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‘Then you have to assert yourself,’ Zakari clipped. ‘They are here to wait on you…expect it and it will happen.’ Oh, he made it sound so easy. ‘You will look fine.’
‘Of course.’ Effie nodded, blinking back the tears in her eyes at his inadvertent choice of word. With the best dressmaker, the best makeup artist and everything at her disposal, that all he could summon to describe her was fine rammed home her unsuitability for the role she had been thrust into.
‘I have to go now.’ He stood to leave. ‘Noor…’ he snapped his fingers at a maid ‘…remove the newspapers.’
‘Leave the newspapers, Noor,’ Effie said, and then met his eyes. ‘You said I should assert myself.’
‘Why do you insist on reading them?’ Zakari said with a weary sigh.
‘You read them,’ Effie pointed out.
‘I have to keep abreast of all the goings-on. I have to gauge people’s reactions to the news that I will soon be King of Aristo.’
‘If you don’t leave them I will walk to the shop and buy them for myself. Which will really give them something to write about!’
‘Fine!’ Zakari shrugged. ‘If you insist. I will see you after the match.’
As the door was opened for him Zakari turned, just in time to see her reach for another pastry, her misery palpable.
‘Try to enjoy today… It is for a good cause. A lot of money is being raised for the orphanage on Calista.’ She said nothing, her hand just frozen over the pastry. ‘It is an exciting game too—and that Aarif is playing makes it especially important to me.’
‘I’m sure it will be wonderful,’ she dutifully replied, only it wasn’t enough. He could hear Kalila laughing in the palace corridors as she walked to the entrance with her husband, to no doubt kiss him goodbye, and he wanted the same from Effie.
‘Are you going to wish me luck?’ Zakari demanded.
‘You don’t need luck, Zakari,’ Effie answered dully. ‘If you set your mind to something, you get it.’ She gave a pale smile. ‘I’m sure it will be the same today.’
There was no escape from her humiliation.
Picking up the newspapers Zakari himself had just read, she read of her very public shame.
Oh, the Calistan papers were discreet—more joyous of the news that their king would now rule both islands than focussing on the methods.
The Aristan newspapers, though, were savage.
Pointing out how power-hungry Zakari was—and the lengths he would go to. That when he could have had any woman he wanted, he would marry a fat, illegitimate maid if it meant he would rule both islands.
Zakari had merely shrugged when she had at first wept over them, and explained that when the transition of power was complete they would not dare to print such things, but that just hurt Effie more—that he had said things, instead of lies.
They were especially brutal this morning.
A particularly scathing piece, in one of the trashier papers, even questioned the legality of the marriage, as to how Zakari could even bring himself to consummate it!
An appalling caricature of them both followed on the next page, Zakari, dressed in his military uniform, but with a peg on his nose as he lowered his head to kiss her.
They’d made her look like a pig.
And now she had to face them.
Had to somehow stand proud, knowing what people had read this morning.
Effie closed her eyes and wept.
Anya’s top designer she might have been, but Queen Anya had been sixty when she had died and she, Effie, was only twenty-five.
Queen Anya had been tall and elegant, whereas she, Effie, was short and overweight.
Anya had also died five years ago, Effie gulped, standing with the other royals as they waited to make their entrance. She had been dressed in a pale pink satin suit, a floor-length skirt and a fitted jacket with extravagant beading and embroidery that was so long it covered her bottom, but it made her legs look short.
Five years, Effie realised as she nervously glanced at her new family, all effortless in their elegance, was a long time in fashion.
As the announcement was made they entered the royal box and the whole stadium stood to attention, for a moment all heads lowered in reverence, but that reprieve was fleeting. The formalities over, Effie felt every eye in the crowd fix on her, assessing her, taking in every uncomfortable detail as Zakari’s choice for a bride was closely scrutinised and, Effie realised as the cameras started flashing, photographed.
Effie had always lived life in the shadows, and happily so, and it was excruciating to sit and listen to the hum of the crowd, knowing, just knowing they were talking about her.
‘They will soon get used to you,’ Kalila said kindly. ‘For now, of course, there is a lot of interest.’ She gave a kind smile. ‘You will get used to it too.’
