KARIM HAD MADE a terrible mistake. He had known it as he was offering a vow to Galila that put fissures in his defenses against her. He had known it as he chose to make that vow rather than put off consummation of their marriage—which would have proven his mastery over his corporeal desires.
He hadn’t had the strength. Waiting until his wedding night, hanging on to control while he tried to understand her hesitation, had taken all his willpower. When he had been pushed right up to the edge and given the choice to protect himself or have her, he had chosen to have her.
Which told him everything he needed to know about how dangerous she was to him. Devastatingly dangerous.
Once hadn’t been enough, either. Maybe if she had expressed some reluctance or said she was tender, he might have restrained himself, but she had been as eager as him to bind their flesh irrevocably.
It wasn’t until he woke in the dawn hours, aching to take her a fourth time, that sanity had intruded on the euphoria of honeymoon madness. She was slender, delectable, infinitely erotic but new to lovemaking. He had to find a shred of control, if only to continue calling himself human.
He left for his own apartment where he did everything he could to put himself back inside the armor he had worn until Galila had smashed him apart. He watched the sun come up, letting the brightness burn from his retina the image of her nubile curves. He listened to the morning numbers from overseas, drowning out the memory of her pleasured moans and cries. He showered the scent of her from his skin, then hated himself for all of it and wished himself back in her bed, feeling her warm, smooth skin stretching awake beside him.
He ordered their usual breakfast and had it served in the common dining room between their apartments, as it always was. He should have been sated and mellow. Instead, he was short on sleep and impatient with the staff as they hovered, each with their schedules and correspondence, their headlines and coffee urns.
Was the queen expected? Should they allow her to sleep? The questions were unending and struck him as unbearably intrusive. He gritted his teeth against ordering all of them out.
Despite his conflict, he lingered over his breakfast, full of self-loathing at the weakness he was displaying. His schedule had been emptied for the day after their reception as a courtesy. There was endless work in his office to be attended to and he shouldn’t dally here like some besotted suitor, hoping to catch a glimpse of the object of his affection.
He was a man. One who ought to be in complete command of himself and the world around him. As he became aware of stirring behind the door to her room, he rose to leave.
Galila had barely been able to look at her own wan face in the mirror, feeling quite a chump for falling for Karim’s promise. At least she had slept well past the time when he normally left for the far side of the palace. She would have the breakfast room to herself.
When she entered the small dining parlor, however, he was standing by the table, reviewing something on the tablet his aid was showing him. He flicked her a glance, one that lasted barely a second, but she saw the consternation in it. Read the lack of welcome in his stiff posture.
Waking alone had been a slap. Walking in here to see he had resumed his cloak of indifference was a kick in the stomach. Having all that play out before the usual assortment of hovering staff added insult to injury. Was it really necessary that she parade her deflowered self before a dozen people?
A case of acute vulnerability struck. Physically, she was fine. She’d had a bath and was only feeling as though she’d pushed herself with stretching poses, not particularly tender from their lovemaking. But memory of their intimacy thinned her skin. She couldn’t bear to look at him, she was so dreading the coolness in his eyes.
“Good morning.” She gathered her shredded composure and found a distant smile. “I thought you would be across the palace by now.”
Silence.
She had the sense he was waiting for her to look at him, but she pretended to take enormous care with selecting cut fruit to add to her yogurt. She brushed away the serving hand that would have poured date syrup over her flatbread.
When she reached for the coffee urn, one of the staff hurried to fill her cup, but Karim said sharply, “I’ll do it. Leave us.”
His tone was so hard, Galila started, then remained on her guard, gaze on her untasted breakfast.
The room cleared in a quick shuffle of feet and a closed door.
She sat with her hands in her lap, discovering she was afraid to move. Not because she feared him, but because she had silently wished they were alone and now discovered the downside of that. No one to hide behind. She didn’t want to move and draw his attention.
“You’re angry with me,” he said.
She was angry with herself.
“Why would you think that?” she murmured, picking up her spoon.
“You’re not looking at me.”
She should have looked at him then, to prove she wasn’t avoiding it, but her eyes were hot. She feared he would read the anguish in them. She had poured out her heart to him last night. She had shared her body in a way she had never done with any other man and now...
“Even if I were...” It wouldn’t matter, she wanted to say, but couldn’t face that harsh reality so head-on. It would hurt too much. “Just go, Karim.”
“I would have made love to you all night, Galila,” he said through his teeth. “Until we were both too weak to move. As it was, I was far too rough with you. How do you feel?”
He hadn’t sat down again and she only had the nerve to bring her gaze as far as the embroidery that edged his robe.
“Fine.”
He sighed in a way that made her flinch, he sounded so impatient. Then he threw himself into the chair and his eyes were right there, leveled into hers like a strike of sunlight off water, penetrating so deep it hurt. Her eyes began to water and she blinked fast.
