She was to be on show to the world tonight for the first time as Sheikha. The thought terrified her almost as much as being up at this height did.
‘Come and see the view. The window is bulletproof, shockproof—very safe, I assure you.’ Khal moved to knock one hand against the glass pane.
Cressida raised one hand instinctively. ‘There is really no need to demonstrate!’
A dimple appeared in the corner of his mouth again, that mischievous half smile that made her stomach flip. He braced one hand on the glass wall, shifting so that his weight leaned against it as he looked out into the distance. ‘You get a much better view of the coastline over here than from all the way across the room. Just a suggestion.’
He was utterly mad; that was the only explanation for it. Who on earth could manage to look so serene and relaxed while seeming to hover on the edge of falling to their death?
‘Is this your way of proving what a fearless leader you are? It’s really not necessary.’
‘I am simply trying to show you that you will not fall.’ He spoke with surprising softness as he turned to face her. ‘The danger exists only in your mind.’
In a few long strides he was beside her, taking her gently by the wrist. Her breath caught painfully in her throat at the heat of his skin on her own. She did not resist as he gently pulled her, step by torturous step, across the marble-tiled floor until she stood in the exact same spot as he had. He took her hand and placed her trembling palm against the cold glass. Cressida felt her insides tremble as she tried not to look down, focusing on the sensation of his hand still pinning her own in place.
‘Open your eyes.’ The command was gentle, but a command nonetheless. She gingerly fluttered one eyelid open, feeling as though her heart was about to beat straight out of her chest. He had not been lying when he said the view was better over here. On one side she could see the entire coastline stretching out into the distance, the sun sparkling on the water like a thousand diamonds. They were otherwise surrounded by a sea of sleek modern buildings and hotels, with the barest glimpse of unspoiled desert peeking out in the distance.
‘Just don’t look down.’ Khal’s voice came from somewhere near her ear as he removed his hand from hers and stood alongside her.
‘You just reminded me that there is a down to look at.’ She exhaled a little harder but resisted the urge to step back.
‘Your composure is effortlessly regal, Your Highness.’ She could hear the smirk in his voice as he placed one hand on the glass and faced away from her.
She couldn’t help but let the corner of her own mouth turn up. ‘I think all these brave masculine displays of royal window-leaning have reassured me.’
He turned to face her, a strange expression on his face. ‘Now, you see, describing it as brave and masculine strokes my ego. Why lessen the effect by making it a royal activity?’
‘I doubt most people would think that being royal lessens anything at all.’
‘Ah, but we know better, don’t we?’ he said softly, his gaze travelling down her body for a split second. He swallowed, a frown creasing his brow.
The way he used the word ‘we’ so easily, she could almost imagine for a moment that they were a normal couple sharing a quiet moment of intimacy. She looked away, feeling the acute sting of awareness that she was looking for something that would never exist. Strange that, no matter what situation she was in, this feeling was always familiar, like an itchy blanket. The feeling of wanting more from someone but knowing she would never have it. Feeling as if she should be grateful for whatever small sliver of attention she had been given. The old pain threatened to overwhelm her until a silky voice invaded her reverie.
‘Your mind has wandered away.’
Pulling herself back to the moment, she nodded, avoiding his gaze. ‘I must be tired,’ she offered, knowing she was lying but just wanting to retreat to her own space and analyse whatever she was feeling.
‘You should rest, then. We leave for the ball at eight.’
Cressida nodded, making a mumbled show of thanks as he escorted her to her bedroom door before practically darting from his side. With the door firmly closed between them, she leaned back against the solid wood and waited for her heartbeat to return to normal.
Suddenly she longed for the solitude of the palace and the comfort of not being in such close proximity to the man who set her heartbeat racing and her stress levels rising. It was just simple chemical awareness, she told herself. He was the only man she had ever been close to, the only man who had ever kissed her or touched her. She had been married for less than a month. There was still another four years and eleven months to survive.
* * *
Unsurprisingly, she spent the following few hours in a less than restful state. As the sun began to dip in the evening sky, Cressida forced a smile as she took in her reflection in the floor-length mirror of her dressing room. The dress her team had chosen for the ball was a deliberately Western-styled design of midnight-blue lace, elegant and figure-hugging. If she could have chosen a gown to wear upon her first formal occasion as Queen, she could not have chosen one more perfect than this.
The silhouette made her appear more womanly, without making her feel self-conscious. The delicate capped sleeves were adorned with tiny seed pearls and the tiniest glints of sapphire. The same gems adorned her ears and her wrist, designed in Monteverre she was told, which was a nice touch. East meets West, she thought wryly as she gave a little turn in the mirror. She looked up, noticing that the door had opened, and was met with the dauntingly attractive sight of her husband in his formal robes. The King, she corrected herself sternly. The more she thought of him as her husband, the harder it was to forget what she wanted to forget. Taking a couple of breaths before she turned, she steeled herself for the onslaught of simply being in his presence. They were not alone in the room by any means, surrounded by the remnants of her wardrobe team, her assistant and members of her security detail. And yet she felt overheated and on edge.
