by Maya Blake
‘A way to do what?’ He knew he was being unreasonable, but for the life of him, he couldn’t stop. He was floundering, hurting her, hurting himself in the process but there didn’t seem to be a life raft in sight, and with every moment that passed his anguish strangled him, making him hold tight to the one thing that he knew he couldn’t hold onto.
Niesha.
‘You promised me five years,’ he repeated, as if that would make her fall at his feet, and give him everything he wanted. When really, a greater part of him wanted it to be the other way round. But how could he, without leaving himself desperately exposed?
Slowly her regal head lifted, her eyes condemning him, challenging him to remain obstinate, to keep standing in her way. ‘I don’t recall signing any piece of paper saying you owned me for five years.’
He wasn’t sure why that statement both shocked and made him proud. He had already admitted his flaw in striking that bargain. A part of him applauded her for jumping through that wide loophole.
‘I’m aware that all we had was a verbal agreement,’ he stated. ‘But I still wish you to stand by it.’
Her shoulders sagged a little, but in the next moment she pulled herself back up. ‘Don’t push me, Zufar. You might not like the consequences.’ After a moment, her gaze softened. ‘But if you let me work this out on my own, perhaps we can find a solution that works for both of us.’
The only solution he wanted was her here under his roof, in his bed, at his side, bearing his children, loving them the way his mother had never loved him.
‘Three days. That’s all I ask. Surely you can give me that?’
Could he? Already he felt emptier than he’d ever felt in his life, and she was standing right there in front of him.
Zufar didn’t know where he found the strength to nod. ‘Of course. Go with my blessing.’
The realisation terrified him that despite everything he’d said he meant it. Because wasn’t that something his father would have done? Ripped out his organs if his mother had asked?
‘Thank you,’ his Queen said, her gaze searching his.
For signs of his obsession, perhaps?
He clenched his jaw, attempting to neutralise his expression. ‘You’ll let me know of your travel plans once they’re finalised?’
She nodded.
He left her in the conference room, calmly walked out even though he wanted to bellow to the skies; to rip himself inside out just so he could reach the pain inside that was decimating him. The walk to his office was the longest he’d ever taken.
Once he was there, he strode to his desk and sank into the chair.
He couldn’t even take three days of separation. How would he take a lifetime? Because he knew that was coming too. Unless something changed drastically, Niesha would be out of his reach even before their child was born.
He slammed his fist on the desk, his thoughts churning a thousand miles an hour. Sunset came and went and still he had no solution. When the door to his office opened without announcement from his private secretary, he nearly snarled.
He managed to bite it back when he saw Malak framed in the doorway.
‘I’m hearing all sorts of juicy gossip about you and your new bride, brother,’ Malak drawled.
‘You know very well what’s happening. Your private secretary received the same memo I sent to Galila and Father.’
Malak shrugged as he strolled over to the drinks cabinet and poured two fingers of cognac into crystal glasses. Returning to Zufar’s desk, he slid one across the smooth surface. Then he sprawled himself in the chair across the desk.
‘I have to say, your new wife is turning out to be quite the surprise, isn’t she? I admit, I wasn’t very impressed in the beginning, but—’
‘Watch yourself, brother,’ Zufar warned.
Malak held up one hand as he sipped his drink. ‘No disrespect meant, brother. But I’m not the one who harped on about wanting some peace and quiet around here, only to turn around and start tossing dynamite like it was a party favour.’
‘Did you come here to make a specific point or are you just here to annoy me? If it’s the latter, then bravo, you are succeeding.’
Malak laughed. ‘I came to offer you whatever help you need. I may be the selfish playboy the tabloids like to portray me as, but underneath this handsome exterior lives a semi-decent heart that’s bleeding for you right now.’
The words were laced with so much amusement, Zufar’s irritation mounted. ‘You claim you want to help, but all I see is you sitting there drinking my cognac.’
Malak waved a gracious hand. ‘Tell me what you need and I will do my best to give you a simple yay or nay.’
Zufar stared into the amber shadows of his drink, two words ticking over and over in his head. Three days. He’d agreed to three days. Would she come back? What would he do if she didn’t?
‘Or I can leave you to brood into your drink?’ Malak suggested.
Zufar stood and paced to the window, that feeling of being turned inside out surging to breaking point. He tossed back his drink, then his gaze dropped to the rose garden below his window. He stared at the perfect flowers, his thoughts churning.
After several minutes, his brother joined him, his gaze zeroing in on the same place. ‘Why didn’t she love us?’ Malak asked in a thick, heavy voice.
Zufar was unprepared for the question, just as he was unprepared for the canon of the pain that shot through him. He’d thought he was over that, or at least had suppressed it enough not to feel the agony of his mother’s indifference any more.
He shrugged. ‘Because she was incapable of it. Ultimately, she couldn’t love anyone but herself.’ Perhaps it was a flaw he needed to come to terms with, and move on.
Niesha wasn’t like that though.
