her to him, holding her chin tight, pressing her breasts tight to his chest. “And yet,” he said. “I had the power over your body. Do you deny it?”
Dark eyes shimmered, her cheeks turning pink. She caught her breath, pressing her breasts more firmly against him. “No,” she said, her voice choked.
Oh, Samarah. She revealed too much to him.
He wanted to press her back against the wall, wanted to take her. To show her that he was not a man to toy with. To prove he wasn’t a man to trust.
He released her, moved away from her. The distance easing his breath. “Now, unless you’re planning on wearing workout clothes to meet with the event coordinator, you may want to go change.”
“Yes, I may. Thank you. How thoughtful.” She turned away from him, head down, and walked ou
t of the room.
The twisting sensation in his gut intensified. He was her jailer. Not her fiancé. Being with her…it was akin to force.
He gritted his teeth as pain lashed through his chest. No. He would not force her. He had not. What had happened last night could not be changed, but the future could. At the very least, he would begin showing her the respect a sheikha was due.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SAMARAH HUNG OUT in the corridor, listening to the sounds of people inside the grand ballroom of the palace. She was still a little bit nervous in large gatherings like this. More so now that she was a focal point for attention. And she felt as if there was nowhere to hide.
As palace staff, no one had noticed her. As the sheikh’s fiancée? Yes, she was certainly going to be noticed. Especially in the green-and-gold gown that had been sent for her. It had yards of fabric, the skirt all layered, billowing folds. The sleeves went to her elbows, sheer and beaded, with matching details on the bodice, disappearing beneath the wide, gold belt that made her waist look impossibly small. It also kept her posture unreasonably straight, since it was metal.
A matching chain had been sent for her hair, an emerald in the centerpiece that rested on her forehead. She did like the clothes, but less now when she felt so conspicuous. And without Ferran.
She relied on his presence much more than she’d realized until this moment. Of course, after she’d gone and read him her list she felt more than a little embarrassed to see him again.
Though, really, she’d been naked with him, so nothing should embarrass her with him now. It did, though, because he’d run afterward. Because, when they’d spoken earlier, his intensity had unsettled her.
He was right. In this, this need, he was the master. And he could easily use it against her.
How sobering to realize that if the sheikh of Khadra were to defeat her, it wouldn’t end in screams of terror, but in pleasure.
Just then, she saw him. Striding down the hall. He was wearing white linen pants and a tunic, his concession to traditional dress. She’d noticed that he never seemed to bother with robes.
She didn’t feel so conspicuous now. Because surely everyone’s eyes would be on Ferran. He was taller than most men, so he always stood out for that reason. But he was also arrestingly handsome. She’d kissed his lips, touched his face, his body. And she was still struck to the point of speechlessness by his beauty.
Or maybe it was even more intense now. Because she’d been with him. Because she knew what wicked pleasure his perfect lips could provide. Because she knew what a heaven it was to be in his strong arms, to be held against his muscular chest.
“You’re late,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her.
He paused, his dark eyes assessing. “You’re beautiful.”
She blinked hard. He’d said that to her before. But for some reason it hit her now, how rarely she’d heard that in her life. Not when it was said in a nonthreatening tone. Men on the streets had called out to her, but they had frightened her. Her father and mother had called her beautiful, but when she was a child.
Ferran said it to her just because. Because he believed it. Because it was what he saw when he looked at her. And for some reason, just then, it meant the world to her.
“Thank you,” she said. “I think you’re beautiful, too.”
“I’m not often called beautiful,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting.
“Well, neither am I.”
“That will change.”
“Have you accepted than I’m not leaving you?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said, holding his arm out to her.
She took a step forward and curled her fingers around his forearm. “You have my word,” she said. “My word is good. I want you to know that, at first, I didn’t intend to marry you.”
“Is that so?”
“I intended to bide my time. And carry out my plan.”
He tightened his hold on her, his other hand crossing his body and settling over hers. “I had a feeling that might be the case.”
“But it’s not the case now. I will marry you,” she said. “I will be your wife. And I will not leave you. So don’t try to scare me away. You’ll only be disappointed.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Because I do not scare. And just because I don’t intend to kill you doesn’t mean I won’t punch you in the face.”
