you, Your Majesty?”
“That’s not necessary,” he said stiffly.
“But I think it is. Clearly you doubt my sincerity. You’ve questioned my integrity—”
“I haven’t.”
“You have. You’ve been rude. Why? For what? A prenup?”
Heat flared in his amber eyes, making them gold. “Your father was the one that wanted the contract. It was drawn up at his insistence and at great expense, so don’t put that one on me.”
Hannah blanched. The contract had been Emmeline’s father’s idea? What kind of father was this King William of Brabant? He certainly didn’t sound supportive or loving.
“Everyone is here because of you,” Zale added tersely. “Five lawyers, Emmeline. Two of whom flew in from your country, and one from overseas, and now I am to tell them to go to their rooms and twiddle their thumbs until the morning?”
He had a point. But what was she to do? Sign as Emmeline? Impossible. “Yes,” she said firmly. “That’s exactly what you do when your future queen is ill and unable to make the meeting.”
Zale drew a slow breath. He exhaled. A small muscle pulled in his jaw.
“I apologize, Your Highness,” he said from between clenched teeth, color darkening the high slash of cheekbone.
“I did not mean to appear insensitive. Your health is of course my first concern. Everything else can and will wait.” Then with a brief, icy bow, he walked out.
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