The words were strange, discordant, and her heart ached. She’d been so focused on her own grief and adjustments that she hadn’t even thought about how this must have been for Malik. And though she hardly knew him, she was a compassionate and empathetic person, and she moved towards him, coming to stand in front of him, more conscious than usual of the difference in their size.
“We didn’t…”
He jerked his head towards her.
“We never slept together,” she said quietly, dropping her gaze and missing the way Malik’s expression shifted, tightened, darkened. “Our relationship wasn’t… I loved him very much, Malik, but we hadn’t… been physically intimate.”
A hiss escaped from between his teeth and he gripped her face with both hands, staring at her as though he’d never seen her before. “I don’t believe you.”
She frowned. “Why would I lie?”
“I cannot say. But I saw you together. I heard the way he spoke about you. You and he were an item for years.” The words were imbued with harsh anger. “There is no way you had not been to bed…”
She sighed quietly. “We were getting married. We knew that from a young age. It seemed right to wait…”
He swore in his own tongue, and then a harsh laugh escaped him, humourless, laced with pain. “So he was denied even this?” He shook his head angrily, and took a step away from her and his whole body was tight with feelings and they were echoing inside of her. He spun around to face her. “You are a virgin.”
It was a statement, so she didn’t answer.
“This,” he spoke slowly, enunciating the word carefully, “is not how it is supposed to be.”
The tower was beautiful. An ancient section of the palace carved from marble, it stood high above the earth like a beacon, an ancient monolith, reaching for the azure sky. There were no lifts. Hundreds
of steps – carved from stone – led to the top, with a dip in the centre of each, from centuries of use. And at the very pinnacle of the tower, an enormous room, sparsely furnished, except for an enormous bed at its centre.
A carved, timber door led to a bathroom, with a large bath – almost like a small swimming pool – a shower big enough to accommodate two, and all the amenities.
“There are clothes in there, for you,” his voice came from across the room. She turned, almost guiltily, to see him watching her. He’d removed his ceremonial robe, leaving him in just loose white pants.
His bare chest wanted to drag her eyes downwards but she resisted the temptation, even when her mouth went dry and her pulse shot into overdrive.
“So we’re locked in here for how long?” She asked, though she knew.
“When darkness falls, tomorrow, a bell will toll, and we will be released,” he muttered, and she would have laughed for how absurd all of this was – for how little pleasure her husband obviously took in the idea of going to bed with his wife.
And she understood – he didn’t want her. She’d seen the women he ordinarily dated. Women who were glamorous and exotic, incredibly sophisticated. Sophia was nothing like that, nothing like them.
Neither of them had chosen this, but here they were: husband and wife.
“I suppose we should just get it over with then?”
At this, she had the feeling he was holding back a laugh. “Do you now?”
“We have to sleep together; I get it. You need a little Sheikh or Sheikha to groom in your own image. And I married you knowing that. So?”
Another laugh. “My young, innocent wife,” he murmured, prowling across the tiled floor, shaking his head. “I thought you were concerned by the fact we aren’t acquainted?” He stood so close she could feel the heat of his body and breathe in his woody, alpine scent. So close her knees were shaking and she had to push aside the horrible wave of guilt towards Addan. She wished she could summon more resistance, more cool disdain, for what was about to happen. She wished her pulse wasn’t a firestorm within her soul.
Contradictory feelings scored deep into her heart.
But she had married Malik, and she knew Addan would have wanted this. Duty had bound him, deepest of all; his country had been his true love. He would be pleased she was using what she knew of Abu Faya and her training for this position. She’d been raised to be Sheikha, and she was simply fulfilling her destiny.
In a strange, uneasy world, Addan would have wanted this.
“We don’t need to know one another,” she pointed out, lifting a hand up to the wedding outfit. The henna ink was all over the backs of her hands, leaving intricate patterns that had captivated her as the illustrations had been rendered.
“True,” he said, watching as she pushed the sleeves down. But before she could slide it over her breasts, he shook his head.
“Let me.”