Oh, she doubted it. Sitting beside the woman who had initially been chosen as a suitable bride for her husband, more and more Effie realised just how very unsuitable she herself was.
Kalila was so naturally elegant; her conversation with the other dignitaries was polite and engaging. Effie knew Zakari was delighted for his brother and that he wasn’t remotely jealous of the union that had taken place with his once-chosen bride, but it unsettled Effie, who now saw up close what was expected of Zakari’s wife. She knew she failed miserably.
‘Are you looking forward to the wedding?’ Kalila checked as the game neared its conclusion. They were in the final chukka, Eleni had explained, and Effie was willing the match to be over so she could escape. The scores were even and the mounting excitement of the crowd meant at least they were too occupied to stare at her! ‘Or is that a silly question? I remember how nervous I was on my wedding…’ She trailed off, remembering, perhaps, that she had been intended for Zakari. ‘Tell me about your dress,’ she asked instead. ‘I am sure it is stunning.’
‘It is very…’ Effie struggled to make a positive description. There was not a single thing about her dress she liked. Her tiny murmurs of protests had been waved away or ignored by the designers as they had continued to stick her with pins. ‘Elaborate!’
‘Tell me about it.’ Eleni, who was sitting on the other side of Effie, was slightly less intimidating, but even if she had once been a commoner she was so feisty and confident in her own skin and so knowledgeable of the game, Effie felt drab in comparison. ‘It is so hard at first.’ She gave a sympathetic smile. ‘I remember how I struggled with my wardrobe, but Kaliq suggested I try designers from Aristo…’
Yes, Effie thought bitterly, but Kaliq loves you.
Oh, Eleni was kind, and she tried to include her in conversation, but she kept getting diverted, watching her husband and the unfolding last minutes of the game with undisguised glee.
‘Too fast!’ Eleni was on the edge of her seat, then, remembering her place, sat back, but Effie could feel her tension, and looking onto the pitch she saw the reason for it.
Zakari was thundering down the emerald pitch, the end of the match just a minute or so away, and, as Eleni had explained, another goal and Zakari’s team would win, but, even to Effie’s inexperienced eye, she knew Zakari was going way too fast. He was almost out of his saddle as he swooped to hit the ball and Effie could feel her stomach in her mouth, sure he wouldn’t stop in time, biting down on her lip as he raised his mallet then connected with the ball, thrusting it and scoring what was surely the winning goal, then saluting the air with his fist as his team congratulated him and the crowd went wild…
As Zakari did it again!
Glancing upwards to the royal box, Zakari saw Eleni was applauding loudly until she remembered to contain herself a touch, and Kalila was smiling demurely, yet on the face of his bride, instead of pride and admiration, all he could see was her pale taut features. He didn’t recognise it as fear.
Did nothing make her smile? Zakari thought savagely.
Did nothing he did make her proud?
He’d nearly broken his neck going for that ball! Yes, he’d been showing off a bit perhaps, but, hell, did nothing impress her?
He could have any woman he wanted in this crowd. Kicking his horse angrily, Zakari turned it on thigh power alone and sped off, the whole stadium on their feet in adulation, yet the one woman who could have him, the one woman whom, he reluctantly admitted to himself, he had been hoping to impress, just looked pained and bored.
‘Excellent work, Your Highness.’
Tanya, a pretty stable girl, took the reins as Zakari slipped off his horse. Despite the punishing heat and exertion of the game, he had barely worked up a sweat, but his muscles pumped and his veins were thrumming with the testosterone of victory. He could see Tanya’s breasts jutting high in her T-shirt, see that before she lowered her eyes she held his gaze for just a second too long… His groin was on fire, and on any other occasion he would have indulged in a flirt, hell, might have taken her between showering and changing…
Only he didn’t want to.
Accepting congratulations, smiling as his back was slapped, Zakari scanned the hungry crowd with restless eyes. Only the elite were allowed in this area and he watched them part as his wife made her way over, nervous, plain, overweight, and in the most terrible suit. His heart suddenly went out to her as he realised how humiliating, how daunting today must have been for her, and he wished she would let him support her. He was furious with the newspapers, enraged and disgusted, and more than a touch embarrassed too…
