But from the moment Zufar had abdicated, Malak had found advisors in his ear, throwing out the names of eligible women of royal blood—Princess Amara of Bharathia, the Lady Suzette, and so on until it was all a blur of names and titles—and demanding he start thinking about his heirs.
Until it appeared he already had one.
And that reminded him who he was. He was no longer the Playboy Prince, the smirking star of a thousand tabloid articles. He was the king, with commitments to his people and their future whether he liked it or not, and it didn’t matter what had happened in the past few years. The only thing that mattered was what happened now.
“I understand your reluctance,” he told her, though he could tell that his tone was more cold than concerned by the way she stiffened. “But I am only here as a courtesy. I thought it would be better if I came to collect you myself instead of sending my men.”
“You can’t collect me. I’m not something you can pick up—”
She stopped, and the air changed between them. Something dark and dangerous seemed to loom there, just out of reach.
Malak did not state the obvious. That she was indeed something he could pick up, and he had.
But he might as well have yelled it.
“I should warn you that I have a limited amount of patience as it is,” he said softly, though not particularly carefully. “While I am aware of my own culpability in this, the fact remains that there is no possibility that my son and heir will be raised apart from me. The kings of Khalia are raised in the palace, under the care of the traditional tutors, the better to prepare for their eventual role. That is how it has been for centuries. That is how it will remain.”
She stood tall and still, her gaze on his and her hands in fists at her side. “My son is not a king.”
“No, he is a prince.” Malak gazed down at her, every inch of him the royal he had always been, though he had largely ignored it. But here, now, it was as if his ancestors roared in his blood. “The crown prince of Khalia, in point of fact. All that remains is to give him legitimacy. What that means, I am afraid, is that you will have to marry me. Whether you like it or not.”
Her breath left her in a kind of laugh. “I’m not going to marry you. I’m not going to hand my child over to you for random tutors to raise. You’re delusional.”
“That would make things easier for you, I’m sure. But I assure you, I am nothing of the kind.”
“Does everyone in Khalia marry a complete stranger? Is that also how it’s been for centuries?”
“As a matter of fact, many of the marriages in my family were arranged.” Malak didn’t think this was the time or place to comment on how those arrangements had worked out over time. His parents’ stormy marriage being the premiere case in point. “We are royal, after all. My brother was raised as the crown prince and was betrothed to an appropriate princess since her birth.”
Malak decided not to share how that had worked out, either. For either Zufar or Amira, the woman he’d been promised to but had not married, in the end. To say nothing of the half brother he’d never known he’d had, Adir, who had appeared from nowhere at their mother’s funeral and had spirited Amira away with him on the day of her wedding to Zufar.
None of those inconvenient truths would help him make his point here, to Shona. “Marrying strangers isn’t the barrier for me you might imagine.”
“Well, it’s a barrier for me,” she threw at him. “Because I’m not completely insane.”
“You have a choice before you, Shona. You can fight me all you like, but you will lose. And either way, I will be returning to Khalia with my son.” Malak let that sink in. He watched the way her chest rose and fell, too fast, and knew his edicts weren’t exactly landing well. “You can stay behind, if you wish. But I cannot tolerate any trouble or scandal. The kingdom cannot survive any more turmoil. So you need to ask yourself—are you willing to give up your child? To sign away all your rights and never speak of this again?”
“I would rather die,” she gritted out at him.
Malak felt that his smile was much too thin, but he aimed it at her, anyway. “Then again, let me offer my congratulations. For your only other choice is to return to Khalia with us and take your place as my queen.”
“I would rather—”
“Careful,” Malak warned her, his voice hardly more than a growl. “What I’m offering you is a great honor, whether you see it that way or not. Be very, very sure that you want to offend me. Be at peace with the inevitable consequences.”
Shona did not look anything like peaceful. “I’m not marrying you, Malak.”
“You will,” Malak said pitilessly. “Or you will remain behind, legally separated from your child and muzzled by a thousand contracts that ensure your silence, forevermore. Those are your choices.”
“You can’t force me to do any of these things,” Shona threw at him, as if amazed he thought otherwise. As if she expected the dirty streets of New Orleans to rise up on her behalf. “You can’t make me do anything!”
But Malak only smiled, and this time, it was real.
Because his patience was finally at an end.
THEY LANDED IN Khalia the next morning.
Shona felt very much the way she had that morning long ago, when she’d woken up in the most sumptuous, luxurious hotel suite she’d ever seen in her life to find herself all alone. She’d felt...deliciously battered, and somehow made new.
And she’d had no idea how she, who had never had any intention of falling into bed with a stranger and ending up alone and pregnant—too many examples of girls who’d taken that path in foster care had soured her on those choices—had found herself there.
Which was to say, she could remember every gloriously carnal detail, but she didn’t understand how she’d surrendered all of herself so heedlessly to a man she’d never laid eyes on before that night.
At least this time she could track the sequence of events.
Malak had announced that he was finished with their conversation. And more, that his next stop would be her friend’s house—because, of course, he knew about Ursula—to pick up his son.
He kept saying that. His son. It made Shona’s sight turn red at the edges. It made her feel something like violent, temper rushing through her like a river.
That it was only the simple truth made it worse.
“You can either be a part of our first meeting or not,” he’d told her, all steel and disregard, and she’d wanted to scream at him. She’d wanted to beat on him with her fists. She’d wanted to make him deeply, desperately sorry he’d come back into her life.
But she’d wanted to protect Miles a whole lot more than she’d wanted any of that.
So
