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She was a prisoner in her own home.
Hungry for information, for answers, she dragged a ladder from the shed outside and into the cramped hall and climbed up to the loft. With utter disregard for her safety, she dragged out box after box and threw them to the floor beneath her. The task of going through her mother’s things, her photos, her letters, had been too painful to comprehend, yet it was imperative to Effie that she do it now.
Sitting on the hall floor, she truly didn’t know where to start, her hand reaching for the first box, pulling out a random letter, and the second she opened it every fear was confirmed, every dream broken, just as she had deep down known it would be.
Zakari wouldn’t have got this wrong.
May 19th 1985
Lydia,
Again, I waited for you last night, just as I did last year. You know it is too dangerous for me to come to you. I am pleading with you to come to me, to contact me, to let me know that you are well.
I know we cannot be together, but we promised to meet once a year. Please don’t deny us that one pleasure.
Till next year
Yours always
Ax
She would have been one year old, Effie realised, tears coursing down her cheeks, and the year before that her mother would have been pregnant with her—no wonder she hadn’t dared meet him.
She read a few more. Each letter, each passing year Aegeus’s pleas were more desperate, more urgent, then suddenly the letters stopped. Aegeus had clearly given in.
With a weary eye, Effie stared at the boxes, but couldn’t face them now. She had started reading at the end of their story, but was just too exhausted, too drained, to start from the beginning.
There would be time for that later, Effie knew, watching her front door darken and realising her small respite was over.
Zakari had come to claim her.
‘You will come back!’ Zakari stood imposing and huge and just completely out of place in the tiny modest lounge. ‘You have no choice but to come back.’
‘There’s a clause in the marriage for divorce!’ Effie couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. ‘I read it myself!’
He paced like a caged lion, stopping every now and then and staring at the photos, the pictures that lined the walls, pulling down books from the shelves.
‘These are first editions!’ He shook his head. ‘This picture alone would equal the value of your home—yet you were working as a maid.’
‘I didn’t know.’ Effie shivered in her own misery. ‘They’ve just always been there. I was hardly going to assume they were gifts from a king.’
He was so invasive, just so consumed with his own self-righteousness, he didn’t think twice about striding into her mother’s room and throwing scorn on her things.
‘These jewel boxes are from Egypt!’ Zakari shook his head in disbelief. ‘These would have been gifts from the Egyptian royals to the Aristan palace…’ He picked up the tiny glass perfume bottles Effie had once cherished and her misery deepened as each precious memory was tarnished. ‘These are part of a rare collection. Your home is furnished by the Aristan palace!’ Zakari sneered. ‘You have no need to worry about not fitting in—you have been surrounded by rare treasures all your life!’
‘I didn’t know!’ Effie sobbed.
‘Whether you like it or not,’ Zakari said, only slightly more gently now, ‘things have changed. It is impossible for you to go back to your old life. People know now who your father was. It will be impossible for you to work, to carry on as before…’ He watched the tears that rolled down her cheeks, felt a strange twist of guilt for what he had put her through, then righted himself—what choice had he had? And anyway, he had rescued her. She was nothing but a lowly palace maid when he met her, now she would wear the finest clothes, walk with kings—so why was she crying?
‘You have a duty to the people.’
‘What duty?’
‘How will it help the people of Aristo and Calista to hear their king is divorced? There is already enough turmoil without a marriage crisis looming. You will return with me now. You will serve the people I now rule.’
‘You have what you want,’ Effie pleaded. ‘Why do you still need me?’
‘Because kings do not divorce!’ Zakari roared. ‘Their wives do not walk out on them after just one night of marriage—and you shall not walk out on me. You will remain by my side.’
She knew when she was beaten, knew he was right—however much she might want to return, her old life didn’t exist any more.
‘I will walk by your side… I will eat at your table…’ despite her tears, Effie’s voice was strong ‘…but never, ever again will my heart be by your side.’
