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“An heir?” She whispered the words, so he was obliged to lean closer in order to hear.
Raffa compressed his lips in that way he had – the ease with which he could express his disapproval would have been a skill she admired were it not for the fact it was almost the only interaction they ever experienced. She couldn’t remember a time when he’d looked at her with something other than boredom or disdain.
“A child.”
“You mean, our child?” She felt all the warmth drain from her face.
Raffa’s disdain grew, icing Chloe’s heart. “Unless you can think of another way to beget an heir.”
Raffa was an only child, the sole son of the great Malik, and she, Chloe, was his wife – his only wife. It had been a long time since polygamy had been legal in this country, so there was no chance of suggesting he simply marry another woman with whom he could breed.
“We said we’d wait,” she reminded him urgently.
“We have waited.” He drew himself up to his full height, staring at her from darkly brooding eyes.
“But it’s only been a year. I thought you meant, we’d wait… several years.” She trailed off lamely before regrouping. “I don’t even live at the palace. We haven’t even…” the words tapered off once more, and all the blood that had fallen from her face rushed back, hard and fast, filling her cheeks with an innocent blush.
“Yes, Sheikha?” He prompted, the words droll, apparently determined to offer her no relief.
“Well, it’s not something that I’ve even thought about,” she concluded without meeting his eyes.
“Perhaps it’s time you started.”
“But Malik…”
“Needs to know the lineage is preserved. He is not well, Chloe. You’ve seen this for yourself. Do you not want to give an old man some peace of mind at the end of his life?”
Her eyes narrowed and when she spoke, the words were shaky. “You’re using my affection for your father to manipulate me.”
Her husband laughed, but it was a short, harsh sound. “Am I?”
“You know I’d do anything for Malik.” Even marry you, she thought bitterly, the words unspoken but not unheard. They both understood the truth of their union – a marriage brought about by her father and his, a marriage that had made so much sense at the outset and that was now a great source of pain for Chloe. At least, it was whenever she had occasion to see her husband.
For most of the time, living in the capital Qadim, in her own royal apartments, with her own maids and servants, she could focus on what she’d set out to achieve in acquiescing to this plan. She could pour her energy into charity work, championing the causes that were most important to her, instead of simply being Raffa’s Princess. And now, the royal-heir-provider.
His eyes held hers for several seconds. “Have your servants bring you to my apartment after this has concluded.”
Chloe’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t mean now. Tonight?” She gulped. “Don’t you think that’s too soon?”
“No, Chloe. I think it’s just soon enough.” There was a warning glint in his eyes, urging her to silence, but Chloe had never been the submissive wife she knew Raffa had banked on. Promises her father had made to seal the deal, no doubt. Or perhaps it had been her father’s truth. After all, to the Greek tycoon, she’d always been too in awe to speak her mind. Too afraid that the same criticisms he’d reserved for her mother might fall to her shoulders. So she’d been meek and respectful on the few occasions she’d seen him.
Raffa was not her father though, he was her husband, and Chloe wasn’t about to be dictated to.
“If you don’t want to do it, then don’t. You are Sheikh of Ras el Kida. With or without a wife; with or without a child.”
Raffa stared at his oldest friend with a rueful shake of his head. “You’re trying to make me feel better about taking a woman who hates me to my bed – about seducing an innocent woman, almost ten years my junior – just so she can carry a baby I don’t even know she wants.”
Kalim’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You mean to say, a baby you don’t know if you want.”
Raffa was uncharacteristically awkward. “I have always known my duty here, Kal. If I don’t have a child, an irrefutable heir to inherit the throne, Goran will act, and you know he has the power to tear at the fabric of this kingdom. For all my father has done, for all I’ve done, it is always banging on our doorstep. Don’t you hear that? The factions who wish to return to our old ways? To plunge Ras El Kida into what it once was? A disparate, fractured group of councils and tribes, with no single authority? Goran wants to drag us there; he is always stirring up dissent. And my father’s death, my lack of heir, these things will appeal to those who would foolishly follow him. I will not let that happen.”
Kalim lifted his broad shoulders. “Then you have no choice but to go through with this.”
Raffa compressed his lips and in the crowd, far below the mezzanine level on which they stood, sequestered from the goings on of the celebrations, he found her easily in the crowd. A single blonde head in the midst of so much colour. She was still, unmoving, like an ice sculpture in the centre of all the festivity.
A thick thud of guilt hefted in his gut.
“I know that.” He lifted his attention back to his friend’s kind eyes. “I just don’t know how I’ll live with myself afterwards.”
