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Raffa’s eyes darkened. “Something that didn’t matter until recently.”

Chloe’s eyes swept shut. “But when Malik succumbs to his illness, you think he’ll challenge you for the throne?”

“Yes.”

“And you think he’ll be successful.”

Raffa expelled an angry laugh. “No. But he will cause a lot of damage in the meantime. Our freedom and prosperity are hard-fought. We cannot afford a civil war.”

He seemed to push the unpleasant thoughts away, standing straighter and looking at her with renewed intent. “None of this matters, Sheikha. We will have an heir, and from the moment your pregnancy is announced, Goran’s prospects will die.”

Chapter Fourteen

THE CALL CAME THE next morning. And she’d been expecting it, so the words Doctor Schultz spoke solicitously down the line were hardly even a shock. Hadn’t Chloe known, in her heart of hearts, that something was wrong?

Hope was a damned fine fool, and she’d cherished a foolish hope right up until the last, but despite the doctor’s final reassurance, she finally let go of hope. She accepted reality.

“The condition is unusual, on its own. But combined with other factors, it’s very unlikely that you will ever be able to conceive, let alone carry a pregnancy to term. There are things we can try, but even with medical intervention, I do not wish to excite your hopes. More than likely, your Highness, you will never be able to have a biological child of your own.”

She’d been unable to speak, and so he’d continued. “That’s not to say it’s impossible. The universe, God, call it what you will, works in mysterious ways. There is always a chance, you know, but I think you should prepare for the fact that this might not be the case for you.”

“Not impossible?” Chloe had asked breathily, her heart thumping.

“But highly, highly, truly unlikely.” The words were a soft, gentle rebuke. A call to reality.

“I see, Doctor. Thank you.”

Chloe disconnected the call, numb in a way she’d never known. Numb, and aching, all at the same time. She stared around the room, the palace suite that was so perfect for a princess, decorated with her in mind, she stared at the bed she and Raffa had used each night, making love to one another with dreams of babies in both their minds, and she squeezed her eyes shut on a wave of illness, cloying at her insides.

She wasn’t to be a mother. This wave of nausea was nothing more, it was panic, just like in the helicopter. She’d deluded herself into seeing symptoms that weren’t there, when her brain had known what her heart hadn’t wanted to accept.

She couldn’t give Raffa the baby he needed.

She couldn’t give him the baby the Kingdom needed.

She wrapped her arms around herself, staring out at the sky without seeing.

The marriage she had entered willingly and found herself clinging to was insupportable. It was a trap. A prison.

There was no way she could remain in Raffa’s life – she couldn’t do it to him.

If she told him the truth, what would he do? It was easy to imagine – he would support her. He would insist on remaining married to her. She was his wife, and the sister of his friend. She was Malik’s friend’s daughter. All these things would matter to Raffa – duty, friendship, loyalty. But it was loyalty to another, friendship to another, and duty to his Kingdom. There was nothing in his potential actions that would be a reflection of how he felt for Chloe, nor what he wanted from her.

He would do what was right and good, not what was right for her. Just as he’d done the right thing by Amit – raising the boy as his own when he had no obligation to do so. He’d been responsible and principled when others had failed.

He would be like that with her, but he’d always resent her. He’d always look at her as the woman who’d failed him. Particularly if Goran plunged their country into a civil war that a wife who could conceive might have prevented!

And what of their intimacy? What of this hunger that flared between them? Would he extinguish it easily? Satiate himself with another?

She groaned and sank to the floor, giving in, just for a moment, to the desperation that was thick inside of her.

There was no alternative – none. No matter how long she spent analyzing the problem, nothing would fix this. She didn’t know how long she sat there, but at some point, she stood, and dusted her clothes off.

She had to leave. And immediately, before she did something foolish like break down and tell Raffa the truth. She had to go. For if she told him, and he asked her to stay regardless, she would. And that would be so very wrong, for both of them.

“Aysha?” She called from the door to her room, looking for her servant. She appeared after a few moments.

“What is it, your highness? Are you well?” Aysha asked with a slight frown.

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