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Despite the vastness of the palace, she tiptoed to the grotto, careful to wake no one. The hallway was dangerously close to Zafar’s quarters and she was terrified of disturbing him in particular, or worse, hearing any sound from his room that suggested he wasn’t alone. She moved on autopilot, her feet remembering the steps to the pool easily, carrying her across ancient tiles, through narrow corridors – this was one of the oldest areas of the palace, built sometime in the thirteenth century, and as a result it lacked some of the grandiose dimensions of the more modern construction.
Her heart was slamming against her chest when she pushed the heavy timber door open. The grotto was exactly as she remembered it, and out of nowhere, tears welled in her eyes. How many nights had they spent here? Swimming together beneath the moonlight, kissing as water lapped at their sides, bodies entwined, the elemental nature of the world something Millie had felt intrinsically a part of when Zafar was at her side.
But that was in the past, and there was absolutely nothing to be gained from focussing on that. She took one last look around, ensuring she was alone, before shrugging out of the robe she wore – a robe that was big and fluffy enough to hide her changing shape.
Quickly, before anyone could arrive and spy her, she slipped into the water and closed her eyes, just for a moment allowing herself to remember, and to ache for a past she’d never know again. All of her attention was focussed on the pool and her thoughts, so naturally she didn’t notice the figure of a man overhead, his arms propped on the edge of the balcony, his gaze trained on the pool.
The water was cool, blessedly so, and within minutes she finally experienced relief from the stifling, oppressive heat of the night. She moved to the edge of the pool, bracing her arms on the coping and pressing her chin to her forearm, staring at nothing in particular, her mind engrossed in how to tell Zafar – just as it had been since she discovered that their one night of passion, fuelled by grief over the loss of his father, had led to this. She pushed under water, swimming two lengths before bringing herself up to rest against the coping once more, revelling in the feeling of the cool against her body, hoping the swim would tire her out enough to sleep.
“Amelia.”
Her eyes widened, panic contorting her features for the briefest moment before she brought herself under control. Though her pulse was racing, she managed to look at the man across the water with something that resembled calm, refusing to betray how his proximity affected her.
“What are you doing here, Zafar?” Her voice was hoarse, emotions making the words crackle. She cleared her throat, narrowing her eyes. “Or should that be Your Highness, now?”
He dipped his head in a wry acknowledgement of her comment before swimming dangerously closer. Every cell in her body reverberated in fear. Not of Zafar, but of the secret she’d foolishly believed she could keep by wearing flowing shirts and dresses!
“You may call me whatever you wish.”
Despite the tension, her lips cracked into a sarcastic smile. “I don’t think you should invite that,” she murmured. “You might not like the adjectives I choose.”
His features were blanked of emotion but even here, in the desert moonlight, she saw a spark of something in the depths his eyes. Admiration? Amusement? She looked away, because it was a lie, just as every other gesture in the past had been, every other indication of affection or even love. He’d never felt anything for her beyond physical desire. He never would. He’d used her. Again and again, and she’d let him.
“Perhaps not,” he agreed casually. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I’ve always loved it here,” she said, gesturing to the pool, sidestepping the question.
“But the wedding?” He prompted. “What did you think?”
“That your sister is very happy.” He was close enough to touch now. Concern was reverberating through her at a rate of knots. “You know, I came here to be alone.”
“As did I.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Then one of us should leave.”
He fixed her with a direct stare, his eyes probing hers. “You used to enjoy swimming with me, once upon a time.”
Her nervous system was awash with something like acid. “That was a long time ago. Everything was different.”
“Yes,” he agreed quickly.
“So?”
“Are you trying to remove me from my own private pool?”
Her lips parted in frustration. She felt the weight of what was at stake, and knew she had to be very, very careful in the next few minutes.
“I’ll leave,” she said after a beat. “If you’ll turn around to give me some privacy.”
He laughed, a harsh sound of disbelief. “I can see the straps of your bathers. You are not naked. Surely you cannot be so modest – with me of all people – as to demand I not look while you exit the pool?”
“You of all people?” She repeated, moving further away from him. “Why should you be any different to anyone else?”
“Because I have seen you naked, many times, habibi.”
Her harsh intake of breath was a visceral rejection of that intimacy. “That doesn’t give you the right now. Turn around, your highness. Please.”
His eyes seemed to mock her, but after a moment, he did as she’d asked. She took the final few strides to the pool steps, cast one final look over her shoulder then scampered up quickly, reaching for her robe with a decisive jerk.
Only even then, she was too slow. She moved to wrap it around herself but before she could complete the job, she heard a sharp hiss from between Zafar’s teeth and she knew.
He’d disregarded her wishes, and he’d looked. He’d seen the secret she hadn’t been ready to share.
She turned her back on him, belted the robe in place, and Millie fled.
