mystic eyes glittered their indignation at him. “And that’s another piece of misinformation in the sea of misconceptions that form my character in your mind. I live alone as I always have. I only ever helped friends by giving them a roof over their head when they needed one. And I’m a hermit when I’m preparing for a show with most of its paintings commissioned. I haven’t been following the news and as I told you, nobody chose to enlighten me. Must have been their misguided way of being kind. Rather than dropping all bombs on me at once, they decided to space out the explosions for prolonged suffering.”
She sounded so convincing. But then when had she ever not?
He exhaled his frustration at how she kept snatching resolve out of reach, made him struggle to grab it back.
“I’ll pretend that’s a good enough excuse for your obliviousness.” He paused to gather the threads of the situation that had lead to this point. He hated recounting it, and to her of all people. But she’d asked. She didn’t know. And she had to, as his future queen. He exhaled again. “When my father, the crown prince of Judar, died, and with our late king having no sons, leaving the succession to his nephews, the Aal Shalaans in Judar demanded their turn on the throne. They threatened an uprising if they didn’t get it. An uprising that would drag Judar into civil war.”
Though reddened and wounded, her eyes stained with disdain. “If you care for peace so much, why don’t you just give it to them?”
“You think giving up the throne in a country that’s made up seventy percent of Aal Masoods and tribes loyal to them would promote peace? Wouldn’t exchange an uprising by the Aal Shalaans for one by the Aal Masoods, leading to the same end? Spare me your insights into a better solution for this catastrophe. If there’d been one, I would have gone to the ends of the earth, would have, as you so theatrically said, laid my life down for it. But there isn’t. The one thing that will maintain peace now is introducing the purest Aal Shalaan blood into the royal house of Aal Masood’s lineage.”
She looked everywhere but at him, as if seeking an escape, and mumbled, “And why not go for the foremost Judarian Aal Shalaan house for this blood-mixing ritual? Why is King Atef the one whose blood must provide the magic ingredient? He’s Zohaydan, not Judarian, for God’s sake!”
“You’ll have to ask the Aal Shalaan genealogists that. They’re the ones who decreed that King Atef has the purest Aal Shalaan blood in both kingdoms, from both sides of his family for as far back as possible. Since he had no daughter that we knew of back when that was determined, it became clear it was a two-sided ploy. To throw the most powerful Aal Shalaan at us, and to corner him into giving in to their demands to help the Judarian Aal Shalaans in their quest to rise to the throne, something he’d already refused to do point-blank at the risk of having an uprising in Zohayd. Then King Atef discovered he did have a daughter, and you know what happened from then on. Now the Aal Shalaans have cornered everyone, including themselves. They can’t go back in their decree, and King Atef’s daughter—you—is what satisfies their demands. But in case we don’t marry, they’re very clear they’ll seek their so-called rights to the throne through less than peaceful measures, in both kingdoms, plunging both into chaos and dragging the whole region right along. Any solution other than our marriage is a lose/lose proposition. I trust you didn’t forget everything about our region? You do remember how history went? How feuds start at the least provocation only to widen and engulf everything in their path?”
Silence crashed down again, as did the ocean waves as if in response to the enormity of his projections.
Her eyes remained riveted on his, as if begging for a repudiation, even a qualification. As they had seven years ago.
He’d had no idea he was that strong. To remain where he was, not to obey the clamoring instinct to crush her into his arms.
When he remained rock-still and silent, hope seemed to seep out of her. “It is that bad, isn’t it?”
Everything inside him stilled. He’d thrown in her face his assertion that she craved him still. He’d been out to provoke her, to punish her for daring to remain his craving, his addiction. Now that dejection, that desperation in her eyes—could it be that this wasn’t another manipulation?
It didn’t matter. Manipulation or truth, only one thing was relevant. He told her.
“It’s worse. We have a deadline.”
“A deadline?”
Aliyah heard the quavering voice of the punch-drunk entity that seemed to inhabit her body.
Kamal, that forbidding stranger, only nodded. “In five days. The day of my joloos will also be our wedding day.”
She felt as if she were going under, struggled to kick to the surface, to snatch one last breath of air. “There has to be another way, Kamal…We can’t get married…we hate each other….”
He flexed his fists as he closed the gap between them. “And you’d be surprised how many kings have married queens they abhor for their kingdoms. But here comes another decree to ameliorate the horror. After you conceive a male heir, I won’t touch you. After you give birth, I will divorce you.”
She stared at him, too much blaring through her mind in a loop.
And he was going on. “The Aal Shalaans won’t care after that, as you are only the instrument of securing the heir they want. Once that happens, everyone will get something out of this mess. King Atef will get Zohayd’s continued peace, and I will secure Judar’s throne and future. What do you want? State your demands, Aliyah.”
“State my demands?” she panted, hysteria staining her voice, tumbling through her blood. “In return for being used like a breeding mare then discarded like a lame one? How about the royal jewels of Judar? I hear they’re worth billions.”
And if she could think straight, she would have feared him at that moment. His gaze boiled over with rage and aggression.
Suddenly all heat plunged into subzero reaches.
Then he only said a clipped, final, “Done.”
It was then that Aliyah realized what the agony she felt at his every slashing word was.
Somehow, she’d never stopped loving him.
How had that happened? How had her emotions survived the injuries, the bitterness, the changes in her, the passage of time? Was she the depraved slut he believed her to be? Loving him even through the abuse? Or even because of it?
No. She’d fallen for him when he’d been incredible to her. So incredible, even his cruelty hadn’t erased the memories. The image of the man she’d thought was her soul mate kept superimposing itself over everything that had happened afterward. Her mind and soul kept rejecting the proof of his words and actions, still looking for reasons for his change, for ways to exonerate him.
But she believed his words now, that things were as perilous as he’d described. And in a situation that big, what did her emotions and future matter?
He was right. They didn’t. She didn’t.
But no matter how insignificant she was to him, in all this, she mattered to herself. Now that she’d realized the depths of her self-deception and weakness, it was up to her to quell them. So that his disgust and disregard didn’t annihilate her.
But
