This marriage would never have happened.
She would never have agreed to this betrothal, no matter how much it had meant to her father and his.
No.
This had all been about Addan.
Her heart lurched and stupid, hot tears filled her eyes. She spun away from him, but not fast enough. She saw the tightening of his jaw, the solidifying of all his features, as he skimmed her face, his eyes absorbing every detail of her response.
“I hurt you?” The words surprised her. Her stomach squeezed because beneath his graveled demand, she heard abhorrence.
He hated the idea of having caused her pain.
She swallowed, shaking her head. “No. Not at all.”
His hands on her shoulders were demanding, but gentle. He spun her around and simply stared at her, assessing her. “You are crying.”
The noise that escaped her lips was a cross between a laugh and a sob. “Am I?”
A thumb wiped beneath her left eye. “Why?”
She swept her eyes shut for a second, her lashes forming two dark fans against her pale skin.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
The words were laced with iron.
There was no point – and no reason – to deny it.
“Yes.” She bit down on her lower lip, her eyes still closed. “I just… miss him.”
Silence. A tense silence, a silence that sent barbs of wire down her spine.
“As soon as you have conceived my child, we will not need to see each other again. At least, not often.”
And he stepped away from her, pacing across the room.
She blinked her eyes open, her gaze landing on his back. She hadn’t meant that. She hadn’t meant anything. Only her heart was heavy for the man she’d lost, the marriage she’d been supposed to make.
And the power of what she’d shared with her intended fiancé’s brother filled her with a sense of shame. Because she’d enjoyed it. Hell, she’d wanted to bottle up the moment and taste it every single day for the rest of her life, to relive that sense of pleasure from now until kingdom come.
Guilt tore through her.
She didn’t want to want Malik.
She didn’t want to desire him.
It should have been Addan.
She didn’t say anything – she didn’t offer a word of solace or reassurance. Nor did she seek any from her husband. She turned away from him, her legs not feeling quite steady, picked a book off the shelf and settled herself in an armchair to read. Or, at least, to pretend to.
Chapter 3
“SHARAFAHA, I DREAMED OF YOU again last night. I dreamed you were here, and I was with you, and we were swimming in the Ocean of Alindor. I dreamed you swam all the way to the bottom and lifted a tiara off the floor, like some kind of ancient Queen, but when you put it on your head, it turned into gold dust and spread through your hair. I guess you could say I miss you! Give Arabella my love and hurry home. Our kingdom awaits. Yours, Rex.”
Sophia woke with a start, a heavy sense of disorientation in her gut, followed by that same feeling of blinding grief and realization that had almost strangled her every morning for the last year.