Embarrassed that they considered the King might sleep with a pig, when she was actually the most beautiful of them all. He knew it was only himself that could see it, had seen it, had seen her very real beauty, that pale face flushed with arousal, that taut mouth parted in pleasure as she had sobbed out his name. That heat was stirring in his groin again. All the nights she had denied him were nearing an end now. In just over a week he would have her again lying in his arms, and she would be beautiful again, the way she had once been for him.
‘C-congratulations…’ Effie stammered, hating that all eyes were on her, knowing they were watching how they interacted, positive that everyone was laughing at her, that Zakari was ashamed. Then suddenly he did the strangest thing: Zakari, breaking with protocol, pulled her towards him, his mouth hard on hers. It was the briefest of kisses, but it felt as if he were branding her, claiming her, showing them all that she was his. Effie could feel his erection pressing into her, the heady scent of him filling her nostrils, and for a small second her defences were down. The bliss of his hot mouth, the feel of him pressed against her were like a match meeting gas—she flared. Caught off guard, for just a moment she responded to his kiss, then she checked herself. Zakari could attempt as many public displays of affection as he wanted, but she refused to play for the cameras when the truth was, in private, they were apart.
‘Did you enjoy it?’ He was still holding her, black eyes boring into her.
‘I didn’t understand much of it.’
‘It was your first time.’ Zakari’s mouth curled into a smile. ‘The first few times are often confusing, but you will get a taste for it.’ His groin was pressed into hers, his message clear. ‘You will adore it…’
He released her then, the crowd swarming to congratulate him. Eleni, though, was having trouble trying to concentrate on what her husband was saying… Zakari’s wife had been lovely to talk to, a real sweetheart actually, but clearly, Eleni had thought, she was out of her depth, and from what Kaliq had told her there was no love lost between the two of them…
Or so she had thought…
The way Zakari had charged towards her reminded Eleni of a stallion being let out of his box, but most curious of all was how Effie had responded, like a nervous mare, yet, Eleni could have sworn, for a moment she had been aroused all the same…
Kalila was having trouble working it out too.
Later that night, as she was lying in her husband’s arms, her mind wandered to the polo match again.
‘Your brother’s new wife,’ Kalila started, ‘she struggled today—’
‘She will learn in time,’ Aarif interrupted. ‘It must be hard adjusting to a role she was not born for, especially knowing that all he wanted from her was the stone.’
‘He wants more than the stone.’ Kalila smiled into the darkness. ‘I think Sheikha Stefania might just surprise us all. Your brother is smitten.’
‘Zakari?’ Aarif laughed. ‘He is not smitten. The only thing my brother craves is power.’
‘I’m not so sure…’ Kalila differed as further along the walls of the palace Zakari wrestled with the same.
He had everything.
Everything he had prayed for.
All the power he had ever dreamed of.
Yet all he felt was empty.
Her lips had tasted so sweet this afternoon, and he had felt her relent for a second, and a little of what he craved had left him hungry for more. For the first time he broke his promise and, restless, aroused, he walked through his room to the adjoining door, a curse on his lips when he realised she had locked it. He was tempted to knock, to demand that she join him, but he halted himself.
Kings did not beg!
In one week, she would come to him!
CHAPTER TEN
FOR a royal wedding, it was a somewhat subdued affair.
Oh, the crowds turned out and duly cheered. The ceremony was full of all the pomp and grandeur that would be expected for the wedding of a king, only with every photo, every introduction, every curtsy, Effie was humiliated more.
The brief civil ceremony had been her wedding and that one blissful night afterwards had been her honeymoon.
This was a sham.
But then, Effie reflected, so had been her first wedding!
After the ceremony, after the endless speeches and photo calls, the maidens had undressed and then bathed her, taking down her stiff hair and brushing it, but the curls and soft hairbrush and mass of lacquer had just made it fluff, and Effie was so sick of it she had dismissed them, preferring to prepare for her night with Zakari alone. As if she were dressing for the gallows, she pulled on the white silk nightdress that had been laid out for her, the French lace straining over her bosoms as finally she opened the door that adjoined their rooms.
