AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He looked closer and saw the faint shadows beneath her eyes. ‘They were expecting a princess. They’re getting a queen. The honour will be theirs, I am sure of it.’
Her lips parted, as if she was going to respond, then she pressed them firmly together again.
Zufar wasn’t entirely sure why his unease deepened. Rounding his desk, he drew a finger down her cheek. ‘Are you well?’ He noted that his tone was abrupt and felt a little irritated with himself.
She drew away under the pretext of rising to her feet. ‘Of course. I had better go and get ready for this.’
He frowned as she started to walk away. ‘Wait.’
‘Yes?’
He strode towards her, the soft and alluring scent of her perfume tugging at him. ‘I’
ve had to add a few more appointments to the schedule on our honeymoon. It seems the lure of my Queen is too much for dignitaries to resist. I’d advise you therefore not to overtire yourself. We have a busy couple of weeks ahead of us.’
Her lashes swept down, the long silky length brushing her cheek. ‘I’m glad I can be useful. It is my role here after all, isn’t it?’ she enquired softly with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and a note in her voice that further grated.
His eyes narrowed on her face but for the life of him, Zufar couldn’t dig beneath her serene demeanour. The realisation that he wanted to know what was bothering her jarred him hard.
He was the King. He didn’t deal in emotions.
‘Yes,’ he affirmed. ‘It is.’
‘Then I’ll be ready.’
He went with her to the outer door, waved away the guard and opened the door himself. Then he stood watching her walk down the wide hallway, again struck by the dignity and grace in her stature and the smiles and reverence she commanded in her wake. He had no doubt she wouldn’t let him down.
The first speech she’d given had been so in tune with his own vision that he’d wondered whether she’d conscripted his private secretary as her speechwriter. The discovery that she’d written the speech to his army veterans on her own had been a stunning surprise.
All of that though didn’t explain the withdrawal he glimpsed frequently in her eyes.
Zufar returned to his desk, unable to shake off his frown or unease. For the first time in his life, he had a problem whose solution was eluding him and the reality of it jarred.
He had a wife who was shining in areas his own mother had severely lacked. At the thought of his mother, his mood plummeted. But try as he did to dismiss her from his thoughts, he found himself circling back to the woman who had given birth to him and then treated him as if he was an inconvenience.
Sure, there had been times now fading from memory when she’d bestowed a kind smile and a gentle touch. But that had been a long time ago, possibly even figments of his imagination. As he’d been prone to wondering lately, had those moments of brief affection been because she couldn’t be with Adir, the child she’d truly loved?
His fingers tightened on the edge of his desk.
Was that it? Adir had spoken about the letters his mother had written to him in his youth. Letters declaring her love for him. That revelation had driven home the grating fact that all her devotion had been reserved for the child she’d never been able to claim as her own, with nothing left for her remaining children.
The unpalatable thought pierced him but it wasn’t so easily dismissed on recollection of Adir’s fury at their mother’s funeral. Had their mother’s love for her bastard son eventually faded too, usurped by the wealth and prestige she’d craved more than anything else?
Enough!
It was no use dwelling on his mother and a fruitless past he needed to move on from. Zufar planted his elbows on his desk and attempted to dig into the mountain of work awaiting his attention. But concentration was at a premium. Perhaps he should’ve touched wood after all, he mused bitterly.
When his private secretary knocked, Zufar tossed down his pen.
‘Your Highness, your next appointment has been cancelled. The foreign minister’s daughter was taken ill suddenly. I have sent flowers.’
Zufar’s mouth twisted at his relief.
His foreign minister was an obsequious man, prone to rambling for an hour on an issue that required ten minutes. Reluctant to return to his sour thoughts, he rose from the desk.
‘Free up my appointments for the next three hours,’ he said, even before he’d fully made up his mind.
‘Immediately, Your Highness. Can I arrange anything else for that time?’
