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‘Have you indeed?’ King Fabian’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m glad that you are assuming responsibility for your Queen. I had half expected you to try to shirk off the duty to me.’
Khal flattened his palms on the table, inhaling deeply against his sudden urge to resort to physical violence. ‘As this matter preceded our union, Cressida was insistent that your government have their say in the PR, considering that it is the Sandoval name being dragged through the mud. Believe me, had the decision been solely mine, I would not have been so merciful.’
‘Merciful?’ King Fabian’s eyes bulged. ‘You seem to have developed quite a tendre for your convenient bride, considering she was a poor replacement for the one you truly wanted. How is Roman Lazarov these days?’
Khal smiled at the obvious barb. ‘If this is how you conduct political meetings, I can see how you brought your kingdom to such a spectacular ruin in such a short time.’
Both men stood up from the table just as the door burst open and the remainder of Khal’s team entered.
‘Apologies for the delay, Your Highness,’ said the chief of his foreign affairs team, out of breath. ‘There has been an urgent development from Zayyar.’
‘Well, spit it out. We’ve been waiting long enough,’ King Fabian said impatiently.
Khal nodded once to the man. ‘If it is urgent and it involves Monteverre, go ahead.’
The man looked momentarily unsure of himself, adjusting his collar as though it was too tight around his neck. ‘It seems...that the marriage agreement between Monteverre and Zayyar has been called into question,’ he said slowly, drawing a sheaf of documents from his briefcase.
‘That agreement has been signed and done with,’ Fabian exclaimed, the rims of his eyes turning an angry red. ‘Whatever underhand treachery this is, I won’t tolerate it for one moment. Not one!’
‘Called into question, how, exactly?’ Khal ignored the other man’s outburst, feeling a strange floating sensation in his solar plexus.
‘Well, Your Highness, Zayyari law demands clear and truthful reporting of parentage. Both biological and legal. Parliament has proposed to nullify the marriage on the grounds that your bride forged her documentation.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘NULLIFY,’ KHAL REPEATED, the word tasting sour on his tongue. ‘Even if the marriage has been consummated?’
‘If you rule in its favour, yes. You hold the deciding vote, Sire.’
‘I called this meeting in order to reach an agreement to manage a scandal, not create an entirely new one,’ King Fabian’s voice growled from the other side of the table.
‘Do you deny that you deliberately withheld vital information in order to expedite my marriage to your daughter?’ Khal met the King’s eyes.
‘I am her father by law,’ Fabian said rather weakly.
‘Funny how you find that so easy to say now that you see your upward financial swing could be at risk.’
‘Are you going to do as they say, then?’
Khal could see the barest hint of fear in the slight widening of the other man’s eyes. He momentarily contemplated launching into a list of reasons why he would not be discussing his plans with the man who had emotionally blackmailed his own daughter into marrying a stranger, but he found he had suddenly lost all desire to waste his energy a moment longer. He instructed his team to close the meeting on his behalf and quickly excused himself from the room. He knew he should go to Cressida immediately and tell her everything that had been said. But what exactly would he say?
His thoughts took him out into the grounds of the palace, memory directing him to where he knew a small collection of stallions were kept in a paddock. He had spent some time in Monteverre while negotiating the beginning of the marriage deal that would change his life so completely. He chose a large Arabian named Bruno and borrowed a pair of boots from the groomsman. The paddock was not as long as his desert outlands in Zayyar but it served its purpose, giving both him and the horse just enough space in which to race out their excess energy and quiet their minds.
He thought of Cressida’s face when she’d spoken of her work, of the life she’d lived in London before he’d come crashing into it. She had told him she felt truly happy in that old life. Would she ever truly feel at peace as Sheikha of Zayyar? She had said time and time again that she was not suited to a public role. That she missed the solitude of her library and the simplicity of a private existence.
Could he really deny her the chance to turn back the hands of time and make a choice based solely on what she wanted to do? These thoughts haunted him even after the sun began to dip low in the sky. Realising he had spent longer than intended out of the palace, he released the stallion to the groomsman and made his way back inside.
They had been assigned a guest suite in the opposite wing to the family; he took the steps up two at a time, eager to get the conversation over with. When he entered the bedroom, however, he found Cressida asleep on the bed. He stood in the doorway for a long while, not wanting to wake her. There was a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t understand.
He had no way to be sure what she would decide once he told her of the option to annul their short marriage. He could simply make a phone call and have parliament vote against the whole thing, bury the entire idea as though it had never existed. She would never even know it had been spoken of...
But that would be selfish and he had gained enough self-awareness to know that he could not make this kind of choice for her. Lying to her or withholding information was not protecting her, it was something the old Khal would have done from a place of fear. Regressing was not something that he could justify. She had not been shown much kindness in her life, despite her royal upbringing. She had been used as a pawn in battles between her parents and palmed off as a political sacrifice to a man who was far too broken to ever give her the kind of life she deserved. She deserved to live the life she chose, even if that life did not include him.
Cressida stirred in the bed, a smile brightening her entire face at the same moment that she opened her eyes and saw him. ‘What time is it?’ she murmured huskily, stretching her arms.
‘Almost six,’ Khal said, forcing himself to remain still when all he wanted to do was close the distance between them and draw her into his embrace.
‘Did the meeting go well? Have you come to an agreement for the press strategy?’ she asked, standing up to reveal she wore only one of his T-shirts. She smirked as his