Through her wet lashes, she still saw the accusation behind his eyes. The way he searched her face as though trying to find a reason to hate her.
“I know a prevarication when I hear one,” she said, her voice a scrape against the back of her throat. “You left because you’d had enough of me. Just go, Karim. It will be easier to stand being ignored if you’re not doing it in person.”
His hand closed into a fist. With a muttered curse, he unfurled it, then reached to take her wrist, the one that held her spoon. He tugged her to her feet and around the table where he pulled her into his lap.
She landed there stiffly, one elbow digging with resistance into his ribs, face forward as she gritted her teeth.
“What is this?” she demanded. “Some new form of torture where you assume that if I succumbed to you once, I’m yours whenever you want me?”
She very much feared she was. Her bones were already threatening to soften, her whole body wanting to relax into supple welcome, longing to melt into him, skin tingling for the sensation of his hands stroking over her.
“Definitely torture,” he said, rubbing his beard into her neck so she shivered and squirmed in reaction.
His arms stayed locked around her, keeping her on his lap.
She put a little more pressure behind the sharpness of her elbow. “I’m actually hungry,” she said pointedly.
“Eat, then,” he invited, opening his arms and relaxing beneath her, but the way his hands settled on her hip and thigh told her he would restrain her if she tried to rise. “I will hold my wife and consider my inner failings.”
“Sounds like I’ll have time for dessert and a second cup of coffee.” She didn’t relax, still defensive even though his hands were settling, smoothing and massaging in a way that was kind of comforting, as though he wanted to offer and take pleasure in equal measures.
“Karim—”
“This is new territory for me, Galila. Don’t expect my ease with this to happen overnight.”
She let out a choke of humorless laughter. “Even though it was the deal you agreed to for that particular type of night? Are you just angling for more sex right now?”
His hands stalled. “Sex can wait until tonight.”
Disappointment panged inside her even as he sighed toward the ceiling.
“I can stand depriving myself. Hurting you so badly you won’t even look at me? That I cannot bear.” His hands moved again, reassuring now then clenching possessively on her curves. “This level of passion isn’t normal, you know. If you had had other lovers, you would know that and be as wary of it as I am.” He dipped his head forward so his mouth was against her shoulder, whiskers tickling her skin.
She considered that as she spooned yogurt into her mouth. He wasn’t offering her the open heart she wanted, but he was talking, at least. He had dismissed their audience. It was a small step, she supposed. One that allowed her to relax a little on his lap and enjoy the way he cradled her.
“You resent desiring me? That only makes me begrudge feeling attracted to you. That’s not healthy, is it? Are we supposed to apologize for the pleasure we give each other?” She set petulant elbows on the table while she scraped at her yogurt bowl, deliberately jamming her buttocks deeper into his lap at the same time.
His hands gripped her hips and he drew a harsh breath.
She sent a knowing smirk into her bowl.
“Do you understand what you’re inviting?” he asked mildly, opening his thighs a little so the shape of his aroused flesh dug firmly against her cheek.
“I believe you demonstrated that in great detail last night. Why do you think I’m so hungry? You’ll have to let me finish my breakfast, though, before we satisfy other appetites. Otherwise, I’m liable to faint on you. Tell me something about yourself while you wait. What was your childhood like?”
“I didn’t have one.”
She started to rise, wanting to shift back to her own chair so she could look at him and gauge his expression as he spoke, but his hands hardened, keeping her on his lap. Keeping her with her back to him, she suspected.
“I didn’t mean that to be an insensitive question,” she said gently. “I thought, well, I supposed you might have played with cousins when you were young? Perhaps traveled when you were finishing your education?”
“My university was the throne of Zyria. When I wasn’t with my tutors, I sat with my uncle, learning how to run my country. What did you do as a child?”
“Compared to that, it seems beyond childish. One of my favorite pastimes was learning pop songs. I have a decent voice and performed them for my mother’s friends. I’m good with languages, too, which was another parlor trick she liked me to show off. I rode horses with my brothers and we camped in the desert with family sometimes. My childhood was fairly ideal. My teen years were more challenging.”
“Why is that?”
She bit into the flatbread. It tasted like cardboard. For a moment, she thought about changing the subject, but maybe if he understood why she found his distance so hurtful...
“That’s when she began to criticize me. I became obsessive about earning back her approval. I spent a ridiculous amount of time learning about fashion and makeup, trying to look more like her, thinking it would please her. I asked her to make every decision from my shade of lipstick to the shoes I wore. I kept thinking she couldn’t disapprove of the way I looked if she made all my choices, but then she would say I was badgering her. Too needy. Everyone said it, my brothers especially. I felt like everyone hated me. It was awful.”
Her scalp tickled as he idly played with her hair. “Did she send you away to Europe?”
“I begged my father to let me finish my schooling there. I couldn’t take her moods. Even then, I was so careful to only be in the tabloids for good reasons. Helping a children’s hospital or whatever. Anytime I received good press, though, she would say I was upstaging her. Begging for attention. There was no pleasing her.”
