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Niesha trailed after them out onto a stone terrace where an elaborate tea service had been laid out. She’d barely eaten anything at the wedding banquet but Niesha knew she wouldn’t be able to eat now either. She contemplated the exquisite offering, wondering whether she shouldn’t try anyway to calm her nerves.
But she didn’t want her nerves calmed. She’d been too dazed and confused earlier, had meekly stumbled her way through what should’ve been a firm refusal to succumb to his wishes. She’d gone along with the idea that she would be a stand-in, temporary bride. She intended to make her voice heard this time.
She would scream if she needed to. With a brisk nod to herself, Niesha sat down and held her hands in her lap.
‘May I pour you a cup, Your Highness?’
She stopped herself from gritting her teeth at the title. It didn’t belong to her and she would never get used to it.
‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘You may go now. I’ll pour it myself when I am ready.’
‘But... Your Highness, that is not protocol.’
N
iesha swallowed her irritation. ‘I’m quite capable of pouring my own tea, Halimah.’
The older woman gave a curt bow, and stepped back. ‘As you wish, Your Highness. Will there be anything else?’
Niesha shook her head. But as the women started to retreat, she turned. ‘Do you know when Zu—His Highness will be here?’ She heard the nervousness in her own voice but Halimah’s gaze only softened.
‘You can expect him within the hour, Your Highness.’
Another series of curtsies later, Niesha was alone.
An hour.
She snorted under her breath. The likelihood that she would’ve gone completely mad by then was very real. The moment she heard the door shut, she jumped to her feet.
There had to be a way out of this, there simply had to be. She paced until her feet began to pinch, and then she kicked the shoes off. Hearing them thud against the wall brought a tiny bit of satisfaction, immediately followed by guilt at the treatment of what had to be thousands of dollars’ worth of accessories.
That thought ramped up her agitation. As she turned from her pacing, another burst of fireworks lit through the sky. Niesha lifted her head to watch it, the enormity of why this celebration was happening settling on her. She raised a hand to her throbbing head and caught a spark of her wedding ring. It was unlike any ring she’d ever seen.
From the history of the al Khalia kingdom she’d devoured back in her teens she knew exactly where the ring on her finger had originated. It had belonged to Zufar’s grandmother. She’d been married to his grandfather for over seventy years and had worn the ring every day of her married life. The heirloom’s historical significance threatened to overwhelm her. Perhaps it was fortunate then that the hard rap on the outer door dragged her from her thoughts.
The bundle of nerves that jumped into her throat suggested perhaps not. On shaky feet, she rushed to where she’d thrown off her shoes and slipped back into the heels. Sucking in a deep breath, she walked through the living room to the doors. With one last slide of her clammy palms over her dress, Niesha opened the doors.
Zufar too had changed. Gone was the magnificent military uniform he’d worn for the ceremony. In its place was an equally captivating tunic that drew her eyes to his broad shoulders and the tapered physique that been honed from his love of polo. Dark curly hair gleamed under the chandelier lights. He’d taken a shower at some point since she’d last seen him.
Despite the emotions raging inside her, Niesha couldn’t take her eyes off him. The subtle clearing of his throat embarrassingly long seconds later alerted her to her gawping.
When she met his gaze, his eyes were a touch cool, but as his gaze roved from her head down to her feet a different look replaced it. A look that sent hot tingles surging through her belly to curl low and insistent in her pelvis.
‘Are you going to invite me in or do you wish to tackle me where I stand?’
Niesha cursed the blush spreading in her cheeks, and stepped back hastily. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
‘The gown suits you,’ he said with more than a hint of satisfaction.
The thought that he’d chosen it especially for her shouldn’t have sent that traitorous bolt of pleasure through her bloodstream, and Niesha immediately wished it away. She didn’t want to speak about clothes. Or wonder whether the unbelievably soft and silky gown that clung to her breasts, waist and hips pleased him in any way. She only wanted to talk about her freedom.
‘Tell me what you said isn’t true,’ she blurted heatedly.
He didn’t respond but his nostrils flared slightly as he looked around the room. ‘Perhaps we should sit down.’
Niesha shook her head. ‘No. You said this was an interim solution. I want to know why you deceived me,’ she demanded, her voice more plaintive than she wished.
‘Calm yourself.’ His voice was a firm command.
