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Something in her had died the moment he had said those words, and after that it was as if she no longer saw or heard anything. She had sat down on her chair, tears falling down her face, and she didn’t even seem to be aware that she was crying.
The king demanded that every word of their meeting be kept secret. Altair reluctantly argued against this, saying that the matter was too crucial to not follow protocol merely because they all considered Anisah a member of the family. Malik’s temper, long buried in the days of his misspent childhood as a hotheaded youth, threatened to re-emerge any moment. He would not see a woman who had been unfailingly loyal to the palace treated like a criminal, and anyone who dared place her in cuffs would have to go through him.
As the other sheikhs’ voices started to rise, Rayyan was the only one who had gone to him, the sheikh’s calm voice masking both his thoughts and emotions as he spoke to Tarif.
She is your fiancée.
Rayyan’s words had worked like a bucket of ice water being dumped over him. In his pain, he had actually forgotten that he had asked Anisah to marry him, and the reminder had forced him to look at Anisah—-
Ultimately, they’ll remember that your ties to her make this your call. So what do you want to happen?
It was a question he had not been able to answer. At that moment, he had been unable to do anything but stare at her.
Sitting in her chair, her back painfully straight, and her eyes swollen by tears that did not show any sign of stopping, and silent – so damn silent.
Just when she had stopped begging him to talk to her, look at her, stopped caring that he believed her – how fucking ironic was it that was also the same moment he found himself unable to take his eyes off her?
In the end, the king had asked Rayyan to walk Anisah back to her apartment until they came to a decision, and it was Altair who had to tell her that they had no choice but to have guards keep a discreet watch.
The Anisah he knew – no, the Anisah he had loved – that Anisah would have demanded for an explanation.
But instead, she had only nodded and as she walked away, he had found himself clenching his fists, hoping like a goddamn fool that she would turn to look at him one last time.
But she had not.
Because he had chosen not to save her—-
He had chosen to hurt her to save himself –
He had chosen to use the only words they both knew she could never forgive -
Tarif shot up in his bed.
All of a sudden, he found himself recalling the words Hyacinth spoke to him.
Smiles are a luxury to her, and so are her tears.
And yet she had smiled and cried for him.
Everything she does is to atone for sins even when she’s a victim herself!
So how in the hell could a woman like that betray their kingdom?
Tarif swore as the truth hit him, the truth that his old fears had made him blind to see because he had not wanted to risk devoting his life to another woman who only pretended to love him. Fear gripped him as he tore out of his room, and he ran as fast as he could to get to the staff’s dormitory.
Protocol demanded that he keep his distance from her in the event that she was proven guilty.
Logic asserted that he was right to doubt her, with all the evidence pointing to her culpability.
And history – his own fucking childhood – tried to ram down the sheikh’s throat that he was once again about to turn himself into a slave of another fanatic.
But the sheikh didn’t give a damn.
Protocol, logic, history – they could go to fucking hell for all he cared.
All that mattered was that he saw her again, beg her forgiveness, and promise her that he would never doubt her again.
She loved him. He loved her.
