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‘Wh-what are you doing?’ she squeaked.
His eyes had grown remote, if still a touch darker than usual. They met hers for a split second before he strode, set-faced, towards the bathroom.
‘Seeing to your comfort. You must be sore.’ The matter-of-fact tone of his reply killed any softness the words evoked, although his touch, when he set her down in the shower cubicle and began to wash her, was gentle.
Why?
The question stayed locked in her throat as her breath shuddered out at his disturbingly intimate cleansing of her body. Niesha withstood his touch even though she wanted to sprint back into the bedroom and draw the covers over her head. It would solve nothing. So she stood there, biting her lip as he took his time to perform his task. Maybe it was no big deal. Maybe he did this for all his—
No. Not going there, she concluded fiercely.
Inexorably, her eyes rose to his face. To the tight mask blocking his every expression from her.
‘Is...is everything okay?’ She hated herself for seeking the reassurance.
His expression didn’t change but she saw his shoulders tighten. ‘Everything is fine.’
Tell that to your clenched jaw, she wanted to blurt. She bit back the words before they spilled free.
Maybe this was post-coital etiquette? Even as she pondered the question, Niesha knew she was grasping at straws. She wanted to find an excuse for the hollow sensation widening inside her but, really, wasn’t it her own foolish whims leading her astray, again?
As the thought struck she noticed his movements had slowed, his hands gliding fluidly over her flesh. Breath snagging, her gaze flew to his face. His lips were parted, his tongue resting on his lip as he glided a soapy palm over her breasts. Between his thighs, his manhood was stirring into life again. Niesha’s senses thrilled anew, the foolish notion that she’d got it wrong almost making her laugh with relief.
In the next moment, Zufar turned away. With almost cruel movements, he turned off the shower and stepped out of the cubicle.
No. She wasn’t wrong. She’d fooled herself into thinking she’d pleased him. That he would want her again. But as he’d told her in the living room, he needed heirs—and lots of them, quickly—if they were to be married for only five years.
The need to consummate this marriage had been an essential part of that goal. It had had nothing to do with her. The future of the kingdom depended on it. Nothing more, nothing less.
Zufar was a man who placed his duty above all else. He’d performed it and now the act was over.
Despite the warmth of the shower, a chill settled over her. Growing stiffer by the minute, she concentrated on breathing in and out as he wrapped a towel around himself, then one around her, before carrying her back to the bedroom.
Immediately she fled to the far side of the bed. Then, wondering if she was sleeping on his side, she started to reverse position. Then froze in the middle when it occurred to her that they hadn’t even discussed sleeping arrangements.
Niesha knew that besides the previous Queen’s private suite in the east wing, there was an adjoining suite next to the King’s for the Queen’s use. Was she supposed to retire there now and await further summons or return to the east wing? Her hands curling in frustration, she started to move to the edge of the bed.
‘Where are you going?’ he drawled, his imposing figure looming beside her.
A furtive gaze confirmed his demeanour hadn’t changed. In fact, he looked even more remote. ‘I don’t know which side you preferred or...even if I’m supposed to sleep here?’
His brows gathered in a dark frown. ‘Where else are you supposed to sleep?’
She licked her lips, her fingers tightening on the sheets bunched between her breasts. ‘In the suite next door? Or back in the Qu... Queen’s quarters?’ She stumbled over the word, was positive she would stumble over it for a long time to come.
His face darkened further, his jaw jutting out as he stared down his patrician nose at her. ‘Is that what you would prefer?’ he asked with chilling terseness.
Niesha suppressed a shiver. At this moment, she would prefer to be anywhere but here, withstanding his cold, haughty scrutiny, which he managed to pull off superbly despite being completely naked. ‘Isn’t that what is expected of me?’
‘What would make you draw that conclusion?’ he bit out.
‘It wasn’t a secret that your parents did not share the same bed...’ Her words withered to nothing when his whole body clenched into terrifying stillness.
‘In case the obvious needs pointing out, I’m not my father. And this is not the nineteenth century.’ If she’d thought him remote a minute ago, he was positively arctic now.
For some reason, mentioning his parents had hit the wrong nerve. Niesha, like everyone else living within the palace walls, had heard whispers of the strained relationship between the previous King and his wife, despite the King’s utter devotion to her. But with no facts to back it up, she’d attributed it to palace gossip. As for the relationship between King Tariq and his children, it had appeared civil if not outwardly warm.
But from Zufar’s reaction...could it all have been an act? A series of royal chess moves designed to fool the general public?
