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Beside her, Zufar held out his handkerchief.
She took it, her gaze snagging his for a moment. ‘Thank you.’
He gave a stiff nod. ‘You are strong. You can do this.’
A moment later she was alone. As alone as she’d been from the beginning. As alone as she would be when Zufar left as abruptly as he’d appeared.
You will be all right.
She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry and scream and throw things. But she bottled it all up because she was a queen. Twice over. And queens didn’t break down into uncontrollable hysteria.
She reminded herself of that as she gave another interview and expressed her joy to be back home. It came in handy when she danced in Zufar’s arms and he held her courteously but stiffly that night at a ball thrown in her honour.
And she reminded herself many times of that, the next morning, at the breakfast meeting with her chief adviser.
‘As I have said, I will give you an answer in due course once I’ve given the matter more thought.’ She picked up the tea and sipped it, her heart alternately joyful to be sitting in her mother’s favourite breakfast chair, drinking from her favourite tea set, and heavy because once again Zufar had made himself scarce the moment they were alone.
‘If it is a matter of pride, Your Serene Highness, please be assured it is not necessary. No one will judge you. We are simply thrilled that you are back. But we want you back permanently and as soon as possible. Your kingdom needs you. And the only way to extricate yourself from all things Khalia, we strongly feel, is by divorce.’
Icy water drenched her veins. But a numb part of her had already seen this coming. Wasn’t that what Zufar himself had suggested in his own way a few days ago? He’d spoken of hard choices needing to be made. And when it came down to it, wasn’t a dissolution of a marriage that was doomed to failure anyway the only option?
‘You want me to divorce my husband in order to assume my birthright?’
‘At the moment, it seems to be the only course open to us, Your
Serene Highness.’
The boulder-sized pain that lodged itself in her chest made it hard to breathe. The joy of being back among her parents’ things faded, her hands trembling as she set her teacup down.
‘Very well.’ She stopped, those two words birthing a thick sob she had to swallow to keep down. ‘I understand—’
She froze as Zufar stepped onto the balcony. The look on his face chilled her to the bone.
‘I’m guessing I’m no longer needed here, in that case,’ he said, his voice edged with soft deadliness. ‘Perhaps you wish for me to make myself scarce?’
‘Zufar—’
He batted her words away in that unique way of his. ‘You can save your words. I came to say goodbye. You have saved me the tedium of saying a more permanent one at a later date.’ His gaze dropped to her stomach before rising to her face again. ‘But be assured, Your Highness, that what is mine will remain mine.’
The shock of his words rooted her to her chair. Her world turned grey as he executed the perfect military turn and disappeared from view.
From her life.
Another sob threatened to escape. With every cell in her body, she wanted to let it rip free. She contained it as she’d never contained anything else in her life.
She was a queen. Queens didn’t break.
* * *
‘Wait! You’re what?’
Zufar stared at his brother. ‘Which part of it do you need repeated?’
Malak stared at him, shock and apprehension written all over his face. ‘All of it. Better yet, let’s just pretend everything you said was a joke. I can appreciate the odd joke when—’
‘It’s not a joke, brother. You said you wanted to help. This is what I need from you.’
Malak snorted. ‘Help means handling a difficult meeting in your stead, or picking out a gift for your wife when you run out of ideas. Help doesn’t mean tossing your throne in my lap, telling me you’re abdicating and expecting me to take your place.’
