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She was to be given a ball? As in, an entire event to celebrate her? She fought the urge to flap her arms at the woman currently applying make-up to her eyelids. This was too much to absorb while sitting completely still. Taking one deep breath, followed by another, she waited for the make-up artist to move away for a moment before narrowing her gaze on her new assistant. ‘You said the Sheikh has arranged all of this?’
‘Along with his team, of course. The priority right now is for you to feel as prepared as possible in your role as Queen.’
Or did the Sheikh himself simply wish for her to be kept as busy and out of sight as possible? Cressida wondered. She didn’t know why she felt a sense of rejection that he had not chosen to at least eat breakfast with her in order to inform her of his plans. They had not spoken at all of what the day-to-day workings of their arrangement would be. He was not breaking any promises.
So why did she feel so utterly alone of a sudden?
She simply wished to ask for further news on the fire at the encampment, she told herself. She did not like being left in the dark on the matter. She would seek him out, perhaps. She would ask him for an update and perhaps clarify what was to be expected of her from this point, other than the ridiculous ball and the lessons he and a team of servants and tutors had apparently deemed necessary.
Finally, the make-up artist finished her work and stepped away. Cressida barely even glanced at her own reflection; she needed to stand and move and have a few feet of space to herself for the first time in two hours. The fact that it had taken two hours to get dressed was utterly ridiculous; she had always just put on an outfit, brushed her hair and gone about her day with minimal fuss.
‘Is everything okay, Your Highness?’
Cressida looked up from the stifling weight of her thoughts to find all three women looking at her worriedly. She straightened, remembering herself, and plastered on the most
serene royal smile she could muster in the face of her inner turmoil. ‘I’m fine. Let’s get started on the day, shall we?’
* * *
Khal’s mother and sister turned out to be surprisingly warm and inviting. Their family apartments were smaller and slightly less formal than the Sheikh’s wing. They made their introductions and she was hugged warmly by her new mother-in-law before they sat together to enjoy a warm breakfast of spiced breads, fresh fruit and hot Zayyari tea.
The Sheikha Amala was younger than Cressida had expected, a beautiful woman with perfectly applied make-up and eyes that shimmered with kindness. Princess Nia was only slightly older than Khal, with a family of her own. She spoke fondly of her two young sons, who attended an elite boarding school in Scotland for much of the year but returned to the palace for holidays. Khal’s mother did not speak any language other than her own but the Princess conversed easily in both French and English and talked wistfully of her time abroad in Paris when she was younger.
After a time, the Sheikha’s mood seemed to change as she began to speak with her daughter as translator, asking for details of the secret wedding ceremony. Cressida described the welcoming environment of the encampment, leaving out the details of the heavy security presence and the fire that brought the night to an abrupt close. No sooner had Cressida begun to describe her fascination with the symbolism on the wedding tent than the older woman stood with a loud sniff and excused herself from the room.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ Cressida asked the Princess, her worried gaze following her as the door snapped shut, leaving just the two of them.
‘My mother is deeply unhappy that Khal did not allow us to attend the wedding,’ Nia said, taking a sip of her tea. ‘He explained that it was necessary—it was to be an elopement, and none of the royal family would be present.’
‘I am sorry.’ Cressida bowed her head. ‘It all happened very fast. I’m sure he would have preferred to have you there.’
Nia smiled sadly. ‘I think she is upset because she knows that is not the case.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I have two sons. I know my heart would break to find one of them had shut himself off from me. My brother has been like a stranger to us these past few years. He grieved for a long time. I know it well, such grief. I lost my own husband after only three years of marriage. A loss like that leaves a hole in your soul.’ Nia sighed. ‘Grief can be so destructive...it takes a part of you with the one you lost.’
The young woman’s eyes filled with tears and Cressida felt the urge to reach out and embrace her. Thinking that might be a tad too familiar for a first meeting, she settled for a single solemn pat on her hand. Nia smiled, wiping away the single tear that had escaped her heavily made-up eyes.
‘I imagine it is not enjoyable to think of your husband when he was so entwined with another.’ She winced. ‘I did not think before I spoke.’
‘Love is not a fundamental part of this particular marriage,’ Cressida said carelessly, regretting the words as soon as they escaped her mouth. ‘What I mean is...’
‘It has not been disclosed by my brother, but I had a feeling that this had something to do with politics.’ The Princess smiled. ‘Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me.’
‘Thank you. And I’m sorry for your loss.’
The older woman shook her head gently. ‘I am grateful for my position. I have my brother to watch over my sons as they grow into young men. I have time to spend with my mother, though she can be a little dramatic.’ She laughed good-naturedly.
Cressida found herself smiling, a real smile. She liked Khal’s sister very much and it was nice to know there was someone here to talk to who was not employed by Khal to watch over her or transform her into the perfect Queen. All too soon, their time was up and Nia rushed off to attend to her mother.
Cressida left the family apartments and trailed behind her assistant for an extensive tour of the palace grounds. The historical Grand Palace compound was almost three hundred years old but showed clear signs of renovation in certain places. Her assistant pointed out the renovations as scars of the wartimes when the palace had been damaged by rebels. Cressida thought of Khal and his determination to have his kingdom accepted by the world despite the violence in Zayyar’s past. How many other areas of this beautiful kingdom had been destroyed and rebuilt?
In the cavernous portrait gallery, she was shown depictions of Zayyar’s past rulers. Fierce-looking men with long beards and swords sheathed by their sides. As the paintings became more modern, she instantly recognised the face of Khal’s mother, by the side of an older man. The old Sheikh had kind eyes, not too different from those of his son. The family resemblance was quite strong.
The next picture portrayed a young Khal alongside a beautiful raven-haired woman. Cressida paused, looking up at the picture of her husband and his original Queen. She was a stunning beauty, all dark features and effortless grace. He was entitled to still be in love with his dead wife, she reminded herself. Theirs was not a marriage built on the pretence of love or even affection. If anything, it should make things easier knowing that he was emotionally unavailable.
She forced herself to move away from the shadow of the woman who had captured her husband’s heart, knowing that such a matter should not concern her. She was an instrument of political influence, not a true wife, and she would be a lot happier if she kept that thought front and foremost in her head.
Learning a new language was her favourite pastime in the whole world, so when she sat down to her first Zayyari lesson with her personal tutor, naturally she expected to feel the same passion and excitement that always came over her with a new academic challenge. But after half an hour she still could not pull her thoughts away from her talk with Nia and the mysterious scandal of the late Sheikha’s death. Seeing the picture of Khal with Priya had got under her skin. Why did she feel the urge to compare herself to the dark-eyed beauty? To wonder if Khal compared her too. She had already known that she was second choice to her sister Olivia to be his bride. She had been able to rationalise that as Olivia was older and more famous than she was.
But she could not rationalise how she felt in this moment. A sensation prickled in her chest, peculiarly like jealousy, and she pushed it away, throwing herself into her lessons for the day and determined not to think of the Sheikh at all.
