by Maisey Yates
He ignored the tightening in his gut. He could not focus on that. He had to focus on getting through this day.
He turned and faced the mirror, tightening the black tie he wore. When given the option, he had chosen a Western-style suit for the day, seeing as he was marrying a Western woman. He had thought hard about it. Because he cared deeply for his people and for their traditions.
But in the end, it was Olivia he had dressed for.
He had no idea of what she might wear. Part and parcel to his avoidance of her, both in the past couple of weeks, and completely today, as she had informed him coolly during their last brief encounter, that it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the day of the wedding.
He had not told her then that he didn’t believe in luck. Because she very clearly did, and he did not want to hurt her feelings again. He’d been very put out by the fact that he had. In addition to lacking sensibilities, Tarek also imagined that he lacked feelings. His soft, pretty fiancée most certainly possessed more than he did.
Naturally, he did not know how to consider them, as nothing inside him reflected her internal workings. Which meant he would simply have to watch. And he would have to try. He could not trust his dealings with the woman to be intuitive.
The door to his chamber opened slowly and his advisor appeared. “It is time, my sheikh.”
For the first time in memory, Sheikh Tarek al-Khalij felt fear. For today, he would not face down an enemy, but a bride. His bride.
However, much like an enemy attack, it was not something that could be waylaid.
“I am ready.”
* * *
Olivia adjusted her heavy veil, trying to quiet the pounding of her heart she readied herself to walk down the aisle. To pledge herself to a man she still felt she barely knew.
Strange that she was so conscious of that with Tarek. She had to confess, standing there now in her ornate gold-and-white gown, that she wasn’t entirely certain she and Marcus had known each other any better.
What Tarek lacked was the ability to let those around him see just enough that they might be fooled into thinking they knew him. She and Marcus had shared certain things freely. Smiles, their bodies, small talk. Easy conversation. Neither of them ever asked difficult questions. Neither of them had ever asked questions at all.
She shoved that thought aside. This was not the time to think about Marcus.
Though, really, it was inevitable that she would. Think about the other man who had been her husband on the day she was ready to marry another. Maybe, if she was in love with Tarek, she wouldn’t.
As it was, it was difficult not to draw comparison. To grasp at something to make the situation feel less foreign. To recall her other wedding day in an attempt to make this one feel less significant. It was a cheap trick that even she saw through, and yet, that wouldn’t stop her from trying it.
She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and her heart sank down low. This was so different in every way. There was no way she could use the fact that this was her second wedding to calm her nerves. If anything, highlighting the differences between the two only made this feel more terrifying.
She recalled the bespoke gown she’d worn the first time. It had made headlines around the world. Had set a trend for weddings for the next year.
This gown was weighted down with the tradition of the nation. Long sleeves, intricate embroidery, a thick belt just beneath her breasts, also gold. In so many ways the difference in gown symbolized the difference between the two unions. The other, light, showy, focused on the couple. This one heavy. Focused squarely on the need of Tahar.
And of yourself. Let’s not start pretending you’re too altruistic.
All right, she wouldn’t pretend she was being completely selfless. She quite wanted a place in life. A little bit of security. A purpose.
And then there was...him.
She was so attracted to him. But now that sleeping with him wasn’t a spontaneous thing, she found she was quite nervous about it. Now it was the finish line to a marathon of the day, and that put it in a slightly different light than the natural progression of a kiss, or a touch.
Also in keeping with the theme. Everything concerning Tarek was weighty.
“Sheikha?”
Olivia turned, surprised that Melia was already addressing her as such. The servant inclined her head, betraying no nerves in spite of the import of the event.
“They are ready for you.”
Olivia nodded, wishing she had opted to carry a bouquet. Something, anything to do with her hands.
Alas, she had nothing. So she gripped the front of her skirt, lifting it slightly as she walked through the halls toward the small sanctuary that was in a different wing of the palace.
Her throat suddenly grew tight, a pulse beating in her head. She had to close her eyes against it.
She had no connections in there. Her parents...well, they weren’t coming. Not a huge surprise, but the phone call last night had still left her nearly hollow with pain.
Emily wasn’t well. Emily couldn’t stand the heat and the dust. It was hardly fair to leave her...
And Olivia had said she understood, of course, because it was all she had said for years.
Only once had she fought back.
Her fifteenth birthday. She’d told them she would make the cake; she would make dinner. They just had to be there.
But they hadn’t been. Because Emily had been hospitalized and they’d visited her instead. And she’d been so angry. They’d stayed with Emily all evening. She’d been broken over it. Something in her shattering that had never quite been repaired after.
When she breathed in too deeply, she swore she could still feel it. Lodged like a barb deep in her chest.
How dare you miss this? I asked for this. Just this!
It isn’t as though we want your sister bedridden in a hospital, Olivia. Have some sensitivity. You will have all of your birthdays. You’ll grow up. You’ll marry. What will Emily have? How long does she have?
