And it was all because of Mina.
He had acted more like his father than himself, and that was a luxury he could not afford—not when vipers lay in wait to take advantage of his every weakness.
He had put his woman before the needs of the nation.
The thought bounced around inside him like an angry wasp he could neither force out of his consciousness nor bury beneath his growing fury.
“Slow down, Zayn. I’m new to this height of heel.”
Mina’s breathless voice finally broke through the storm that was his thoughts. Immediately he slowed, turning to take her in.
Her hair was as controlled as it had been the day they had met, but tonight it elegantly highlighted the sweep of her cheekbones, somehow directing the eye to her lush mouth.
Her mouth was, he knew, an erotic playground, barely charted in the handful of times he’d had the privilege to explore it. And her body, contoured and showcased as it was now, in her one-piece pantsuit, was sexy and untouchable at the same time—a frustrating combination that antagonized the hunger that lived inside him even as it stoked it.
He gave his head a small shake. He was thinking about her too much.
Closing his eyes again, he took a deep breath. He would get them to the car, return to his office once they arrived back at the palace, and immediately begin damage control for the evening. Then he would return to his quarters and go to bed.
A desperate and resolute part of him vowed that it would be alone. Not with her. It couldn’t be with her. Not until he had regained his control. It was imperative that he master his reactions to her. The night had made it clear that the issue was no longer merely a personal matter.
In the time they’d been married he’d learned that there was nothing he could focus on that was compelling enough to keep images of her at bay. He was helpless against the flow of erotic flashes of her that danced across his mind the moment his guard was down—and he held the fate of a nation in his hands.
Distance was the only thing that would work. And maybe a drink.
“Zayn!” Mina stomped her foot as she said it, standing on the curb, arms crossed in front of her chest.
He turned his attention to her—or rather the real her. His attention had been unable to focus on anything but her since the moment she’d stepped through the chapel door—with effort.
“What?” His voice held all the cutting chill it had held that long-ago day.
“What’s going on?”
She asked the question quietly, delicately walking around the words she didn’t say.What the hell were you thinking?You ruined our plan!Where is your self-control?And he found that irritated him more than if she’d just gone ahead with recriminations. Lord knew he had earned them.
He hadn’t done anything so foolishly scandalous since he had been photographed in Amsterdam years ago, as a university student.
“Zayn?” she said again, with a bit more volume but no less grating delicate concern.
“I hit a man in the face, Mina. And as I am the King, I would think it would be clear what’s going on now: I’m trying to determine the correct order of operations to begin immediate damage control.”
The car pulled up and their driver jumped out to open the door, wisely sensing that conversation would be neither welcome nor appreciated.
Zayn gestured for Mina to enter the car first before following, his every movement brittle and angry. She opened her mouth, but Zayn stopped her with a hand. “If you are about to offer some meaningless condolence, Mina, I would advise against it.”
She closed her mouth, and the ever-growing orb of rage inside of him began to take on a more beastly shape.
It was absolutely absurd that he had actually hit the man—defending his lady’s honor like some barbarian of old—and all the more ironic for the fact that he, and his father before him, had spent the bulk of his reign working to separate Cyrano’s reputation from its tumultuous feudal past. He had just undone all that with a single action.
“Zayn.”
Mina’s fingertips pressed lightly at his elbow again. She had scooted closer to him at some point, her perfect body just inches away from his now, and he hadn’t noticed. He was deteriorating faster than he’d feared possible.
His entire body stilled.
She leaned closer, placing her palms on either side of his face to draw his gaze to her own. Green and gold swam together, warm and accepting, in a loving promise that it was possible to come back from this. That together it was possible to come back from anything.
And then she was pressing her lips softly against his in a kiss that was feather-light and over before it began. Pulling back, she sparkled, an open smile on her face, emanating that same strange sunlight only she seemed to possess.