Something like hope bursts through me but I dismiss it. It’s irrelevant. She’s not pregnant.
Does that alter her feelings, though? I understand nothing, and I hate that.
Amy
The dress is beautiful, chosen for me by Aliya. An emerald green, with a high square neckline, a long skirt and draped sleeves, it’s modest but flattering. She has arranged everything, in fact, and in a sign of where my head is at, I have let her. She organised a hairdresser, a make-up artist, removed a tiara and necklace from the royal vault, and I argued with none of it. I stood like a perfect mannequin as people fussed and primped, turning me into a perfect princess. I even smiled as she guided me to the waiting limousine, but her look of concern didn’t shift.
“It is a state dinner, so expect it to be long and boring, full of ceremonial details,” Aliya confided, smiling kindly at me. She does that a lot lately. I think she’s decided she likes me after all.
“You’ll sit beside His Highness throughout, but there is no need for you to speak. Afterwards, there will be a dance. You can stay if you’d like, or leave at this point. There is no protocol established.”
“Thank you. I’ll want to leave as soon as possible.”
Aliya’s eyes softened. “I’ll let the driver know.”
“Thank you.”
The valet doesn’t take me to the state rooms, though. Instead, he leads me to a separate area, a banquet room lined with golden walls and propped up with white marble pillars. It is stunning, its beauty only overshadowed by Zahir, standing at the end of the room, watching the door like a hawk. He’s dressed in a black robe with golden details at the cuffs and collars, his hair matching, black and thick.
I thought I was prepared for this but the sight of him sends my pulse into overdrive. I almost miss my footing as I walk across the room.
A month.
A whole month.
And I have thought of him, craved him, longed for him, the entire time. In the days I’ve wanted his counsel. I’ve wanted him to make sense of my father’s actions. I’ve wanted him to fix it, somehow. To make me feel okay but the fact is, my dad is a traitor. I haven’t spoken to dad since he told me the truth. I can’t. When I think what he was involved in, my blood turns to ice. The idea of anyone hurting Zahir, of anyone taking him from his position as ruler of Qabid – a role he performs with such ease and skill – I want to crumble.
I want Zahir to make it all disappear, but he can’t. He’s powerful, but he’s not magical.
Ours is an impossible relationship, my love for him something I must hold close to my heart and try to conceal. Nothing good can come from wanting more from him. All this time I thought we were fated to be together, but now I see: we are fated to be apart, enemies, whatever we might feel tarred by generations of ill will. Their decisions have demanded our actions.
He dips his head as I draw near in a gesture of respect, but doesn’t reach for me and I’m glad. I’d expected some kind of embrace, a kiss on the cheek, a gesture of welcome not out of place with fr
iends or business acquaintances, but if he’d touched me, even lightly, I think I would have melted.
“Zahir,” I murmur, pleased my voice emerges cool.
“Amy. Thank you for coming.”
My heart is pounding, it feels as though it’s travelled to my throat and is acting as an anvil there, hammering against me from the inside out. I dig my nails into my palms, trying to stay calm.
“Of course.”
His eyes bore into mine. Desire, awareness, love, lust, need, heat, pain all lash me. I offer him a tight smile.
“Well, shall we do this?”
For a second he looks poised to contradict me and I hold my breath, but then he gestures towards two enormous golden doors across the room.
“The dinner is through here.”
I nod, understanding why I was brought here instead of directly to the state room. So that we could arrive together. An illusion, to fool people into thinking we’re a committed, married couple.
At the door, he lifts a hand, and I hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind me. A servant appears holding a silver tray, and on it a piece of pale blue fabric is folded neatly. Zahir lifts it from the tray, staring at it for several seconds before lifting his eyes to mine.
“Will you wear this?” He pauses. “It’s appropriate for the occasion.”
“Then of course I will. I told you, I’ll do whatever you need from me. I’m your wife.”