He didn’t understand what she was saying—she had agreed to his rules, would stay in the palace, there would be no scandal of divorce… Everything he wanted he had…except one thing.
‘Arrange another room for me.’
‘No. You will sleep in my bed.’
‘Never…’ Effie spat as if the mere thought repulsed her. ‘You can take your mistress if tradition is so important to you, then go back to the ways of old, Zakari. There’s already a room waiting for her!’
‘We need heirs.’
How basic, how sad that it all came down to this.
‘I will come to you when I am fertile.’ Effie’s voice was flat and utterly void of emotion as she delivered the cold facts. ‘You can take me then.’
‘Take you?’
‘Do your business,’ Effie said. ‘That is all you get from me.’
This wasn’t going as planned. He had expected her to be upset, angry even, but she was beyond angry now. Her eyes, when they met his, were cold and hard, that pretty mouth that had smiled and chatted so readily with him, just this tight line now.
‘You are upset,’ Zakari conceded. ‘I accept that, but in time you will see that there was no other way.’
‘You could have spoken to me about the jewel. You could have told me you needed it.’
‘You really expect that I would discuss royal business with a maid?’ Zakari frowned. ‘Until you were my wife there was nothing that could be discussed.’
‘Well, you got what you wanted,’ Effie responded.
‘Fine,’ Zakari clipped, but the last word would be his. ‘You can sleep alone until the official wedding ceremony takes place—the palace staff will accept that, and you will have time to get used to your new position. But after that,’ Zakari stated, ‘you will be my wife, in every sense of the word.’
CHAPTER NINE
SHE had never felt lonelier.
Surrounded by people, every minute of her day planned and accounted for, never had Effie felt more alone.
She was awoken early, her dresser and makeup artist arriving together. Her face was made up, her clothes chosen for her and her hair brushed and coiled severely, till she was deemed suitable to have breakfast with the King.
Oh, she could see his bored eyes greet her in the morning, knew she disappointed on so many levels, but then he had disappointed her.
She was a mere shadow of her former self. With every diction lesson, with every hour she had to sit through and listen to the history of Calista, or be versed in politics, with every degrading minute spent being shown how to walk, how to sit, how to exit from a car, how to accept a handshake or a curtsy, Effie felt as if she were being eroded.
And now, after three weeks of training, she was apparently ready to be unleashed to the hungry public.
A charity polo match was being held on Calista, one that would raise vast sums of money for the orphanage. A noble cause for a noble game, Zakari explained in a clipped tone as he read all the morning papers—something he did each morning as she sipped her sweet coffee.
Aarif was joining his brothers and taking part in an official polo match for the first time, which was enough on its own to pull an impressive crowd, but with the royal wedding just over a week away the people of Calista were frantic for a glimpse of the woman who would be their beloved King’s bride and every expensive seat had long since been sold.
‘You are nervous?’ Zakari checked, his face tightening when instead of answering him she just nodded. ‘Kalila and Eleni will be with you, they will guide you and as soon as the match is over I will join you.’ It irritated him that his attempt at reassurance clearly didn’t work, that the conversation that had once flowed so easily between them was still so stilted and forced. ‘You have your wardrobe chosen; your hair and make-up will be done. There is nothing to be nervous about.’
‘I’d rather choose my own clothes.’ Effie gulped. ‘They don’t seem to know what suits me.’
‘You have the finest dressmaker in Calista,’ Zakari retorted, his gaze inadvertently falling to the pastry in her fingers, and Effie burned in one blush, hating that she wasn’t svelte, hating every humiliating fitting for her wedding dress. ‘She was the Queen’s top designer.’
‘But she doesn’t listen to me…’ Effie attempted, then gave in. How could Zakari possibly understand her struggle? The dressmakers and make-up artists had been like gods to Effie and she had made their beds and cleaned their rooms. Even though no one had ever uttered a word, even though all the palace staff were polite, she could feel their mocking eyes on her, could feel their hostility—that they now had to wait on the lowest of maids. ‘The maids don’t respect me.’
