“There is no possibility that the ambassador could have visited you before now,” Tarek assured her, not pleased with that sudden darkness. Not pleased at all. “At the best of times, the palace does not comment on internal matters and therefore, never confirmed nor denied that you were held here. And during the troubles, the palace was locked down completely. There was no access. Regrettably, what that meant was that as far as the world knew, you went into the same prison as your colleagues, then disappeared.”
She toyed with the gleaming edge of her scarf. “That does sound dramatic.”
“Had I been less preoccupied with putting down a coup and suffering through the very public trial of my own brother for high treason, I would have paid more attention to international headlines myself.”
“I am moved, truly, by this non-apology.”
Again, he found himself moved to smile when surely he should rage. “Alas, my focus was on putting my kingdom back together. That brings us to today and your immediate release once I learned of your incarceration.”
“And your solution to this tale of the world’s cruel mischaracterization of your perseverance is...marriage?” Anya laughed, and even though Tarek knew the laugh was directed at him, he found himself...entertained. Or not furious, anyway, which amounted to the same thing. “Maybe you can explain to me why the King of Alzalam, who surely could marry anyone, would want to marry a woman he quite literally lifted out of a cell.”
“It is practical,” he told her, though the heat in him was surely nothing of the kind. “You could not have suffered any great abuses here, could you, if you end up marrying me. Your experience will be seen as romantic.”
“A romantic imprisonment.” Her tone was dubious. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”
Tarek only smiled. “Is it not?”
She flushed again, and he felt that too distinctly. Like her hands on him.
He took pity on her. “Western audiences live for romantic love. They insert it into the most unlikely scenarios. You must know this is so. How many stalkers do you suppose are heralded as romantic heroes? I can think of dozens and I am no particular aficionado of your Western stories, no matter the media.”
“I think you underestimate the difference between fiction and reality,” she replied, no longer looking or sounding the least bit flustered. “And hard as it might be for you to imagine, the average Western woman is perfectly capable of judging the difference between the two.”
“But is the average Western journalist capable of the same?” Tarek shrugged. “I do not think so.”
Anya nodded slowly, as if taking it all on board. “This is all a bit out of left field, but I understand where you’re coming from. It even makes a kind of sense. But what can you imagine is in it for me?”
The answer should have been self-evident, but Tarek could not allow himself to dwell on the day’s indignities. “That is where it comes in handy that I am the King.”
“I see that more as a detracting factor, to be honest, given my people gave up on kings in the seventeen hundreds.”
“Ah, yes, the lure of independence. So attractive.” He waved a hand. “But this is not practical, Anya. You can find independence anywhere. Meanwhile, I am a very powerful, very wealthy man. A sheikh and a king who can, if I desire, make my wishes into law. Tell me what you want and I will make it so. Anything at all.”
“For all you know I’m going to ask for a spaceship.”
“Then one shall be built for you.” He bit back his smile. “Is that what you want? I assumed it would be more along the lines of wishing to practice medicine here in the capital city, even once you become Queen.”
But to his surprise, she paled at that.
He didn’t know quite how to feel about it when she blew out a breath, then met his gaze once more as if she hadn’t had that extreme reaction. “You say that as if a female doctor is as fantastical as a spaceship.”
But Tarek found he liked her spiky voice better than watching her pale before him.
“Alzalam is not in the Stone Age, Doctor,” he murmured. “No matter what foreign publications may imagine. We have a great many female doctors. But what we do not have, and never have had, are queens who work. Perhaps that is an oversight.”
Anya huffed out another breath, as if she couldn’t comprehend that. “I have to tell you, of all the endings I imagined to my time in prison, talk of queens did not enter into it.”
She was too pretty, he thought. And getting more so by the moment, to his mind. Because he liked her bold. He liked how little she seemed in awe of him. He could not deny that he also liked the hint of vulnerability he saw now.
Did he want to give her a throne or did he simply want to take her to bed?
Tarek found he couldn’t answer the question. Normally, that would have been all the convincing he needed that he was headed down the wrong path. He had never let a woman turn his head and he would have sworn on Alzalam itself that he never would.
But then, when it came to his doctor, there were practical considerations that outweighed everything else. Trade implications, for example, and potential sanctions. He could weather those, as his ancestors had upon occasion, but if there was no need to put himself in bed with only those economies who did not fear the taint of a regime considered monstrous, why would he condemn his country to such a struggle?
That he found himself longing to taste her was a problem when his country was at stake. Tarek tried to focus. “You have yet to tell me what it is you want most, Anya.”
Had he said her name aloud before? He couldn’t recall it. But it sizzled there, on his tongue. It felt far more intimate than it should. And in case he was tempted to imagine that it was only he who felt these things, he saw her eyes widen—her pupils dilating—as she sat there within reach.