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“After you’ve handled your wife?” She intentionally invoked that long ago night, the night when Raffa had said those words to Amit and then to Chloe.
She wasn’t angry at him, she was terrified of them – of what they were and what they’d become – but it expressed itself as anger and rage. She pushed at his chest so that he let her go, sliding her to the ground.
“Thank you,” she said, stiffly. “Please come and explain this to me later.” She turned before he could say anything, but as she stalked towards the door that would lead to the wide sweeping steps of the east wing, she heard him command a servant, “Go with Her Highness. Make sure she is comfortable and resting.”
It put Chloe in half a mind to do something foolish, like go play tennis or golf, instead of doing as he’d suggested.
But she was shaken and exhausted, mentally drained, and the heat from the day played havoc with her senses. The sun was on the wane now – somewhere out in the desert, far from the palace, the tent was there, ready for the night, the night she had imagined spending with her husband. Far from all this, far from his duties and responsibilities and the constraints of their royal marriage.
It was dusk when he appeared at her room, looking as though he’d run a marathon for three days straight. There was an utter exhaustion about him that she instantly ached to wipe clean, to fix.
But she didn’t. She stayed where she was, sitting at her desk, reading emails. Only her head shifted, turning towards him.
“Well?” She asked, cocking a brow. “What’s happened?”
“He’s gone.” He ran a hand across the back of his neck.
“Amit?”
“Goran.”
“I meant, how is Amit?”
“He’ll be fine. He didn’t want to go. He knows what his father’s like.”
“And what’s that?” She asked, standing now, but keeping a careful distance.
“A bully. A drunk. Someone he is better off not having in his life.”
Chloe swept her eyes shut. “I don’t understand any of this. You were in a relationship with Elena, yes? You told me she loved you. And she’s Raffa’s mother?”
His nostrils flared and she could see him weighing his words.
“When I was a child, my father had an affair. It was brief. Foolish. Tempestuous and ill-thought-out. It broke my mother’s heart.” He said the words with obvious condemnation, easily invoking his disdain for the idea of love without needing to speak the words anew. “Goran was the result of that affair. My father allowed him to be raised in the palace – and it destroyed my mother. She rarely came here.”
“Even to see you,” Chloe murmured softy.
“Even to see me.” The confirmation was cold, without the emotional pain Chloe knew her husband must feel. “Goran and I barely spent any time together. I knew who he was, and vice versa, but he was nothing to me.”
Chloe frowned. “He’s your brother.”
“As Apollo is yours,” he pointed out smoothly.
“But Apollo and I… Apollo hated me…”
“And Goran hated me,” Raffa said, his jaw clenched. “I didn’t realise that, of course, until it was too late.”
“What do you mean?” A frisson of apprehension crossed her whole body.
“He – wrongly – perceived Elena to be my intended bride. He believed I loved her, enough that stealing her from me might wound me. That he might triumph over me at last.” He said the words with thick fury. “She fell pregnant to him and when he realized, then, that I didn’t care, he left her. He left the country.”
Chloe’s gasp was one of utter outrage. “How dare he?”
“She was not much better,” Raffa said. “She had Amit, and when he was only two weeks old, she too disappeared, leaving only a note.”
?
??What did it say?”
