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se of the chaos and pain of his own childhood. Even his natural love of independence now took second place, because this changed everything. And he needed to think carefully about what to do next.
Very carefully.
He stared at Hannah, at the fatigue which was creasing the corners of her mouth and the untidy tumble of her hair. ‘It’s been a long day and you look exhausted, so why don’t you go and freshen up?’ he suggested.
She put down the half-drunk cordial and as the pink liquid sloshed against the sides of the glass, she regarded him with suspicious eyes. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
He felt a flicker of irritation. Did she think he was making a pass at her? That he wanted her to go and bathe and prepare herself for him? That he would actually want to be intimate with her at a moment like this, when his whole life was about to change and she was the instrument of that change? But that wasn’t all he felt, was it? There was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He felt a steely clench around his heart.
Was it fear?
Yet he was known for his fearlessness—even as a teenager, when he’d run away to join the Zahristan forces during the fierce border war with Quzabar. His late father had hit the roof when Kulal returned, with the livid blade mark which travelled from nipple to navel. He had been lucky not to die, the old King had raged—but Kulal hadn’t cared about his brush with death. Even before he’d left the palace to fight, he had been given hints of the frailty of human existence. He had learnt lessons which had stayed darkly in his heart. And now it seemed there was another lesson to be learnt.
He stared at her, his lips curling. ‘I am merely suggesting you might wish to change—perhaps to rest—before we have dinner.’
She gave a hollow laugh. ‘You really think I want to have dinner with you, Kulal?’
‘Actually, no. I don’t. I think we’ve been forced into a position where we’re going to have to do things which neither of us will find particularly palatable—’
‘I’m keeping my baby!’ she defended instantly.
Kulal stiffened, his nostrils narrowing as he inhaled an unsteady breath. ‘How dare you imply that I should wish otherwise?’ he flared. But although his anger would have filled any of his subjects with fear, it was having no effect on Hannah, for she was tilting her chin in a way which was positively defiant.
‘I’m just letting you know the ground rules from the start, so there can be no misunderstanding,’ she said. ‘And I can’t see the point of us having dinner.’
‘Can’t you?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You need to eat and we need to talk. Why not kill two birds with one stone?’
Her gaze became hooded, thick lashes shuttering her aquamarine eyes like dark feathers. ‘I feel it’s my duty to tell you,’ she flared, ‘just in case you’re getting any autocratic ideas of whisking me away so I’m never heard of again—that my sister knows exactly where I am and she has the number of the police on speed-dial.’
It was such an outrageous remark that Kulal almost smiled until the gravity of the situation hit him and all levity vanished. Because humble Hannah Wilson was not as compliant as he had initially thought, was she?
‘Let’s say eight o’clock, shall we?’ he questioned, eager to reassert his authority. ‘And please don’t keep me waiting.’
CHAPTER SIX
PRIMED FOR THE Sheikh’s knock at precisely eight o’clock, Hannah sneaked one last glance at the mirror, then wished she hadn’t. Because this was the reverse side of the fairy tale, wasn’t it? This was the reality. Last time she’d spent the evening with Kulal, she had been transformed with a wave of the stylist’s magic wand. With her costly jewels and a silken gown she’d looked like someone he might wish to be seen with. But not any more. She had been sick during the early weeks of her pregnancy and, as a consequence, her face had acquired a horrible gauntness. Her dress looked cheap—because it was—her breasts felt heavy, and now she was going to have to endure a stilted dinner in some fancy restaurant with a man who had never wanted to see her again and meanwhile...
Kulal hadn’t said a single positive word about the baby.
He hadn’t said any of the things she’d secretly been wishing for, even though she’d told herself it was madness to expect anything from such a man. He hadn’t reassured her that, although becoming a father had been the last thing on his mind, he would step up to the plate and take responsibility—and he certainly hadn’t cooed with pleasure or puffed his chest with pride. He had just studied her dispassionately as if she were no longer a woman, merely an inconvenience who had suddenly appeared in his life. He had installed her in a suite at the Royal Palace Hotel—admittedly the biggest suite she had ever seen. But she had felt small and insignificant within its gilded walls and, when she’d woken from her restless nap, had wandered aimlessly from room to room, wondering what on earth was going to happen next.
An authoritative rap put paid to any further introspection and Hannah opened the door to find Kulal standing there, the bronze shimmer of his robes alerting her to the fact that he too had changed. Had he rushed back to the real palace for a quick wash and brush-up, she wondered—just about to tell him that she wasn’t sure she could endure going to a stuffy restaurant, when she noticed two hotel employees wheeling a vast trolley towards them, bearing unseen dishes topped with gleaming silver domes.
‘I thought we’d eat here,’ he said peremptorily, walking into the room without invitation, the waiters trundling the trolley immediately behind him.
Hannah opened her mouth to object to his cavalier attitude then shut it again. Because really, what was the point? While one waiter set the table positioned in a far alcove, she was forced to endure the tops of the silver dishes being triumphantly whipped off by the other, like a magician producing a series of rabbits at the culmination of his act. But she felt no enthusiasm for the feast which was revealed, despite the alluring display of pomegranate-peppered rice and vegetables cooked with nuts and a sweet paste she’d never heard of. She waited until she and Kulal were alone before turning to him, not caring whether her face showed her growing frustration or not.
‘Why are we eating here?’ she questioned baldly. ‘Because you’re ashamed of being seen with me?’
He didn’t react to her truculent tone, adopting instead a tone of voice she suspected was meant to calm her down.
‘A public appearance will serve little purpose other than to aggravate the situation,’ he said. ‘I don’t particularly want reporters seeing us out together—not at this stage. Sit down, Hannah. You should eat something. Now. Before we have any kind of discourse. Before you keel over and faint—because that really would be a bore.’
His tone was crisp and authoritative and, although Hannah was still in a mood of rebellion against his high-handedness, she knew that for the sake of her baby she should heed his words. So she sat down opposite him, at a table laid with snowy linen, silver cutlery and crystal glasses—and ate some food with all the enjoyment of somebody being forced to finish a school dinner. It was only when she had put her fork down that she noticed his own plate lay barely touched.
‘Yet you aren’t eating yourself?’ she observed.
‘I’m not hungry. I have work to attend to after our meeting and food will make me sleepy.’