‘You look...beautiful,’ he said, sincerity in the deep baritone of his voice.
‘Thank you.’ Cressida bowed her head slightly, clasping her hands in front of her. ‘I thought we were meant to meet in the foyer?’
‘I thought it best that I escort you down myself.’ He extended his hand. ‘That is, if that is all right with you?’
Cressida fought the urge to roll her eyes at the strained formality of it all. Instead, she straightened her spine and placed her hand in his.
Apart from a near miss when her heel got caught in the train of her dress coming down the stairs, their entrance to the ball was utterly flawless, as planned. Cressida bowed and curtsied to various foreign dignitaries as needed, projecting what she hoped was an air of calm regal elegance when internally she felt far from it. Khal remained by her side as they were met with a queue of guests waiting for introductions to the new Queen of Zayyar.
As she’d expected, most of the guests commented on her appearance while choosing to compliment her husband on his most recent accomplishments. With her, they gushed over her designer jewellery and fawned over how utterly flawless her skin was. As though she had any control over the fact that her skin was pale and clear.
After a time, the smile she had pasted on her face began to hurt her cheeks so she simply stopped smiling. Apart from noticing Khal staring at her on a number of occasions, no one else seemed to notice. She was grateful when they sat down finally, having not eaten since breakfast in preparation for the event. Apparently it was customary to starve oneself before wearing a designer gown in order to achieve maximum leanness and avoid bloating. She had developed a new appreciation for what her sisters must have gone through in the past while she had avoided occasions such as this.
The menu was a mixture of traditional Zayyari meats and spices arranged in various European-style dishes. It was an ingenious incorporation of textures and
flavours on the part of the Michelin star chefs who had been employed for the occasion. But, honestly, she could have been eating plain porridge and it would have tasted like sweet ambrosia.
‘I see you have found your appetite.’
Cressida looked up, trying in vain to hide the gigantic mouthful of chicken she had just placed in her mouth. It was entirely impossible to appear ladylike or delicate when one’s mouth was full of food. Khal smiled, stifling laughter with his hand as he leaned close.
‘You will start a rumour that the King of Zayyar routinely starves his new bride.’
‘I forgot to eat,’ she said quickly, grabbing a napkin to dab the corners of her mouth. The man had barely spoken two words to her since escorting her into the banquet; of course he would choose now to begin a conversation. ‘I had hoped nobody was looking.’
‘I sincerely doubt that is the case. The entire gathering is captivated by you,’ he said in a low voice, leaning in so that it seemed perhaps that they were having an intimate moment. ‘You look...exceptionally regal this evening.’
Cressida felt a shiver run down her spine, having him so close, having his delicious scent invading her senses. The way he was looking at her, the depths of his dark eyes seeming to bore deep into her soul, she could not decide if he was continuing the show for the benefit of their guests or if perhaps he was feeling the same pull that she did, considering what had transpired between them a week ago. Or perhaps her hormones were simply not getting the message yet, she thought wryly.
Before he had a chance to dazzle her with any more of his flowery compliments, they were discreetly interrupted by one of Khal’s assistants. A quick conversation passed in hushed tones before Khal turned back to her, a crease furrowing his brow.
‘We are needed for a moment outside—nothing to worry about, just formalities.’ He extended his hand to her, making quiet apologies to the handful of guests at their table before escorting her out through a set of double doors and into a sitting room of sorts.
There were a handful more assistants waiting for them, each of whom began talking in Zayyari so quickly that Cressida found it difficult to even catch a single word she recognised.
‘English, please, for the benefit of your Queen,’ Khal said briskly.
Cressida’s eyes widened slightly at the tone he used. She had never heard him sound so impatient.
‘There has been a report in the media...’ one of the female assistants began, averting her eyes from Cressida’s worried gaze as she spoke.
The chief of the team, a man with greying hair and beady eyes, moved from the side of the room, a large file in his hands. ‘Your Highness, I apologise sincerely for disturbing your dinner, but protocol demands that you be alerted immediately to a report of this nature. When it is in the national interest.’ He extended the black file to Khal, who took it immediately, opening it and scanning it.
Cressida felt the slight ball of tension in her stomach turn into a full-blown quake as she watched Khal’s features turn from mild concern to disbelief before his gaze slowly rose to settle pointedly on her.
‘Leave us,’ he said quietly, his eyes never leaving her. It was the kind of quiet, firm voice he used when he was barely controlling his temper. The staff around him bowed their heads and left the room immediately, obeying their King’s orders.
Cressida fought the urge to turn tail and run. ‘What is it?’ she asked, hearing the tremor in her voice.
‘Why don’t you read it for yourself?’ He placed the file in her hands and turned his back to her, walking to the window, allowing her a moment.
Cressida scanned the file. It held an article dated that morning from an American publication, outlining very clearly a witness account to a royal scandal in the mysterious European kingdom of Monteverre. The royal scandal that had shaped her entire life.
