Her cheeks heated, flushing beet-red through the brown of her skin.
The passion between the couple in the photo was undeniable, and yet none of it was real. Her husband was a stranger who could barely stand the sight of her. He certainly didn’t harbor any passion for her.
Her stomach churned again, threatening to upend the few bites of breakfast she had managed to swallow.
The King appeared indifferent, as if being discussed in the newspapers and photographed in such a personal embrace was a common occurrence for him. Though, come to think of it, it probably was. He had likely been photographed kissing women more times than he could count—whereas she could say with certainty that she had never been photographed anywhere so nearin flagrante delictoas this.
It was easy to be certain when you had only ever had one kiss in your whole life. And now hers had been immortalized on the front page of the “Arts & Culture” section of theCyranese Times.
She wondered if this was what her father had had in mind when he’d given her away to the King. He’d certainly been vigilant in protecting her chastity.
“Boys? Sss! No boys! You have no time for boys. Not when you must work. Work hard, my Princess, for the good of Cyrano.”
She hated it that what had seemed like memories of normal fatherly protectiveness had come to take on such a cynical nature now. And it wasn’t just her memories. It was her entire life.
She had been so proud of her accomplishments. It hadn’t been easy to become the youngest female scientist ever nominated for the King’s council. But the years of sacrifice, the endurance, the at times cruel reshaping of herself—now she couldn’t figure out exactly why she had done any of it.
She had thought it was because it was the one thing she had left of her father—the final living ember of a love that she had thought as transparent as it had been absolute. But she had been wrong—so wrong. All of it had been done so that rather than being a private miracle, her first kiss could be the stuff of headlines.
The thought was like a rock in her stomach.
She ate without noticing flavor or texture, her mind churning over the photo and the kiss. It seemed Zayn wasn’t going to mention it at all. Was a front-page kiss so commonplace to him that it didn’t bear remark?
Looking at him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye, she imagined that, once again, the answer was yes. A kiss wouldn’t mean much to a man who looked like him—let alone one who had grown up as the heir to the throne and then become King. She imagined women had been throwing themselves at him since long before it had been allowed according to the Cyranese age of consent laws.
He ate deliberately, clearly feeling no need to fill the silence that stretched between them. In the absence of conversation, the sounds of their eating filled the quiet morning—however, instead of feeling awkward, the experience of eating breakfast with the King was somehow more intimate for its lack of forced chatter.
Mina was reminded of the mornings of her childhood, the details of individual days blurring together to emphasize what had been commonplace: her mother and father moving in sync through the steps of their morning routine with the practiced familiarity of a long marriage.
The memory was a painful twist in her chest. The silence of those mornings had been companionable, unlike the quiet that enveloped her and the King now, and yet the comparison lingered in her mind just the same.
She and the King shared no loving glances, and their eyes were not full of the previous night’s memories and plans for the day ahead. Neither of them reached toward the other with small caresses or touch points. And yet they were still a man and a woman—husband and wife—sharing a meal. She certainly hadn’t shared the experience with any other men in her life.
The realization was both revealing and sad. It was becoming more and more clear to her that she should have gotten out more. She hadn’t needed to sow her wild oats, but it wouldn’t have hurt her or derailed her career to go on a date once in her life. And it would have certainly gone a long way toward her not being the kind of woman so starved for companionship that she was finding it in a stilted meal with a stranger.
“Where is the summer palace?” she asked, both to break the silence and to stem the internal tide of self-recrimination.
Turning the full power of his attention to her, the King replied, “Cantorini Island.”
She started. She’d heard the name of the famous private island, but had had no idea it was tied to the royal family. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful there.”
The King smiled, his features softening in the process, making him look almost boyish. “It is. It’s private, of course, and remote. The only structures on the island are associated with the summer palace compound. It’s a wonderful escape from the constant observation of the capital.”
Between his smile and the open warmth of his tone, Mina’s heart stuttered. He had no idea how dangerous he was.
“There are supposed to be multiple species endemic to the island,” she said, inwardly cringing at this offering to the conversation as soon as it was out.
But the King’s smile grew. “That’s right. Most of the island is vegetated, and it provides excellent habitat for a number of native species. We occasionally allow groups of biologists and students access, for observation and data collection.”
The corners of Mina’s lips lifted in response. “That’s right! I considered applying for the trip between my junior and sophomore years of college, but I was selected for a fellowship in the Galapagos instead.”
“Well, as you have the opportunity to visit now, it appears you made the right choice at the time.”
The stiff response hung between them, effectively cooling the warmth that had grown.
“Yes. Well...” Mina searched for a smooth exit but, finding none, settled on, “I have some coordinating to do in order to be ready to leave this afternoon, so...”
Telling herself that the fact that the King looked mildly relieved at her words stung only a little bit, Mina rose as he said, “Yes, of course. Five o’clock, then.”