. Since her marriage, this young woman had been attending to her every day. “What is your name?”
“Awan, your highness.”
“Awan,” Sophia smiled, barely recognizing her own image in the mirror. The dress was so formal, so beautiful. She looked every bit the princess she now was – the princess she’d been groomed to become, almost her whole life. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen, madam.”
Sophia’s smile was wistful. They were close in age but very different in terms of cares and responsibility.
“Have you worked at the palace long?”
“Yes, your highness.” Awan bowed. “I was hired two years ago.”
Sophia smiled. “And what did you do before this?”
“I was training for this,” she said earnestly. “To be one of your maids.”
The synchronicity of that wasn’t lost on Sophia. “So we’ve both been in training a long time.”
“Madam?”
“Never mind.” Sophia straightened, running her hands down the gown she wore. A royal blue with a sheen through the fabric, it showed off the creamy luminescence of her skin and complimented the sparkling blue of her eyes.
“His Highness is already at the car,” Awan said. “And awaits your arrival.”
Sophia lifted a brow. “I guess that’s a polite way of telling me to move my butt.”
Awan hid her smile – just.
He was waiting by the car and the second she saw him, her step faltered. She slowed, giving herself the maximum time possible to prepare for this, to prepare for being in his orbit again. Her insides looped in on one another. Her body swooped and roared.
His royal highness, Sheikh Malik bin Hazari was standing beside the limousine, wearing the traditional white robes of his people, his expression stern, his face mesmerizing with its harsh angles and planes and determined, sculpted lips. His eyes were constant, locked to her face. Her stomach looped and rolled as she got closer to him until, finally, at the car, she breathed in and the masculine fragrance that was so uniquely her husband infiltrated her blood and her senses, fairly bowling Sophia over.
“Malik,” she murmured, holding his gaze even when the force of desire she felt for him threatened to fell her at the knees.
“Sharafaha,” he murmured, dropping his head closer to hers for a moment, so she thought he might kiss her.
He didn’t. Instead, his eyes stared into hers, as though just by looking at her he could understand her, as though he could read everything she was feeling and thinking. Then, he straightened, his own expression inscrutable.
Disappointment sledged against her as he took a backwards step and gestured towards the limousine.
“After you.”
“Thank you.” She slid into the vehicle, her pulse hammering, her mind racing.
She’d been to parliament twice before. Once with Addan, to explore the ancient tunnels that ran beneath the building, tunnels that were built at the turn of the first millennia, to offer protection for the people of this city, when attacks were commonplace. And once, to sign the vows of marriage, to bind herself to this country and its Sheikh for all time.
Tonight would be her first time visiting as a royal.
How different she’d felt on her previous visit! Excited and overjoyed, on the brink of stepping into her new life, of formalizing this marriage she’d anticipated for so long. The world had seemed so simple, her purpose so clear. And now?
It was all as clear as river mud.
“It is just a dinner party,” his deeply-intoned words jolted her out of her reverie, as the car pulled away from the palace.
She turned to face him, her eyes round in her pretty face. “A cocktail party, I thought.”
“Yes.” He frowned, his eyes scanning her features, looking at her with the same intensity as moments earlier – as though he could decode her if only he stared long enough.