They’d been right. And whatever she’d been feeling... She hadn’t had any right. And as isolated as she’d felt before she’d poured her emotions out in front of her mother and father, she’d felt even more so after.
Because when they looked at her after that, all they saw was her selfishness. They had an ill daughter. They’d needed her to carry the weight. To be as happy and self-contained as she could be, and she’d failed.
She’d stepped outside her position, and after that had found no place at all.
Olivia swallowed hard.
She faced a room empty of her own connections. The only person there she knew would be the man she was pledging her life to, and as she had only just been thinking, she barely knew him.
The ornate doors to the sanctuary were closed, and Olivia paused in front of them, waiting for them to swing open, as she knew they would. She had discussed this briefly with the wedding coordinator. She knew already there would be very few people in attendance. Nobility, members of the Bedouin tribes, a few approved members of the press and palace staff. It would be nothing like that first wedding with thousands of attendees, where the world had been watching.
But there had been something insulating about that. So many people it had seemed surreal. They had all blended into one.
She had been floating on a cloud that day, insulated by her happiness. There was no insulation today. Only the stark reality of the cold stone walls around her and the imposing doors in front of her.
Doors that suddenly parted, revealing the small crowd, and the man that she was meant to bind herself to.
What surprised her was how immediately everyone else faded. Her eyes were locked on Tarek. He owned her focus, her attention. He was the reason she took that first step forward, and the next. She was
certain of this, she realized, looking at him. But this wasn’t the giddy certainty of a girl imagining she had finally found that sense of love and belonging she had always fantasized about. This was different.
He was different.
She locked eyes with him, drawn ever nearer by the black flame burning there. He was magnificent. A modern-day warrior born of the desert sand. He was strength personified. And yet again, he was in one of those maddening, perfectly tailored suits that made a mockery of the entire concept of civility. Showed it for what it was. A cloak, a weakness. A construct used by those too frightened to reveal their true selves.
That was, she realized in that moment, one of the things she admired most about Tarek. He did not hide himself. She doubted he even knew how.
She arrived at the front of the room, and the clergyman presiding over the ceremony began to speak in Arabic. She had only a base understanding of the language, allowing the words to wash over her in a wave, the gist of them penetrating, but not the fine meaning. She had read a transcript of what would be said today, so she had a fair idea of what would be asked of her in terms of vows, of what those in attendance were hearing now.
She would have to learn her new language. Would have to become a part of this nation as she had become part of Alansund.
In many ways, she felt it had already become a part of her. She felt the change.
She repeated her vows slowly, in the phonetic Arabic she had memorized while reading the ceremony, with help from Melia. She kept her eyes focused on the ground as she did, her lungs tight, growing tighter still whenever she looked up and met Tarek’s gaze.
When she finished speaking, it was his turn.
But he did not repeat the vows they had learned. And he did not speak in Arabic.
“I am a man of the sword,” he said slowly, the grave intent in his words drawing her focus upward. “And I now pledge this blade to you. I will empty my veins before I allow one drop of your blood to be spilled. You are one of mine now, as this country is mine. And I will give all to defend and protect, and to destroy any who should seek to destroy you. Just as you belong to me, now I belong to you. I pledge my loyalty, my body, to yours. And never will I share what is meant to belong to us with any other. I shall honor your gift, the gift you give of yourself, and never misuse it. I have sworn to protect, to uphold the honor this country was founded on. Thus, I shall protect you. Thus, shall I treat you with the highest honor.”
He reached out and took her hand in his. She was conscious of how small, how pale it looked, concealed entirely by his. He held her tightly, his black eyes never leaving hers, cementing the vow, one she felt all the way down to her soul.
Suddenly her promises seemed so shallow. So empty. What had she done but repeat words spoken to her? Words she barely understood.
That was very like her first marriage.
A marriage where she had chosen the thinnest facade of connection over any sort of true intimacy and all the deep, exposing terror that came with it.
So she’d stayed on the surface. And she was ashamed now in the face of his sincerity.
What Tarek had said, those were vows. A pledge from the depth of his being.
She was honored. She was not worthy.
But she wanted it. Wanted it with a ferocity that shocked her.
Maybe it was time to stop being shocked by how many feelings Tarek seemed to call out of her with effortless ease.
Then he released her, and as a blessing was pronounced on them she found herself being led back down the aisle she had just come up, all eyes in the room on them, somber expressions all around. She’d been told to expect that, too. The reception would be the place for festivities. This ceremony was treated with all seriousness.
When they exited the sanctuary, Melia was waiting for them.
“The feast will be served in the grand hall,” she said. “If you go there now, you can take your seats and await the celebrations.”
Olivia took hold of Tarek’s hand and they started to walk down the corridor together. A sense of belonging filled her. She looked to the side, at the man who had become her husband, and her heart felt as if it had grown two sizes. This was something deeper. Something more.
The sort of thing she’d been afraid to reach for all these years. Right here. Right beside her.
He looked at her, his brow raised. “Yes?”
“Just letting it sink in.”
