Lily dropped her chin to her knees, curling up tighter.
His deep voice filled the room. The time was now, he said, calling upon the help of the world to build equality and justice for his homeland and beyond. His voice was confident, his message clear. This was Khaled the consummate statesman.
In that darkened room, with only the TV for company as the rest of the palace slept, Lily watched its prince standing alone, winning over the world’s most powerful assembly. All the time hiding the terrible burden he bore of guilt and grief. That he’d caused the death of his beloved brother.
She’d bickered with him and snapped at him and caused him endless trouble. She’d railed at him on Nate’s behalf when, to Khaled, it must have felt like his most trusted friend had betrayed him. Making him even more alone.
And she hadn’t seen it.
She hadn’t understood a thing.
Lily’s heart thudded once, twice in her chest, and then paused. A second later she shivered as it began beating in the same steady rhythm as before, though nothing,nothingwould ever be the same again.
Because now she understood—finally, and with an awful clarity. Being polite and distant wasn’t going to work. There’d be no pushing her feelings aside. She’d been fooling herself.
She was already in love.
Completely, hopelessly in love with the Sad Prince.
His own voice greeted him as he approached the family room. Was his father listening to a repeat of his UN speech?
One of the carved double doors stood wide, spilling a glow across the marble floor ahead. The other cast delicate shifting patterns of light through the fretwork panels. They danced across the pale fabric of his shirt as he drew near.
Khaled halted in the shadows as it registered precisely who was listening to his speech. She sat transfixed, watching him deliver the performance of his life.
What was she thinking?
Presidents and prime ministers had called him after he’d left that podium. Pledging their support for his efforts to drive reform in the region. But the only opinion that mattered right now was that of this young woman.
Weeks and oceans of separation had made no difference.
Want slammed into him.
Khaled lifted a hand. His fingers brushed the door’s fretwork, tracing the curve of her cheek, the tumble of auburn hair, the bare toes peeking out from beneath her robe.
How beautiful she was—and how forbidden to him.
One step forward and she would see him.
One step back and he could leave unnoticed.
He dropped his hand, and with a strength he hadn’t known he possessed he took a step back.
But his shoe scraped against the floor...
There was someone beyond the fretwork of the door. The light from the TV cast patterns across his shirt. Definitely a man. And he was broad of shoulder and tall. Taller than anyone in the palace except Bassam.
But the King wouldn’t hover just out of view. He’d come striding in with a breezy greeting, bemoaning her viewing choices, demanding she change channels, making her smile. More than once she’d kept him company in the early hours, watching old movies or re-runs of his favourite soap when neither of them could sleep.
The figure stayed motionless. Watching her.
Not the King. Though just as tall.
The son.
‘Khaled...’
His name escaped her on a soft exhaled breath. As if her yearning heart had called directly to him. And now she was on her feet, turning towards that shadowy figure.