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Outside, several dozen more trumpets joined the heralding around the kingdom, crowds roaring where they were watching on giant screens across the city.
Inside, Niesha moved towards the man who stood tall, regal, and devastatingly handsome at the altar, her heart firmly wedged in her throat.
When Marwan winced, she realised her fingers had dug into his skin.
An apology tripped on her tongue but was immediately strangled by her nerves.
The murmurs in the congregation escalated, heads beginning to turn as speculation grew as to why Marwan walked next to the bride.
Niesha had no chance to dwell on that. Her sole focus was on Sheikh Zufar as he swivelled on his heel to watch her progress down the aisle.
His face gave nothing away. Years under the spotlight had honed an ability to ruthlessly school his features. But the many interviews that Niesha had watched of the Crown Prince, now turned King of Khalia, had clued her into the nuances of his expressions.
Right now, he bristled with fury, still incandescent at the atrocity that had been perpetrated against him. That fury was ruthlessly caged, the greater calling of duty and responsibility taking priority. He meant to see this through, come hell or high water.
Niesha cursed her senses for choosing that moment to flare back into life. The bright colours of the Imperial Ceremonial Room, the hushed voices of the guests and the laser focus of Zufar’s eyes all pierced her consciousness, grounding her mercilessly in that moment.
You will be all right.
How? she railed at the soft voice. She wanted to scream, turn and flee from the room, but there was nowhere to go. They were almost at the altar. Marwan was lowering his arm in preparation to step away.
The moment he did, Galila stepped close. Zufar’s sister’s face was pale, her mouth pinched as she cast a searching, bewildered glance at Niesha. Unlike the others in the room, she knew why a maidservant stood in Amira’s place.
‘The bouquet,’ she said gently.
Niesha reluctantly handed it over, mourning the tiny support being stripped from her.
Before she could dwell on it, Zufar extended his hand. They were to take that last single step to the altar together.
Niesha stared at the long elegant fingers of her soon-to-be—temporary—husband. Automatically, she lifted her right hand and placed it in his left. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or frightened by the pressure of the fingers that took hold of hers and nudged her forwards onto that last devastating step.
The cleric began to intone a long string of ancient words. Words that demanded obedience, fidelity, faith, companionship.
Love.
Niesha’s insides scrambled over that last word. She’d known none of it in her years. The occasional kindnesses that came her way had been from strangers. In her quiet moments, she’d dreamed of such a feeling, but never in her wildest imagination had she dreamed of it being uttered in such circumstances.
A glance at Zufar showed his face was a stoic mask, the words not having any effect on him save for the façade he’d put up for the public. When it was his turn to repeat his vows he did so in deep assured tones, not hurried, not in any way nervous.
The cleric turned to Niesha. Her heart lurched frantically.
Her fingers began to tremble, then her whole body was seized by vicious little earthquakes that just wouldn’t stop.
‘Repeat your vows,’ Zufar instructed with a grave whisper. ‘Repeat them now.’
Niesha swallowed painfully, forcing her dry throat to work. She opened her mouth, and with a sense of wild surrealism said, ‘I, Niesha Zalwani, take you, Zufar al Khalia, to be my husband.’
Shock waves rippled through the crowd, echoed outside the palace as the true identity of the bride was revealed. Through it all, Zufar kept his gaze fixed, haughty, regal and straight-ahead.
‘Proceed,’ he commanded the cloaked cleric.
To his credit, the old man did not hesitate. He recited reams of archaic, binding words.
And a mere half an hour later, Niesha was officially wed to the King of Khalia.
CHAPTER THREE
A THREE-MINUTE STATEMENT was issued by the official press secretary on behalf of Sheikh Zufar al Khalia immediately following the ceremony. That was all it took for the strange tale of the swapped bride to turn the atmosphere from scandalised confusion into roars of elation.
