he had once needed her to believe him. ‘I’ve worked hard since the whole Paulo debacle, Khalil. I’ve poured my life into my country, just as my father wanted me to. Everything I’ve done has been for Thallia.’
‘I know it has,’ Khalil said quietly. He squeezed her hand. ‘Your devotion to your country is something I’ve never questioned.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘After all, you were willing to marry for it.’
‘As were you.’
‘Hopefully it was a wise decision on both our parts.’ He removed his hand from hers and sat back, his brow furrowed.
Elena suspected he regretted the intimacy of their conversation. She knew that wasn’t part of their marriage deal. And yet, watching him covertly, remembering how her body yearned and her heart ached for him, Elena wondered how she could have fooled herself into thinking she’d ever be satisfied with a marriage of convenience.
With Aziz it had been different. He’d been a stranger, and she’d given little thought to their marriage beyond the hard practicalities. Now she wondered how she could have been so blind. So naïve. How could she have coped with such a cold approach to marriage, to motherhood? How would she now?
She stared out of the window, realisations trickling despondently through her. She didn’t want a loveless arrangement any more. She wanted more from her marriage. More from Khalil.
She glanced back at Khalil; he looked distant and preoccupied. The things she wanted now seemed more unlikely than ever.
* * *
Khalil stared out of the window as the jet descended towards the runway, the waters of the Aegean Sea sparkling jewel-bright in the distance. He could see the domes and towers of Thallia’s ancient capital, the sky a bright blue above, the sun bathing everything in gold.
He turned to look at Elena and saw how pale she’d gone, her hands clenched together in her lap so tightly her knuckles shone bony and white. He felt a shaft of sympathy for her, deep and true, in that moment. She’d endured so much, yet had stayed so strong, even if she didn’t think she was. Even if she didn’t trust herself.
He trusted her. He believed in her, believed in her strength, her courage, her goodness. The knowledge made something in him break open, seek light. He leaned forward and reached for her hand. She turned to him, clearly startled, her eyes wide with apprehension.
‘You’re stronger than they are, Elena,’ he said quietly. ‘And smarter. They may think you need me, but you don’t. You are a legitimate and admirable ruler all on your own.’
Her cheeks went pink and her eyes turned shiny. For a moment Khalil thought she might cry. Then her lips curved in a wobbly smile and she said, ‘Thank you, Khalil. But you’re wrong—I do need you. I needed you to tell me that.’
They left the plane, blinking in the bright sunlight as they took the stairs down to the waiting motorcade. The paparazzi, thankfully, weren’t present; Elena had told him there would be a press briefing from the palace after they met with her Council.
He hadn’t liked leaving Kadar, but he understood the necessity of it. A marriage made deep in the desert was essentially no marriage at all. They both needed the positive publicity, the statement their marriage would make not just to Elena’s Council but to Aziz.
I took your bride. I’ll take your throne. Because both are mine by right.
Khalil felt the old injustice burn, but not as brightly or hotly as it had before. In that moment, looking at her pale face, he was more concerned for Elena than anything that was happening in Kadar. The realisation surprised him, yet he didn’t fight it, didn’t push the feelings away. He reached for Elena’s hand once more and she clung to him, her fingers slender and icy in his.
‘Welcome back to Thallia, Your Highness.’
Khalil watched Elena greet the royal staff who had lined up by the fleet of cars. She nodded and spoke to each one by name, smiling graciously, her head held high.
She looked pale but composed, elegant and every inch the queen despite the fear he knew she had to be feeling. Admiration and something deeper swelled inside him. Queen Elena of Thallia was magnificent.
Two hours later they were at the palace, waiting outside the Council Room. Elena had changed into a modest dress in blue silk, feminine yet businesslike, her heavy, dark hair pulled back in a low coil. Khalil wore an elegantly tailored business suit and, as they waited to be admitted to the Council Room, he wondered what this Markos was playing at. Was he keeping Elena waiting on purpose, to unnerve her? A petty show of power? Based on what Elena had already told him, it seemed likely.
He turned to Elena. ‘You should go in there.’
‘I’m meant to wait until I’m summoned.’
‘You are Queen, Elena. You do the summoning.’
‘It’s not like that, Khalil.’
‘It should be. You’re the one who can change things, Elena. Remember that. Believe it.’
She stared at him uncertainly for a moment and he imagined how hard it must have been for her, all of nineteen years old, devastated by grief and so utterly alone, trying to assert herself against the sanctimonious prigs of her Council. The fact that she was still here, still strong, both amazed and humbled him.
‘You can do it,’ he said softly. ‘You can do anything you set your mind to, Elena. I know that. I’ve seen it.’
She gave him a small, tremulous smile. ‘Except maybe make a fire in the middle of the desert.’
He felt himself grin back at her. ‘There were a few flames going there. If that snake hadn’t come along...’
‘If you hadn’t come along,’ she shot back, her smile widening, and then she drew herself up and turned towards the double gold-panelled doors.
He watched as she threw open the doors, grinned at the sight of twelve slack-jawed, middle-aged men rising hastily to their feet as Elena walked into the room.
‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ she greeted them regally, and Khalil had to keep from letting out a cheer.
* * *
Elena could feel her heart thudding so hard it hurt and she could hear the roar of her blood in her ears. She kept her head high, her smile polite and fixed, as she gazed at each member of the Council in turn, saving Markos for last. Her nemesis’s eyes were narrowed, the corners of his mouth turned down, and she felt a flash of relief. If he’d made any headway with the rest of the Council, he’d have been looking at her in triumph, not irritation. She was safe...so far.
‘Queen Elena. We have been wondering where you had gone.’ Marko’s gaze flicked to Khalil. ‘A honeymoon in the desert?’ he suggested with only the faintest hint of a sneer, but as always it was enough. He made it sound as if she’d run off with her bodyguard, heedless of her country or its demands.
‘There has been no honeymoon yet,’ Elena answered crisply. ‘But things, as you have surmised, have changed. I wisely ended my engagement to Aziz al Bakir when I realised he was not the legitimate claimant to the throne of Kadar. Marriage to an impostor would hardly benefit Thallia, would it...Andreas?’
Markos’s
