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“How bad did it get?” she said quietly.
Gripping his silverware, he looked down at his plate.
“Half this city burned,” he said. “By the time I arrived back here from boarding school, this palace was ash. One day, I was a boy studying astronomy and calculus and history. The next, my father was dead, my mother prostrate with grief and rage, my home destroyed. And my country in flames.”
Silence fell in the shadows of the dining room.
Slowly, Sharif lifted his gaze to hers. He saw tears streaming down Irene’s stricken, beautiful face. Strange, when he felt nothing. He’d stopped feeling anything a long time ago.
“What did you do?” she choked out.
“What I had to.”
“You were only fifteen.”
“I grew up quickly. My mother’s brother, and my father’s former adviser, the vizier, were both trying to claim themselves as regent until my eighteenth year. They were destroying Makhtar in their battle. Even at fifteen, I could see that.” Feeling that he wanted to finish the topic as quickly as possible, he set down the goblet. “So I made the deal I had to make to save my country. Then I brought Aziza to live with us. She was a baby, a newborn.”
“She wasn’t living with you before?”
“She was with her mother.”
Irene frowned. “But your mother was with you.”
“Aziza is my half sister. The day I lost my father, she became doubly an orphan. She lost both her parents.”
“You can’t mean...” Irene gave a low gasp. “Aziza’s mother was your father’s mistress, who killed him?”
He gave a single nod.
Her hands covered her mouth as if she couldn’t bear the pain—but why? Sharif wondered, as if from a distance. It was not her pain to bear. Why was she taking it so personally?
“And you still brought her here? Raised her?”
“Aziza had been left with a paid servant. I couldn’t abandon her. She is my sister.” Setting his jaw, he looked away. His voice was thick as he said, “Nothing that happened was her fault. She needed me.”
For a long moment, Irene looked at him.
“You have a heart,” she whispered.
He set his jaw. “What else could I have done? Refused to even see her, as my mother did? Leave her to the orphanage or worse? She’s a princess of the blood. My sister.”
“You love her.”
“Yes.” No matter how Aziza irritated the hell out of him sometimes, Sharif could never forget the first time he’d seen her, a tiny baby crying so desperately she was nearly choking with piteous sobs. He’d never allow anyone to hurt her.
“You have a heart,” Irene repeated quietly. As if she still couldn’t quite believe it.
“Anyone would have done the same.”
“Your mother didn’t.”
Sharif felt a lump in his throat. “Don’t be hard on her. She’d just lost everything. She barely was able to look at me, either. Her heart gave out. She died a few months later.”
“So you were alone—ruling the country—at just fifteen? With a newborn baby sister to watch over?” She shook her head. “How did you do it? At fifteen, I could barely manage a part-time job after school to pay our utility bills. How did you manage to pull your whole country back together? All alone?”
Here it was, then. The one thing she didn’t know. The thing he’d been dreading to tell her. The thing that he had been trying to force himself to face.
Sharif put both his hands against the table. “Because even then, I understood human nature.” He wouldn’t be a coward. He wouldn’t. He looked at her. “I encouraged my uncle to believe he would have great influence over me, to make him give up the idea of a regency. And as for the vizier—to him, I made a promise.” He said quietly, “I promised to marry his daughter.”
Irene stared at him, as if she hadn’t heard right. She blinked.
“You...” She swallowed. “You’re engaged?”
“Officially, it has not yet been announced.” He looked back at the water, wishing for something stronger. In the royal palace he respected his country’s long custom and abstained from alcohol. How he wished he did not honor such niceties at the moment. He felt he could have drunk an entire bottle of scotch as he forced himself to say aloud the very words he’d been desperately trying not to think about for months. “But it is time for me to make good on that promise. Our engagement will be announced after Aziza’s wedding.”
“Do you—” She flinched, then whispered, “Do you love her?”
“It’s not a question of love. I made a promise. I cannot go back on my word. Even though I might wish otherwise.” He looked away. “When my time comes, I will make the sacrifice.”