The maids had been busy here too, the room just as it had been on their first wedding night was scented and lit with candles, a deep bath drawn and the sheets turned back. Every detail had been attended to, Effie realised, as for the first time in the thirty days since she had signed the papers Zakari insisted that she now join him in his bed.
‘Here…’ He handed her a glass of icy champagne, perhaps to relax her, but all it did was make her remember the first and last time she had tasted champagne, when she had mistaken the glint of want in his eyes, when she had foolishly believed that it was aimed at her.
‘Effie, we are married now, in every sense of the word.’
‘I know that.’
‘Today you looked beautiful…’ He was lying and she knew that. Nothing today she would have chosen for herself; the heavy satin dress, the ruffles, the embroidery were all way too elaborate for her full figure. Her curls had been dragged out then swept into a heavily lacquered French roll, her make-up heavy to appease the photographers, but, bathed now, still she felt as if she were wearing the mask as his fingers traced her cheeks.
Tears of bitterness and anger were filling her eyes as she recalled the last time he had done so and how readily she had succumbed and just how much she had adored him.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ Effie said, her voice stilted and wooden, just wanting it over, wanting it done, hoping, praying she would produce heirs quickly and that his duty would soon be fulfilled. Then he wouldn’t have to humiliate her by pretending once again that he actually might adore her.
She lay facing away from him, screwing her eyes closed at the indent of the mattress as he climbed into the bed beside her. The soapy scent of him wafted over her and she felt him stretch and relax muscles that must have ached after the day’s exertions. It was hard to believe that in this lifetime she had once felt loved by him, that she had flown into his arms without thought or hesitation, sure his love would keep her safe.
What love?
Biting into her lip, she felt his hand brush her arms, and then down the curve of her waist, felt his lean hardness press into her as he lifted her hair and slowly, deeply kissed the back of her neck. His hand moved to the front of her nightdress and parted the laces and expertly began caressing her heavy breasts.
Only his tenderness had been an illusion, Effie reminded herself as she felt her nipples stiffen, simply a means to an end. She would not let his kisses move her.
‘Effie…’ He whispered her name in the shell of her ear. ‘We can start again, this very night. There will be no divorce.’
‘I accept that.’ Her voice was wooden.
‘Surely you can understand why I did what I had to do…’
‘You could have told me—’ she gave a shrill, mirthless laugh ‘—instead of fooling me into thinking you might love me…’
She turned and faced him, the eyes that had entranced him that night glistening with tears, the mouth that had teased him, had kissed him so intimately, twisted in anger and humiliation now. ‘Did you laugh to yourself, Zakari, at how easy it was to beguile me? Did it give you a glow of satisfaction as to how easily your fat maid succumbed to your charms?’
‘You will not speak to me like that. I am your King.’
‘I know that,’ Effie spat. ‘Over and over I know that now.’ But always he could turn the tide. His mouth sought hers, his tongue probing, parting her lips, his knees nudging her milky thighs apart, his fingers trying to cajole her clitoris from its safe retreat.
And she hated her body that it responded, hated the silent beg of her nipples as his tongue neared, or the pit of want in her stomach as his fingers played on, moistening his path, yet she would not move, would not give in to him, though her body begged for her to surrender.
He was at her entrance now, still kissing her deeply, his erection sliding easily within, because though she hated herself for it her body was ripe for him, yet she lay there still as he moved inside her, knowing at some very deep level that if she forgave him now, then she would be lost for ever.
‘Effie…’ He was sliding over her, deep inside her. It took every ounce of resistance not to move with him. His tongue was caressing her ears and still she lay there, would not give him that piece of herself no matter how much she wanted to, no matter how he implored. ‘Let us put it aside…’ He was moving inside her, filling her, yet still she lay rigid.
‘Let us go back to what we were, what we found.’