repeating those words to herself as Marwan, his aides, Halimah, and six ceremonially dressed guards escorted her down a wide private staircase towards the Rolls-Royce Phantom idling in a courtyard at the north wing of the palace. The safety of the three veils shielding her from direct view of everyone else was a welcome presence.
Still, she heard the furtive murmurs as she slowly glided forwards. Behind her, hands fluttered over her train and helped her into the car. Niesha uttered no words as Marwan slid in beside her. The part of her brain that wasn’t suspended in disbelief understood his presence.
Amira’s father, Feroz Ghalib, had been primed to take this role with his daughter. Even though tongues would wag at Marwan’s presence beside her, it would delay the ultimate revelation of exactly what was going on.
Nevertheless, her hands trembled around the stem of the exquisite bouquet made up of diamond-studded cream roses as the car began to roll forwards.
For a wild moment, Niesha contemplated flinging open the door and fleeing as fast as her legs would carry her. She knew every nook and cranny of the royal palace, having spent all her free time exploring it over the years. She could find a hiding place within minutes.
Even as temptation seeped through her, she was dismissing it. The recent death of the Queen had devastated Khalia. The kingdom was still in mourning when its bereaved King dropped the bombshell of his abdication. Though his people had accepted Zufar wholeheartedly, aftershocks still echoed throughout the kingdom.
He’d been right when he’d said that this wedding needed to happen. Galila had said as much last night when she’d voiced her worry over Amira’s curious indifference towards her wedding, leading to an exchange of words Niesha had overheard as she’d tidied up Amira’s room.
There were larger implications besides a simple marriage between two people who’d known each other since childhood.
The simple truth was that Khalia could ill afford another scandal.
‘Wave,’ Marwan instructed tersely. ‘You need to wave to the people.’
A startled glance out of the window showed they were already on the street outside the palace. She hadn’t been privy to the protocol of the ceremony but, from watching other televised royal weddings, she knew there was a brief ride to acknowledge her future subjects and show her gratitude for their goodwill, before the actual wedding ceremony began.
Slowly, she lifted her hand, her movements woefully stilted, and waved.
Screams of joy pierced the thick windows of the car, forcing home the reality that she’d become a symbol of hope to the people. She...the orphan from the poorest part of the capital, the woman with no past and no name save for the one the carers had given her.
Light-headedness clawed at the fringes of her consciousness. A garbled sound echoed from far away but she knew it had come from her throat.
‘You will pull yourself together, girl,’ Marwan said.
Again hysterical laughter bubbled up. How very easily everyone told her to pull herself together, to rise up to the occasion. To obey. But no one knew the terrifying depths of her emotions. No one knew how she’d secretly watched Zufar move around the palace, on TV, stared at his pictures in magazines for years. No one knew of the secret awe she held for the man who sat on the throne.
For a brief moment in her youth, she had even fancied herself in love with him! She’d grown out of that foolishness, of course, but the unfettered awareness and awe he drew from her had never dissipated.
If she’d been performing this task for any man other than the King of Khalia, she would probably have summoned something other than terror. But he wasn’t any other man. Zufar al Khalia was in a stratosphere of his own, over and above the royal blood that ran through his veins and the crown that sat on his head.
All too soon the ride was over.
Trumpets sounded as the Rolls stopped in front of the Imperial Ceremonial Room where she would be taking her vows before the hour was out. The breath she drew into her lungs did nothing to offer sustenance or clarity, and, even though the senior aide highly disapproved of what was going on, Niesha was grateful for his presence as he alighted and held out his hand to her. She was certain she would’ve fallen into a wretched heap if he hadn’t offered his support just then.
The hand she placed on his arm trembled wildly.
Flower girls she’d never met giggled and danced in front of her, throwing handfuls of scented flowers in her path as she slowly glided up the twenty-one steps to the wide doorway and down a gold-edged, royal blue carpet towards the centre of the exquisite ballroom reserved for the sole purpose of conducting official ceremonies.
Outside, several dozen more trumpets joined the heralding around the kingdom, crowds roaring where they were watching on giant screens across the city.
Inside, Niesha moved towards the man who stood tall, regal, and devastatingly handsome at the altar, her heart firmly wedged in her throat.
When Marwan winced, she realised her fingers had dug into his skin.
An apology tripped on her tongue but was immediately strangled by her nerves.
The murmurs in the congregation escalated, heads beginning to turn as speculation grew as to why Marwan walked next to the bride.
Niesha had no chance to dwell on that. Her sole focus was on Sheikh Zufar as he swivelled on his heel to watch her progress down the aisle.
His face gave nothing away. Years under the spotlight had honed an ability to ruthlessly school his features. But the many interviews that Niesha had watched of the Crown Prince, now turned King of Khalia, had clued her into the nuances of his expressions.
Right now, he bristled with fury, still incandescent at the atrocity that had been perpetrated against him. That fury was ruthlessly caged, the greater calling of duty and responsibility taking priority. He meant to see this through, come hell or high water.
Niesha cursed her senses for choosing that moment to flare back into life. The bright colours of the Imperial Ceremonial Room, the hushed voices of the guests and the laser focus of Zufar’s eyes all pierced her consciousness, grounding her mercilessly in that moment.
You will be all right.
How? she railed at the soft voice. She wanted to scream, turn and flee from the room, but there was nowhere to go. They were almost at the altar. Marwan was lowering his arm in preparation to step away.
The moment he did, Galila stepped close. Zufar’s sister’s face was pale, her mouth pinched as she cast a searching, bewildered glance at Niesha. Unlike the others in the room, she knew why a maidservant stood in Amira’s place.
‘The bouquet,’ she said gently.
Niesha reluctantly handed it over, mourning the tiny support being stripped from her.
Before she could dwell on it, Zufar extended his hand. They were to take that last single step to the altar together.
Niesha stared at the long elegant fingers of her soon-to-be—temporary—husband. Automatically, she lifted her right hand and placed it in his left. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or frightened by the pressure of the fingers that took hold of hers and nudged her forwards onto
