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He shook his head. This was not the time to be distracted. “My uncle is dying. We expect he has a year or so left.”
Her face wore a perfect expression of sympathy. And though he’d heard enough platitudes to last a lifetime, the simple gesture swelled his heart with something like relief.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “The knowledge of a second heir would be a great gift to send him to his grave with.”
“An heir? You mean … your heir?” She scanned his face in surprise. “You’re not suggesting that I … that we …?” Her panic was obvious, and if he were a lesser man, he would have been offended by the blatant terror the idea of procreating with him had inspired.
“No. Thank you for the ego boost, though,” he drawled.
She laughed shakily. “I’m sorry, Layth. I’m just so, so not a maternal person. You had me completely petrified for a second there.”
He pushed aside the temptation to probe her assertion, for he disagreed with it. “Never fear. You would not be considered a suitable bride for me, nor an appropriate royal mother.”
“Oh.” She hid her pain behind a joking tone. “Now it’s me whose ego’s taking a battering.” She slid her hand away on the pretence of lifting her coffee into her palms. It was warm, but her grip was cold.
“I do not intend to offend you. There are very specific ideas about what my bride must be.”
“I see.” She felt as though she was having a conversation from outside her body. “Such as?”
“Many things,” he waved a hand in the air as though it did not matter.
She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “And in what ways would I not be suitable?”
His laugh was rich. “You have just had a near-miss heart attack at the very hint of bearing my child. Are you truly wanting to argue your case now to marry me?”
“No,” her cheeks were red. “I’m just curious. What’s wrong with me?”
Nothing. The realisation was a weight on his shoulders. If he were free to choose a bride for himself, would he choose Cassie? Or someone like her? What an absurd contemplation, given the length of their acquaintance. He pushed the idea aside. It was impossible, and therefore immaterial.
“Seriously. I want to know. I’m a big girl.”
He shook his head, and rubbed a hand over his chin. “It is not about you. My wife will be a princess. Either of Takisabad, or from Salima – our closest country and ally. She will have been raised from birth to understand her duty is to make a royal marriage. She will understand the requirements of state life. The invasive and difficult balancing act that being my wife will require.”
“And you don’t think I could do that?”
He glared at her with impatience. “You do not want this, so why are you trying to convince me you’d be suitable?”
“I’m not.” She huffed dramatically. “I’ve just never been very good at being told no.”
He grinned. “Nor I.”
“I bet your wife will be excellent at it,” she murmured, blinking her eyes with mock innocence.
“Oh?”
“Yes. I’m sure she’ll be meek and mild and perfectly appropriate at all times.”
“Undoubtedly.” Laughter was rich in his voice.
“She would never let you slide any part of yourself inside her in a public place,” she continued, her eyes wide now.
“No.” His blood was heating up. He had never known a craving such as he felt for this woman.
Cassie smiled sweetly, perfectly aware of just what she was doing to him.
“I think I would like to keep you chained to my bed until I leave.”
