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He knew it to be genuine. Her love and affection for his father was the one thing he knew about her – since she was a child, she’d adored Malik, and even now, when she avoided her husband like the plague, she made time for the dying King. “And how was my father?”
She swallowed; her slender neck moved visibly as she tried to bring moisture back to her mouth. But she turned to face him slowly, anguish thick in her expressive eyes. “He was… not good,” she said honestly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question was just a husk, and, damn it all to hell, tears sparkled on her lashes.
Real tears.
He hadn’t prepared for this. Seeing Chloe cry. A thrust of guilt – misplaced – dragged down his spine.
“It would not have made any difference,” Raffa said with a shrug, coldness his defense to feeling anything for his wife. “Unless you are secretly an oncologist or healer of another description?”
Chloe slashed him with the ice in her gaze. “I know you and Malik have issues,” she said with a shake of her head. “But I believe he would take comfort from my presence.” He could tell she was about to turn away from him, to walk in a different direction.
Raffa’s pulse ratcheted up a gear and all the intentions he’d had of speaking to her privately on this matter, of cajoling her gently, fled. “There are other ways to comfort a dying King,” he said silkily, reaching his hand out and curving his fingers around her wrist, holding her still lest she decide to flee.
“Such as?” There was barely concealed anger in the words. When had they decided to hate one another? Perhaps they were always doomed to feel it – two independent, spirited people who had been morally obligated to enter into this farce of an arranged marriage?
“The country needs an heir, Sheikha. And it rests on you to provide it.”
Chloe froze. The room swirled around her, people, princes, princesses, so much joy, and her ears were ringing with her husband’s pronouncement.
“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 ev
en 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.”