“That we are married?”
“Yes. That this is my home. That you’re my husband. All of it.”
He stopped, taking hold of her other hand and turning her so that she was standing facing him, his expression fierce. “Why? What is it you want? I spent the past two weeks looking at pictures of your old life and Alansund.”
Her stomach tightened. “Why?”
“To understand you.”
“You could have spoken to me.”
He lifted a shoulder, dismissing her words. “The photographs I looked at conveyed much. And so I’m curious, why would you leave all of that to come here?”
Her throat constricted, making words all but impossible. “Because it isn’t there anymore. There is no place for me. I know we haven’t had a chance to talk about this. I don’t...I don’t like to talk about the past. I don’t have a lot of happy things there.”
He raised his brows, his dark eyes full of something...understanding, maybe? Which was so strange she could hardly stand it. “I have some idea of what that might be like. Will you tell me?”
“My sister was ill. She is ill. She’s had a terrible autoimmune disease since we were children. My parents spent years of their lives in hospitals. Even now, she’s very fragile. Truthfully, she’s lucky to have lived as long as she has. But that meant that my life was solitary. Very often I was at home while they attended clinical trials. While Emily was hospitalized. It’s just one reason I felt so suited to palace life. The house was always full. I quite like that. And Marcus had a way of making everything feel easy. Fun. Bright. I didn’t have much experience of that. I’m afraid of being alone. I don’t like it. I don’t like feeling displaced. Like I’m an incidental. Because I’ve had too much of it.
“Emily can’t help it. I hate even saying any of this. It isn’t her fault. It isn’t my parents’ fault. And I found a way to fix all of that. It’s just that...Marcus died. And there isn’t a place for me there anymore, and it’s nothing but that yawning, horrible feeling of being extra. I tried to... There was this man who was a diplomat for Alansund and I tried to make things work with him, but it barely got past hello. I felt... I hate feeling like I failed in my duty. Like I didn’t hold up my end.”
She thought of that horrible moment. The birthday party. When she’d yelled at her parents for not caring. When they’d looked at her as though she’d failed in her unspoken duty. To be content with neglect, because she had health. She had never felt so broken. “So when Anton suggested this as a solution, I jumped at it. That’s why I’m here. At least here I matter.”
She couldn’t quite fathom why all of that had come spilling out. She had never even talked to Marcus about it like that. Oh, he had known about Emily’s condition, but she had never spoken to him about how it made her feel.
But Marcus had never asked.
Tarek put his hand on her cheek, the gesture so shocking she froze, her eyes wide. “You are needed. Know that.”
With that, he lowered his hand, continuing to walk with her down the corridor. The ache in her chest deepened, widened, a crack in a wall she hadn’t been aware of until recently.
She didn’t have time to ponder it too deeply. They entered the dining hall to find it glowing from floor to ceiling. The chandeliers were lit; candelabras lined the room. Flowers wound around everything. There was nothing restrained about any of this. It was an explosion of joy, of color. And since
Olivia couldn’t muster up any of her own joy, she appreciated it blooming around her.
At the head of the low table were cushions in red, gold and blue, awaiting herself and Tarek.
“This is beautiful. I’ve never been to a party like this,” she said.
It reminded her very much of that birthday party again. But people were here. And it was glittering and full. So she would focus on that.
“Nor have I.”
She followed him to their positions, taking a seat beside him. Questions formed in her mind, hovering on her lips. She had just shared some of herself. And she wanted very much to try to get him to share his own experiences.
“How is that possible? Why were you out in the desert?”
Guests began filing into the room, more than had been in the ceremony. She had known this would be the case, too. There was also a feast outside the walls of the palace, food being given freely to the citizens of Tahar to celebrate the marriage of their sheikh.
Along with guests, musicians came in, music filling the space, echoing off the ceiling and the jeweled walls. In time with the music, platters of food came next, and her question was lost in the noise and shuffle.
She picked at a bit of spiced lamb on her plate, unable to muster up any appetite.
She looked over at Tarek, who was sitting with one leg curled beneath him and the other bent at the knee, his elbow resting on top of it as he made quick work of the food on his plate. He trained dark, serious eyes on her. “I was in the desert because my brother feared what I would become if I was here.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was not until recently that I realized just who he was. What he was doing to our country. It was not until recently I realized that he was very likely the one who’d orchestrated the assassination of my parents.”
His hard blank words hit her like bricks. One after the other. And she was barely able to recover from the first blow when a second arrived.
“I think he was afraid I would know. I think he was afraid of what I would do. So he broke my will. Filled my head with his teachings. His truths. Sent me away where I could be of no threat. To guard the borders. To protect his evil empire while he reduced it to ash from within.” He took another bite of food. “I have been slowly coming awake for years. Slowly coming into understanding.” He looked at her, his gaze so cold it sent a shiver down her spine. “He turned me into a creature. Tortured me until I knew nothing but pain and his words. I am what I was made to be. I doubt I will ever be anything else.”