Cressida felt a lump form in her throat as she took in the salacious headline in bold black ink.
Newly Crowned Queen of Zayyar’s Illegitimate Past: the secret behind the scandalous Sandoval family revealed.
The tremor in her stomach turned to full-blown nausea as she felt her breath leave her lungs. Well, here it was, the moment she had prayed would never come to pass. Perhaps it was simply a gossip article; perhaps it was one of those rare cases where the media actually got quite close to the truth by accident but didn’t actually have the evidence.
But, as she scanned through the rest of the article, she saw the name that haunted her. A name that she had found by chance at twelve years old, unknowingly setting the cogs in motion that would lead to her feeling ostracised and unwanted for evermore. She could still remember the smell of alcohol on her mother’s breath the day she had told her that she was the product of an affair. Unwanted. A shameful reminder of her own mistake.
‘Is this true?’ Khal asked, still facing out of the window.
‘Am I the shameful secret of the Sandoval royal family?’ she heard her own voice say, as though from far away. ‘Yes, unfortunately it’s true.’
Khal turned around, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. ‘You did not think to disclose this information upon our marriage?’
‘This information was never to be disclosed. My father... King Fabian, I mean, he and his team took extreme legal measures to ensure that it would never see the light of day.’ She felt cold, her skin prickling, her insides shaking. She couldn’t look at him; she couldn’t see whatever expression might be in his eyes as he looked at her.
‘Legal measures?’
‘As far as I understand, a very large amount of money has been paid annually to this man to keep his silence on the matter.’
‘Your biological father?’
Cressida nodded, the discomfort on hearing those words far too much for her to keep eye contact at all.
‘You read the article?’ A strange note had entered his voice. ‘The last paragraph in particular?’
Cressida picked the file up from where she’d laid it on the coffee table, scanning down to the end of the article. ‘Posthumous request?’ she said numbly. ‘He’s dead?’
‘The interview was released by his family, who are in control of his estate since his death, it seems.’
‘It says here that he passed away four years ago.’ Cressida shook her head. ‘Why release this now? If they were able to break his nondisclosure upon his death.’
‘Four years ago you were not the Queen of Zayyar,’ Khal said with cold derision.
Cressida took a deep breath, feeling it shudder into her lungs. She closed her eyes, trying to calm the panic that was rising swiftly inside her to a raging storm. ‘What are you going to do?’
Khal did not answer; instead he walked to the door and instructed his team to re-enter. The men and women filed in one by one, each one avoiding her eyes, but Cressida could feel them watching her. Judging her. All of a sudden the air was stifling in the sitting room.
‘I need to go to the restroom for a moment,’ she mumbled quietly, Khal barely looking her way as she slipped out of the door into the hallway beyond. Once alone, she lifted her dress up from the floor and moved quickly. She had no idea where she was going; she just had to get far away from the room full of knowing eyes that lay behind her.
CHAPTER NINE
‘WHAT IS THE PLAN?’ Khal addressed the head of his team. ‘We have a room full of foreign dignitaries and politicians. They each have assistants and smartphones and instant updates. It’s a fiasco.’
His head of PR spoke first. ‘I think you need to speak on the matter as soon as possible, Your Highness. The longer it is left unaddressed, the weaker our position.’
‘And what you propose I say, exactly?’ Khal half laughed. ‘This information comes just as much of a surprise to me as it would to them.’
‘Yes, but the world cannot know that. We must act as though the Sheikha’s parentage was known to you. That
it was a matter of delicacy that you chose not to disclose for your wife’s privacy.’
‘And what is Monteverre’s position on the matter?’ Khal asked, feeling his fists clench at the thought of King Fabian and his underhand measures. It was likely the man did not care one ounce that his daughter had been publicly humiliated in the media. She was no longer a Sandoval, after all.
In the short time that he had been acquainted with Cressida’s father, the man had shown him nothing but dishonesty and a ruthless greed that turned his stomach. King Fabian was not the kind of leader who put his people first. He was not even the kind of man to put his family first, given recent events.
And yet, when he had been contacted with the news that the youngest Princess was willing to accept the marriage, he had not hesitated to accept. Khal thought of the first night that he had met Cressida, once she had realised who he was, and he remembered her words. ‘It has always been part of my duty to my kingdom...’
He had asked her numerous times if she had been forced into accepting this marriage. He had wanted to make sure that she was not entering into their union under duress...
Ignoring the sudden niggling feeling in his stomach, he looked up just as one of the junior assistants entered the room.
‘The Sheikha has retired to her suite,’ the young woman said.
Khal raised one brow. ‘Retired? We are in the middle of a function.’
The young woman winced. ‘Her Highness was quite adamant that she would not be returning, Sire. I was simply asked to convey the message.’
‘I see.’ Khal stood, walking towards the door before he even knew what he had planned to do. ‘Keep the guests entertained. It seems I must retrieve my wife.’
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