Lost in a sea of violet, she felt electric tingles ran up and down her spine, her entire body aware of the narrow distance between them.
His nostrils flared and his eyes darkened, some new emotion wrestling for dominance with the irritation that had simmered in them from the moment they’d met.
But he merely said, “There is no mistake—and you’re late. Let’s get on with this.”
The King turned to the Archbishop, whom Mina had all but forgotten in the intensity of their exchange.
Her cheeks heated in embarrassment at behaving like a fawning teen in front of the holy man, but the archbishop only emanated an aura of kindness and acceptance.
There, at least, things were as expected.
His voice threaded with iron, the King turned to the older man and said, “Archbishop, are you prepared to begin?”
“Begin?” Mina interjected.
The Archbishop gave Mina a look of apology, but nodded to the King. “Yes.Your Royal Majesty.”
Mina felt a little jolt of triumph at the censure in the holy man’s tone. At least she wasn’t the only one appalled by the monarch’s behavior.
“I, Archbishop Samuel, solemnly consecrate the agreement entered into by King Alden of Cyrano, and Ajit Aldaba, declaring their intent that their two families be joined through the sacred bond of marriage.” He turned to the King. “Zayn Darius d’Argonia, King of Cyrano...”
The King said nothing.
“Welcome Amina Elin Aldaba as your wife and Queen. Care for her, treat her as your equal consort in all ways, and your union will blossom, a blessing to all of Cyrano.”
Mina broke out into a cold sweat from head to toe.
Consort? Queen? Wife?
He had said “wedding,” but that was absurd. They had never even met before.
The Archbishop continued, his words swirling around in her mind, spoken in her native tongue, yet completely incomprehensible.
She was supposed to be an advisor to the King. Not his wife.
The Archbishop turned to Mina, and the room reeled. King Zayn steadied her elbow with his large, firm hand, the heat of his skin burning through the thick starched fabric of her suit jacket, his eyes on her, pinning her in place like a butterfly with the needle of his violet gaze. The pressure of his touch was gentle, though, even if his expression was mocking.
“Amina Elin Aldaba. Grace smiles upon the woman who looks to her husband as her King. May you ever look to your husband as your King, with your eyes filled with love. Honor and support him, and in turn you will honor and support Cyrano. Before God we celebrate this fruition of the promise your fathers made, joining your families, for evermore, in holy matrimony. May your union be one of love and laughter. May your marriage be blessed with children, and may your reign be long and fruitful.”
Mina shook her head in denial. Hearing her father’s name on the Archbishop’s tongue had set off an explosion of memories, the soundtrack of her father’s steady voice forever repeating:“for the good of Cyrano...”
Suddenly it all made sense.
It wasn’t their shared dream that she become an advisor to the King. She had been the one to misinterpret that. That washerdream.Hermistake.
Her father had wanted her to become Queen.
The room spun as her perspective on her entire relationship with her father shifted.
His insistence on her studying, his absolute refusal when it came to the subject of dating... His incessant litany of,“Cyrano is counting on you...”
He had meant it literally.
The familiar phrase morphed into a menacing phantom swirling around her mind, taunting her as everything she’d ever known about the world went up in flames.
The King knelt, and everyone in the room followed—except for the Archbishop and Mina.
Mina stood frozen.