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That I want you in my bed, now, Omar thought. “About what?”
She tilted her head quizzically. “About your choice of bride. How’s it going?”
It was going badly, since the woman he wanted was the one he could not have. Though his body was working overtime to convince his brain otherwise. “I must take my time to choose the final five, who will return to Samarqara to meet my council. They will choose the one they feel best suited to be Queen.”
She looked horrified. “You don’t make that choice yourself?”
“Yes...and no.” He looked at her. “I nominally have the final say, of course. But only a fool would discard their advice. Because by the laws of Samarqara, once a child is conceived in a royal marriage, divorce is forbidden.”
“No divorce—ever?” Her eyebrows lifted in consternation. “That seems really harsh. Not to mention impractical. What if you—” she hesitated “—fall out of love?”
“Since we will never have been in love, that is not a concern.” He took a drink of champagne. “The law is for the good of the nation. Half siblings fighting for the throne caused endless wars in the last century.”
“Do you have a lot of wars?”
“Not since I became king.”
Her eyes went wide. She looked at him with new respect. “Wow.”
His forehead furrowed. “Wow?”
“I just realized how much pressure it must be, being king. All the responsibility. Preventing wars. It’s not just castles and crowns.”
“No. It’s deadly serious.”
“Where is Samarqara, exactly?”
“It’s on the southern edge of the Caspian Sea.” His lips curved upwards. “On the old Silk Road, a small kingdom rich with oil and spices, famous for its ancient learning and the warmth of its people.”
“Your economy is built on oil?”
“Oil and trade. Our finance industry has also grown in the last fifteen years. But we aren’t a tourist destination. Not yet. Not like our beaches and fine weather deserve.” He paused. “Though my tourist board estimates that if I marry Sia Lane, worldwide tourism to Samarqara would increase by five hundred percent.”
Omar expected her to mock such a practical consideration, to express her horror and disgust at the thought of him marrying the movie star, horror he privately shared. But Beth just looked thoughtful as she nibbled on a sweet baba au rhum.
“That’s a lot of new tourists.”
“Yes.”
She sighed. “And I can see how the happiness of your people must matter more than your own.” Shaking her head, she said sadly, “In some ways, as
king, you’re the least free person in your entire kingdom.”
Omar stared at her in the shadowy restaurant. No one had ever said such a thing to him before. Of its own accord, his hand reached for hers across the table, even as he said quietly, “It is my birthright.”
“I guess, but... Who can you even talk to, when you have problems?” Beth looked down at her small hand wrapped in his. “How do you even have friends? You’re the king. By definition, you have no equal.” She lifted her head. Her luminous eyes went through him as she whispered, “You must feel totally alone.”
A shudder went through his soul.
All the other women today had approached him strategically, like generals with a war to win, as if Omar were someone they had to conquer to achieve their deepest dreams.
But Beth wasn’t trying to conquer or convince. She wasn’t even weighing the consequence of her words. She had no fear. She wasn’t talking to him as someone addressing a king, or even like they were on a first date. She was talking to him like he was just a person.
Like an equal.
She wasn’t worried about speaking that way to a king, because she wasn’t trying to get him to invest in her research—in fact, she’d totally ignored his attempts to even discuss it. And she’d already voted herself out of the running to be his bride.
Why? he thought suddenly. Because she knew he wouldn’t choose her?