She loved children. She would love their child with the same passion with which she loved his people. The same devotion with which she loved her people enough to threaten to walk away from him and his crown to serve them again. That kind of selflessness was humbling. Inspiring.
How could he stop her from pursuing that, from giving to people who would love her back, and welcome her with open arms the way his people had done?
Malak sighed. ‘I wish he’d done something.’
‘Who?’
‘Father. I wish he’d made a decision one way or the other. Demanded that she love him and us, or leave her. Instead of trailing after her all those years. Instead of making us live each dreadful moment with him.’
‘I don’t think it was that simple,’ Zufar found himself explaining. ‘Maybe he was left with very little choice.’
His brother sneered, turned and started walking away. ‘Whatever. I’m over it. Anyway, it’s been a good talk. If you decide you need me after all, you know where to find me.’
Zufar barely heard him leave. And as he stared into the bottom of his glass, he found his thoughts veering in another direction.
To his father.
CHAPTER TEN
NIESHA STOOD IN front of the plane door, waiting for the attendant to open it. Unlike the flight to Europe, this one had been short and nerve-shredding, her emotions swinging between what awaited her in Rumadah and what she’d left behind.
The last three days had been alternately perfect and horrendous. The coordinated news of her real identity had been greeted with another wave of happy frenzy across the world, the short interview she’d given to explain her unfortunate absence accessed over a billion times online. That had been her public life.
In private, she’d remained in turmoil.
Even though he’d given her his blessing, Zufar had stayed away from her, and in the rare moments when they’d met, his gaze had chilled her. He still came to their bed, but it was only to sleep, with his back to her and a mile between them. When they needed to communicate, they did so via their priv
ate secretaries.
That was how she’d found out he’d granted her access to his royal jet to make this trip. That was how she’d found out he’d gone on a whistle-stop tour of his kingdom and wasn’t expected back before her departure.
Their conversation in the conference room had left her bruised and hollow and heart-wrenchingly convinced that her days with Zufar were numbered. It was why she’d thrown herself into this visit.
When he was out of her life, at least she would have this, her new life, to fall back on. The more she’d absorbed about her heritage, the more she was certain she wanted to claim her birthright. Her parents had loved this kingdom and dedicated their lives to it. How could she walk away?
In a way it was easier that Zufar had laid down an ultimatum.
No. It wasn’t.
She would have preferred a different ultimatum. One that made loving and dedicating herself to both kingdoms possible. But she knew it was another dream she needed to let go of. Just as she knew she would need to reconcile herself to letting Zufar go.
Divorce.
That was what one of her advisers had cautiously suggested during their meeting in Khalia.
Divorce the man who hadn’t meant to be her husband in the first place so she could be free to fully embrace her destiny.
Such an easy suggestion. With such catastrophic consequences for her heart, her soul, every breath she took from here on out.
‘We’re ready, Your Serene Highness,’ the Rumadian attendant said softly, with a blinding smile and shining eyes that hinted of tears. ‘And if you’ll permit me to say, I’m so happy you’re here,’ she gushed.
Niesha returned her smile, then her heart lurched wildly as the door slid soundlessly open and sunshine poured into the doorway.
Momentarily blinded, she blinked a few times, smoothing her hands over her royal blue wrap dress before stepping forwards. Immediately, a deafening roar went up over the sound of the still-whirling jet engines.
The lump of emotion wedged firmly in her throat grew as she caught sight of the crowd beyond the barricades set up on either side of the plane.
She paused for one full minute to wave before she slowly descended the stairs.
She’d been briefed on the protocol.
Her council of elders would be the first lined up on either side of the red carpet. Beyond that the senior members of the military...her military, would be next in line. Then a few prominent ministers and dignitaries.
So she was startled when a figure broke away from the line and approached the bottom of the steps.
Niesha gasped as the unmistakeable figure of her husband materialised in front of her. ‘Zufar...what are you doing here?’ she whispered as he stepped forwards and took her hand.
‘It is my right as your husband to be at your side, is it not?’ he returned.
She kept a smile pinned to her face as he raised her hand and kissed the back of it. Peripherally, she heard the crowd go wild.
‘Welcome home, Your Highness,’ he intoned deeply.
She took another step down, their height disparity forcing her to look up at him. His face was a perfectly neutral picture of regal discipline, his eyes giving away none of his feelings.
‘I don’t understand...’
‘You don’t need to. You’re perfectly capable of doing this on your own. But I’m here nevertheless.’
For how long? she wanted to demand. But she’d already broken protocol, albeit through no fault of her own. He took a single step to the side and stood tall and proud and royal, but out of her way.
With a nod, she stepped onto the carpet, widening her smile as the chief adviser held out his hand.
‘We are so very fortunate and honoured that you have returned to us, Your Serene Highness. Welcome home.’
All through the greeting of her statesmen and military, she was acutely aware of Zufar’s presence one step beside her.
How had he got here before her?
Why was he here?
Was he staying?
