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Omar’s whole body felt tight as he strode out of the small council chamber. His hands gripped into fists as he stalked down the halls. Servants took one look at his face and fled. He was still trembling with inchoate rage as he reached the private back entrance of the palace, beside the courtyard and twenty-car garage.
He waited for her car to arrive, pacing beneath the bright sunlight and softly waving palm trees of the paved courtyard. He hadn’t waited for anyone since he became king. Others always waited for him. But he waited for her.
Omar couldn’t stop thinking about the attack.
Beth had left that morning, not in a tight dress, but something equally inappropriate: oversize white denim overalls over a colorful striped T-shirt, with her light brown hair in a ponytail that made her look like an art student. She’d been excited to help open a medical clinic. She’d practiced her short speech in Samarqari over breakfast, repeating it over and over, anxious to make sure she pronounced everything right and didn’t have a repeat of the disastrous donkey episode.
He could imagine Beth smiling and talking to everyone outside the new clinic, holding up a pair of ridiculously oversize scissors so she could ceremonially cut the big ribbon.
And strangers in the crowd had yelled insults at her. Omar paced in fury, clawing back his hair. They’d thrown tomatoes at her. He stopped, snarling out a low curse. They’d thrown rocks.
He punched the stone wall of the palace, leaving his knuckles bloody and bruised.
“Sire!”
Omar turned in a rage. Khalid looked nervous, then squared his shoulders and came forward.
“I don’t know how her true identity was discovered, but it’s all over the news. The people are in uproar. They say if you marry her, you are a weakling and a fool.”
“The people?” he ground out.
“The nobles,” his vizier clarified. “But it seems the common people have turned against her, as well. How else to explain them throwing rocks?” His thin face sharpened. “What shall I tell the reporters, sire? May I announce that you intend to cast off the imposter, and marry the woman you should have chosen from the start—Laila al-Abayyi?”
Laila. Always Laila! The man was obsessed with her! Omar replied sharply, “I do not know yet if the queen is pregnant.”
“You call that shop girl your queen?”
Omar stiffened. “You know she is, until the day I divorce her,” he said coldly. “Even if no one else knows that, you do.”
Khalid bowed his head. “Of course.” He looked up. “But if she’s pregnant, you may still be rid of her. She is a proven liar. You do not have to claim the child as yours. You could—”
Omar turned on him with such ferocity, the other man shrunk back in fear. “You think I would lie and desert her and the child? You think so little of my honor?”
“My apologies. I was only trying to—”
“I know what you are trying to do,” he said unsteadily.
The vizier paused. “You do?”
“You are trying to serve the throne, as always. And in recognition of your years of loyal service I will forget your insult.” Then he saw the Rolls-Royce enter the courtyard and left Khalid without a word.
Before the car had even come to a full stop, Omar was opening the passenger door. He felt ill when he saw his beautiful wife, pale, her cheerful ponytail and white denim now bedraggled and covered in a mess of red splatters that, for one heart-stopping moment, looked like blood.
“I’m all right,” Beth stammered. “Truly, Omar, I’m fine—”
He didn’t believe her. Pulling her into his arms, he held her tight, until her trembling stopped.
“I’m getting tomatoes on your suit—”
“I don’t care,” he growled, holding her. Long moments later, he slowly pulled away. “The world has found out about the twin switch.”
She tried to smile. “I guess that explains all the television cameras and vans lurking at the palace gate.”
He gritted his teeth. “I swear I will find whoever leaked the story and...”
“It doesn’t matter,” Beth whispered. “I’m fine. Safe.”
Safe, he thought bitterly.