“I’ll endeavor to avoid that,” he said. “Are you ready to go in?”
“What are we supposed to do?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Wave. Eat some canapés. Dance.”
“I have never danced with anyone.”
“I’ll lead,” he said. “You have nothing to worry about. You are strong, Samarah, I do know that. But there’s no shame in letting someone else take control sometimes. It can even be helpful.”
“All right. In the bedroom and on the dance floor, you may lead,” she said, testing him. He had tried to prove his power over her earlier, and while he had done so, while he had left her quivering, aching and needing in a way she hadn’t thought possible, she rebelled against it. She wanted to push back.
Because if there was one thing in life Samarah didn’t understand, it was defeat. She had spent her life in a win or die battle, and as she was here, breathing, living, it was clear she had always won.
And that meant, in this moment, she was determined to keep fighting.
“We’ll discuss the bedroom later,” he said. “After our wedding.”
“What?” It was such a stark contrast to what he’d said earlier. To the implied promise in his words.
“We have to go in now.”
“Wait just a second. You said…”
“Did you think you were going to seize control back?” he said, dark eyes glittering. “You, and my body, no matter how it might ache for you, do not control me.”
His words, the intensity in his eyes, stopped her voice, stole her breath.
“You do not want me out of control,” he said, his face hard. “I remind you. Now, come with me.”
He led her into the ballroom, and as they drew farther in, nearer to the crowd of people, panic clawed at her. How was she supposed to smile now? How was she supposed to deal with all those eyes on her after what Ferran had just said?
They were formally announced, and Ferran lifted their joined hands, then bowed. She followed suit and dipped into a curtsy, shocked she remembered how, everything in her on an autopilot setting she hadn’t known she’d possessed. Her muscle memory seemed to be intact. Princess training obviously lurked in the back of her mind.
“Who are all these people?” she asked, still reeling from the change. From his uncivilized words in the hall to this venue that was all things tame and beautiful.
“Dignitaries, diplomats. From here and abroad. Anyone who feels they may have a political stake in our union.”
“Including the Jaharan rulers, I imagine?”
“Yes,” he said. “This is the first time they’ve been at a political event in Khadra since…”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“Already, we have done some good.”
“I guess that remains to be seen,” she said. “Just because they’re here doesn’t mean… Well, I guess I’m pessimistic when it comes to politics.”
“I can see how you would be.”
“But I can see that people are happy to be here. I feel like…I feel like this is good.”
They spent the next hour wandering through the party, making light conversation with everyone they came across. This wasn’t the time for any heavy-hitting, political negotiation, but everyone seemed very aware that it was the time to get on Ferran’s radar.
And people seemed to want to talk to her, as well. As if she carried inf
luence. As if she mattered. It was so very different to the life she’d had before she’d come here. So very different to the life she’d ever imagined she might have.
“Now,” Ferran said, “I think it’s time for you to dance with me.”
“I think I could skip the dancing,” she said, looking out across the expanse of marble floor, to where gorgeous, graceful couples twirled in circles, in eddies of silk and color. She doubted very much she would be that graceful. Martial arts was one thing. She kept time to the beat of the fight. Of her body.
She wasn’t sure if she could follow music.
“I will lead you,” he said. “As I think I’ve established.”
“So you have,” she said, but in this instance she was grateful.
Sex and dancing were Ferran’s domain, it seemed.
He led her through the crowd, and to the center of the floor. The other dancers cleared extra space for them, as if in deference to Ferran’s royal personage.
He grasped her hand, his arm curling around her back as he tugged her against his chest. She lost her breath then, captivated wholly by the look in his eyes. So dark and intense. Simmering passion. The kind he’d unleashed last night. The sort she craved again.
And he was telling her now that they would wait. That he could control himself.
She didn’t like it. It made her feel powerless. It…hurt her. And she would not have it.
She’d waited all of her life. She’d spent countless nights cold and alone, and she’d be damned if she’d spend any more that way, not now that she’d been with him.
“I think we need to discuss what you said in the hall,” she said.
“Which thing?”
“About abstaining until the wedding,” she said.
He looked around them. “Are we having this conversation now?”
“I take your point. However, you just said some very explicit things in the hall and then we were cut off. And I’m not done. I just thought I should tell you that I’m not doing that.”
