And there was certainly no way to marry her. Not then, and not now he was Sheikh.
His gut tightened because the thought of marrying anyone else was like drinking acid. He ground his teeth together, searching for words to reassure his mother even while mentally shelving the issue.
“Samir, you must do this. For the kingdom, for your father, for Adan, you must have many children, so this peril is never felt again by another. Please, please promise me. Your father wanted us to have more, you know, but I could never—,” She’d become almost delirious. Samir wrapped a strong arm around her, drawing her to his chest, and in his low, deep voice, spoke reassurance and promises that he knew he’d have to keep, even when it was the last thing on earth he wanted.
From her hotel room,she could see the palace, and she suspected the city had been designed that way. She recalled easily Samir’s descriptions of Al Medina that first night they’d met. He’d spoken of the blend of ancient and modern, and here in Baljaha, Cora felt every bit of that. Driving in from the airport, there were ruins illuminated against the night sky, and incredible sand planes marked by palm trees, all the way to the outskirts of the city, where low-lying residential townships had formed. The houses were different and beautiful—mostly rectangular in shape, boxy with flat roofs and windows cut into the walls but left open, except for lacy curtains that flew in the evening breeze. The city itself seemed to grow from the ground like enormous trees, looking every bit as natural as the sand and the palms. Enormous high rises with sweeping shapes caused her throat to constrict with how breathtaking they were. Like Manhattan, just as he’d said.
But it was the palace that caught her eyes. The palace she stared at, when she couldn’t sleep, her gaze on the classical regional architecture, striking turrets like inverted teardrops, large and illuminated with gold.
Her heart slammed into her chest because inside the palace was Samir, and even though it didn’t make sense, she knew that he needed her.
She had to see him.
Hours had passed.Samir had long ago grown weary of this procession, of sitting on the throne that he still thought of as his brother’s, meeting dignitaries and delegates. From time to time, there was a familiar face, but mostly, this was an exercise in condolence for the sake of good government. He grew tired of it. He wanted to honour his brother with people who knew him, to talk of Adan as a man, not a King. To laugh about their adventures together, to speak with solemnity of Adan’s best traits.
Finally, a familiar face appeared at the door, announced by one of the palace aides. “Anastasios Xenakis.”
Samir stood, not wanting the throne when one of his oldest friends was in the room. There was no point to ceremony then. He crossed the room, and when Anastasios put his arms around Samir, he allowed the embrace, the condolences offered by his friend, who understood how close he’d been to Adan.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, when he’d regained control of his emotions. “Will you stay long enough to speak after this is over?” He waved a hand towards the door, where a room was filled with crowds waiting to meet Samir.
“Of course. The family is here. Would you prefer them to wait until after, as well?”
Something hollowed out in his gut.The family.Cora’s family. And Cora? Hope soared and he ached, yearned, craved seeing her, dared to allowed himself to dream, until reality intervened. This was the last place she’d come to. There was too much risk of discovery. “No,” he said distractedly, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Have them come in as a group, now.”
“Of course.” Anastasios dipped his head in a mark of respect that was new, courtesy of Samir’s rank.
Anastasios moved towards the door and spoke quietly to the guard, who then looked to Samir. Samir gave a small nod of agreement, and then, the full Xenakis family filed in through the doors. Behind Anastasios and Phoebe, there was Leonidas and Mila, Dimitrios, Nicholas, Max and…his heart stopped beating and his breath died in his throat.
Cora.
Her name was an exhalation dredged from deep in his soul and it took every single ounce of willpower he possessed to stop himself from running to her and wrapping her in his arms and kissing her with all his grief and heavy heart.
She stared at him, and he realised she wouldn’t have seen him dressed like this before, in traditionalthobes,his more ornately detailed given his role as Sheikh and the purpose of this day. She stared at him, and he stared back, hungry for every detail of Cora.
She wore a black skirt that brushed the floor, almost concealing her bare feet, a black wrap top that was high cut and modest, and a headscarf made of gold, that he immediately imagined removing, sliding through his fingers, the silk just a prelude for how he would touch her body later.
Later.
There could be no later, though.
You’re not able to make me happy. All you can ever give me is this—a secret, shameful affair.
If that had been true before, it was absolutely the case now.
He greeted each of the Xenakis carefully, accepting their condolences, torturing himself by keeping Cora until last, and even then, he was aware of the presence of the others, who had no idea he even knew Cora, let alone howwellhe knew her.
“Your Highness,” she said, quietly, head bowed deferentially when he came to her. “I hope you don’t mind that I came. I explained to my cousin how kind you were to me at the art gallery, and when I heard about your brother,” her voice hitched in her throat and when she lifted her face, he saw tears in her eyes, tears that made his own gut twist. God, he needed her. He needed her with every single fibre in his body. “I had to be here. To pay my respects.”
Her fingertips shook and he understood why. She wanted to reach out and touch him, just as he did her.
“I have invited your family to come and mourn with me privately, afterwards. You are welcome to join them.”
Her eyes locked to his and her throat shifted as she swallowed, then nodded once. “Of course, Your Highness.” She hesitated a moment. “I’ll see you then.”
It was almostimpossible to get a moment alone with him. Impossible to speak to him as she wanted and to ask the one question that was throbbing inside of her and had been since she’d learned of Adan’s passing:How are you?She wanted a real answer, not a carefully constructed response that a Sheikh was expected to provide.
But he was the Sheikh, and seeing him today had driven that home. Surrounded by the grandeur of that room, an enormous throne behind him, and Samir looking so devastatingly handsome and powerful in his traditional clothes. It had hammered home to Cora the differences between them, the fantasy she’d created in even daring tohopethere might be a future for them.