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How absurd! This man apologized to no one, least of all his wife.
“I would never do that to your father,” she said after a beat had passed. “And you know that.”
Raffa expelled a breath and nodded. “Yes.”
At least he didn’t lie about his manipulations. “He’s on his death bed. The shock of our divorce could kill him. Give me a better ultimatum. One that holds two options that might appeal to me.”
He let out a short sound of frustration. “You rather misunderstand the point of an ultimatum.”
“No, I don’t.” She turned away from him again, pacing towards the waterfall. How long had it stood there, washing over ancient rocks, washing over ancient feuds? “I just didn’t think you’d be capable of behaving like this.”
She wrapped her arms around her torso, inadvertently drawing his attention to her slender fragility so that he wanted to join her in heaping abuse at his feet. What he was doing was beneath him, and he knew it. It was despicable and unreasonable. But desperate times called for desperate measures and only the deepest love and affection for his father, the deepest respect for their family’s long tradition of keeping the peace in Ras El Kida, kept him to his course.
Goran represented a very real threat, and though Raffa knew he would triumph over it, there would be damage and loss in the interim. An heir was the only way to ensure the kingdom’s safety.
“Well, Chloe? I don’t have all night. What’s it to be?”
She didn’t move. Not even a little, so that Raffa was left wondering if she’d heard him. But finally, her head shifted just a fraction.
“I’ll move to the palace,” she said with a grim determination he understood. “But you will make time for me in your life. I’m not going to be ignored by you as well.”
Raffa was too relieved by her acquiescence to notice the bitter rejoinder that followed immediately afterwards.
“I’m pleased you are being reasonable.” Now that she’d agreed, he moved forward with plans. “I’ll have your servants bring your things, though much of your bridal trousseau has been installed in my dressing room already --,”
“Your dressing room?” She interrupted, whirling around. “I’ll have my own suite of rooms, though?”
“No.” His eyes glittered. “You are my wife and we are about to take a step forward – this marriage is about to become truth, not just a construct of our fathers’. So you will come to my apartment, my bed, my life.”
“But you surely don’t want that any more than I do?”
He shrugged. “I want an heir. And you being here gives us the best chances.”
“At your beck and call?” She snapped tartly, a shiver of anticipation and pleasure dancing up her spine. “You’re serious?”
“You either want this or you do not. You’ve just agreed to be my wife, to carry my child, so why are we arguing over semantics?”
“I don’t consider this semantics! I consider the question of my space and privacy to be an incredibly important one. I will have my own suite of rooms, Raffa, and you won’t bully me into anything else. You will come to me, but by prior appointment, at a time that suits us both.” She said stiffly, her tone loaded with an impressive degree of hauteur.
“There is no material difference between your plan and mine,” Chloe continued. “Making me move into your suite is unnecessarily cruel, and I hope
I’m not wrong about you. I hope you’re not capable of that.”
The tension in the air could have been sliced with a knife.
“Fine.” It was an agreement given through gritted teeth. “Seeing as you’re being so reasonable. Use the suite that was given over to you for the wedding.” He stalked towards the door and pulled it inwards. The guards were still at their posts, as though nothing had changed. As though the whole universe hadn’t fallen into disarray in the last twenty minutes.
He spoke to one of the guards in his native tongue, fast and low, and despite being fluent in the language, Chloe couldn’t engage her brain to properly digest his words. Something about ‘her highness’ and ‘unwell’.
“I will see you tomorrow night, Chloe,” Raffa said as she moved through the door to his room. “Consider that a prior appointment.”
She opened her mouth to issue a harsh rejoinder but he slammed the door shut, stranding her between two guards, neither of whom would meet her angry blue eyes.
Chloe woke early after a restless night’s sleep, and battled a heavy fog of disorientation with each blink of her eyes. Her room was different – larger – with enormous windows that opened onto a balcony to one side. Different, but familiar.
And it hit her like a freight train, memories of the night before, the summons she’d received to attend the palace, her husband’s coldly delivered missive that she must bear his child, her refusal, his ultimatum, and finally, her agreement.
She planted her feet onto the marbled floor and wiggled her toes, staring at the pale pink polish that had been applied only a day earlier, when life had made so much more sense. She stood, frowning as she moved towards the windows that looked towards the desert.
