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‘You will start a rumour that the King of Zayyar routinely starves his new bride.’
‘I forgot to eat,’ she said quickly, grabbing a napkin to dab the corners of her mouth. The man had barely spoken two words to her since escorting her into the banquet; of course he would choose now to begin a conversation. ‘I had hoped nobody was looking.’
‘I sincerely doubt that is the case. The entire gathering is captivated by you,’ he said in a low voice, leaning in so that it seemed perhaps that they were having an intimate moment. ‘You look...exceptionally regal this evening.’
Cressida felt a shiver run down her spine, having him so close, having his delicious scent invading her senses. The way he was looking at her, the depths of his dark eyes seeming to bore deep into her soul, she could not decide if he was continuing the show for the benefit of their guests or if perhaps he was feeling the same pull that she did, considering what had transpired between them a week ago. Or perhaps her hormones were simply not getting the message yet, she thought wryly.
Before he had a chance to dazzle her with any more of his flowery compliments, they were discreetly interrupted by one of Khal’s assistants. A quick conversation passed in hushed tones before Khal turned back to her, a crease furrowing his brow.
‘We are needed for a moment outside—nothing to worry about, just formalities.’ He extended his hand to her, making quiet apologies to the handful of guests at their table before escorting her out through a set of double doors and into a sitting room of sorts.
There were a handful more assistants waiting for them, each of whom began talking in Zayyari so quickly that Cressida found it difficult to even catch a single word she recognised.
‘English, please, for the benefit of your Queen,’ Khal said briskly.
Cressida’s eyes widened slightly at the tone he used. She had never heard him sound so impatient.
‘There has been a report in the media...’ one of the female assistants began, averting her eyes from Cressida’s worried gaze as she spoke.
The chief of the team, a man with greying hair and beady eyes, moved from the side of the room, a large file in his hands. ‘Your Highness, I apologise sincerely for disturbing your dinner, but protocol demands that you be alerted immediately to a report of this nature. When it is in the national interest.’ He extended the black file to Khal, who took it immediately, opening it and scanning it.
Cressida felt the slight ball of tension in her stomach turn into a full-blown quake as she watched Khal’s features turn from mild concern to disbelief before his gaze slowly rose to settle pointedly on her.
‘Leave us,’ he said quietly, his eyes never leaving her. It was the kind of quiet, firm voice he used when he was barely controlling his temper. The staff around him bowed their heads and left the room immediately, obeying their King’s orders.
Cressida fought the urge to turn tail and run. ‘What is it?’ she asked, hearing the tremor in her voice.
‘Why don’t you read it for yourself?’ He placed the file in her hands and turned his back to her, walking to the window, allowing her a moment.
Cressida scanned the file. It held an article dated that morning from an American publication, outlining very clearly a witness account to a royal scandal in the mysterious European kingdom of Monteverre. The royal scandal that had shaped her entire life.
Cressida felt a lump form in her throat as she took in the salacious headline in bold black ink.
Newly Crowned Queen of Zayyar’s Illegitimate Past: the secret behind the scandalous Sandoval family revealed.
The tremor in her stomach turned to full-blown nausea as she felt her breath leave her lungs. Well, here it was, the moment she had prayed would never come to pass. Perhaps it was simply a gossip article; perhaps it was one of those rare cases where the media actually got quite close to the truth by accident but didn’t actually have the evidence.
But, as she scanned through the rest of the article, she saw the name that haunted her. A name that she had found by chance at twelve years old, unknowingly setting the cogs in motion that would lead to her feeling ostracised and unwanted for evermore. She could still remember the smell of alcohol on her mother’s breath the day she had told her that she was the product of an affair. Unwanted. A shameful reminder of her own mistake.
‘Is this true?’ Khal asked, still facing out of the window.
‘Am I the shameful secret of the Sandoval royal family?’ she heard her own voice say, as though from far away. ‘Yes, unfortunately it’s true.’
Khal turned around, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. ‘You did not think to disclose this information upon our marriage?’
‘This information was never to be disclosed. My father... King Fabian, I mean, he and his team took extreme legal measures to ensure that it would never see the light of day.’ She felt cold, her skin prickling, her insides shaking. She couldn’t look at him; she couldn’t see whatever expression might be in his eyes as he looked at her.
‘Legal measures?’
‘As far as I understand, a very large amount of money has been paid annually to this man to keep his silence on the matter.’
‘Your biological father?’
Cressida nodded, the discomfort on hearing those words far too much for her to keep eye contact at all.
‘You read the article?’ A strange note had entered his voice. ‘The last paragraph in particular?’
Cressida picked the file up from where she’d laid it on the coffee table, scanning down to the end of the article. ‘Posthumous request?’ she said numbly. ‘He’s dead?’