The questions tumbled through her mind over the next few hours. At some point it struck her that she’d become an expert at compartmentalising because she managed to talk and walk and respond easily to conversation, even while her insides churned.
But everything fell away the moment they left the State House and approached Nazir Palace, the home she’d lived in so very briefly before losing it all.
Unlike Zufar’s hilltop palace, Nazir Palace sat in the centre of the city, right on the doorstep of the people. In fact, hundreds of citizens and tourists were strolling through the public grounds as her motorcade entered the gates and drove through secured gates to the private front door.
Niesha struggled to remember any aspect of her home during the grand tour. Nothing came to mind, not even the toys left in the same position as the day she’d left and never returned. When she said as much, she received sympathetic murmurings.
‘You will make new memories, I’m certain, Your Serene Highness,’ her chief adviser said with a gentle smile.
Niesha wasn’t unaware of the gentle pressure coming her way. Or the way Zufar stiffened each time the subject of her return was casually dropped into conversation.
When they reached her parents’ bedroom it all grew too much. ‘May I have a moment alone, please?’
‘Of course.’
The room emptied immediately, save for Zufar. He walked by her side as she walked through the bedroom suite, touching her father’s discarded tiepin, inhaling her mother’s silk scarf that still faintly held her scent.
In their dressing room, she picked up her mother’s hairbrush, gasping when the faintest memory materialised.
‘I remember her...this room. She would sit me on her lap and comb my hair with this brush.’ The last of the words dissolved into a sob.
Beside her, Zufar held out his handkerchief.
She took it, her gaze snagging his for a moment. ‘Thank you.’
He gave a stiff nod. ‘You are strong. You can do this.’
A moment later she was alone. As alone as she’d been from the beginning. As alone as she would be when Zufar left as abruptly as he’d appeared.
You will be all right.
She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry and scream and throw things. But she bottled it all up because she was a queen. Twice over. And queens didn’t break down into uncontrollable hysteria.
She reminded herself of that as she gave another interview and expressed her joy to be back home. It came in handy when she danced in Zufar’s arms and he held her courteously but stiffly that night at a ball thrown in her honour.
And she reminded herself many times of that, the next morning, at the breakfast meeting with her chief adviser.
‘As I have said, I will give you an answer in due course once I’ve given the matter more thought.’ She picked up the tea and sipped it, her heart alternately joyful to be sitting in her mother’s favourite breakfast chair, drinking from her favourite tea set, and heavy because once again Zufar had made himself scarce the moment they were alone.
‘If it is a matter of pride, Your Serene Highness, please be assured it is not necessary. No one will judge you. We are simply thrilled that you are back. But we want you back permanently and as soon as possible. Your kingdom needs you. And the only way to extricate yourself from all things Khalia, we strongly feel, is by divorce.’
Icy water drenched her veins. But a numb part of her had already seen this coming. Wasn’t that what Zufar himself had suggested in his own way a few days ago? He’d spoken of hard choices needing to be made. And when it came down to it, wasn’t a dissolution of a marriage that was doomed to failure anyway the only option?
‘You want me to divorce my husband in order to assume my birthright?’
‘At the moment, it seems to be the only course open to us, Your
Serene Highness.’
The boulder-sized pain that lodged itself in her chest made it hard to breathe. The joy of being back among her parents’ things faded, her hands trembling as she set her teacup down.
‘Very well.’ She stopped, those two words birthing a thick sob she had to swallow to keep down. ‘I understand—’
She froze as Zufar stepped onto the balcony. The look on his face chilled her to the bone.
‘I’m guessing I’m no longer needed here, in that case,’ he said, his voice edged with soft deadliness. ‘Perhaps you wish for me to make myself scarce?’
‘Zufar—’
He batted her words away in that unique way of his. ‘You can save your words. I came to say goodbye. You have saved me the tedium of saying a more permanent one at a later date.’ His gaze dropped to her stomach before rising to her face again. ‘But be assured, Your Highness, that what is mine will remain mine.’
The shock of his words rooted her to her chair. Her world turned grey as he executed the perfect military turn and disappeared from view.
From her life.
Another sob threatened to escape. With every cell in her body, she wanted to let it rip free. She contained it as she’d never contained anything else in her life.
She was a queen. Queens didn’t break.
* * *
‘Wait! You’re what?’
Zufar stared at his brother. ‘Which part of it do you need repeated?’
Malak stared at him, shock and apprehension written all over his face. ‘All of it. Better yet, let’s just pretend everything you said was a joke. I can appreciate the odd joke when—’
‘It’s not a joke, brother. You said you wanted to help. This is what I need from you.’
Malak snorted. ‘Help means handling a difficult meeting in your stead, or picking out a gift for your wife when you run out of ideas. Help doesn’t mean tossing your throne in my lap, telling me you’re abdicating and expecting me to take your place.’
‘Not expecting. Requesting. And the throne is too heavy to toss so you’ll just have to settle for sitting on it.’