She tried to twist and look at him, but he didn’t let her. He continued playing with her hair, lightly tugging, dipping his nose to inhale, breathing out against the side of her neck.
“How are we talking about me?” she asked. “Tell me what you like about ruling Zyria.”
“I like providing stability. No ruler can make an entire populace happy all the time. The best I can do is avoid war and ensure my people are not suffering in poverty. If they can eat and send their children to school, get the care they need and a new refrigerator when the old one breaks, then I am winning the game.”
“That’s true. You can’t make someone happy. Do you ever wish you had brothers or sisters?”
He didn’t answer. When she tried to turn her head to look at him, his hand tightened in her hair, preventing her. She gave a little shrug of warning, but he wasn’t hurting her. He didn’t let go, though. After a long minute, he answered.
“There are times I have thought my life would have been easier if I’d had an older brother and the responsibility I carry had gone to him,” he spoke with a hint of dry humor, but his tone was also very grave. “Perhaps a lot of things would have been different. I don’t know. But I can’t make a sibling happen, so there’s no point wishing for it.”
She waited, but he didn’t say anything else.
She pushed aside her emptied plate and sipped her coffee. When she set it down, he shifted her sideways so her legs were across his and they were finally looking at each other.
His face was impassive, difficult to read, but she understood him a little better. He carried a country on his shoulders and had for a long time. If he was lonely, he had made it his friend. That was why he was having such trouble turning to her.
Smoothing her hand over the silky hairs on his jaw, she said very sincerely, “Thank you for telling me that.” She pecked his lips with hers.
The light kiss turned his dark eyes molten. “Are you sufficiently rejuvenated?”
“I could be talked into returning to the bedroom.”
“Here will do.”
* * *
Karim had to be extremely careful with his inquiries, but he had learned more about Adir. In the three weeks since Zufar’s wedding, Adir had married Amira, the bride who had been promised to Galila’s brother. Rumor had it they were expecting.
An odd pang had hit him with the news. For years, Karim had been ambivalent about procreating. More than one of his cousins had the temperament to rule. Was it latent sibling rivalry that prompted a sudden desire to make an heir?
“What’s wrong?” Galila’s soft voice nudged him back to awareness of the view off her balcony as her scent arrived to cloud around him.
He glanced back into her apartment and discovered her maids had finally left them alone.
In another lifetime, which was mere days ago, he would have brushed off her inquiry with a brisk and conscienceless “Nothing.” He wasn’t required to explain his introspective moods to anyone.
But Galila’s slender arms came around his waist as she inserted herself under his arm. Her pointy chin rested on his chest and she gazed up at him. The pretty bat of her lashes was an invitation to cast off his pensiveness and confide in her.
“There are things I would discuss with you if I could, but I can’t,” he said, surprised to discover it was true. He wanted to confide in her. It was yet another disturbing shift in his priorities. “It’s confidential.” He stroked the side of his thumb against her soft cheek to cushion his refusal.
“Hmm,” she said glumly. “Bad?”
“Not violent, if that’s what you mean.”
“Trade embargoes or something,” she guessed.
Did not acknowledging his potential successor to Zyria’s throne count as an embargo? “Something like that.”
“You can trust me, you know. I know I behaved indiscreetly the night we met, but I’m not usually so reckless. That was a special case. With a special man,” she added, lips tilting into the smile that he fell for like a house of cards.
She hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since the night they met, he had noted.
She shifted so they were front to front and rested her ear on his chest, sighing with contentment. His hands went to her back of their own accord, exploring her warm shape through the silk robe she wore over her nightgown.
This was becoming the norm for him—holding her. He wasn’t a dependent man, but she was so tactile and affectionate, seeming to thrive on his touch, he couldn’t resist petting and cuddling her.
“I don’t regret telling you about him that night. Adir, I mean,” she murmured.
He stalled in stroking across her narrow shoulders.
“I’m glad you’re willing to listen. That I can trust you,” she went on. “I’m still so shocked by Mother’s affair and Adir. I keep wondering about Amira. How she even knew Adir well enough she would run away with him.”
He almost told her the woman was married and expecting, but she would wonder how he came to know it.
“Did you know her well?” he asked instead, resuming his massage across her back.
“Her father is one of my father’s oldest friends. She was promised to Zufar since she was born. I was looking forward to having her as a sister-in-law. And Zufar—you saw him on a really bad day. He can be gruff, but he would have done his best to be a good husband. I’ve asked him what he has learned of Adir, but he’s so angry, he wants nothing to do with it. I don’t know what to do. I want to be sure Amira is well and happy with her decision, but I can’t very well make inquiries without spilling our family secrets, can I?” She leaned back to regard him. “See? I am capable of discretion.”
“I’ll see what I can learn,” he promised, pleased when she grew visibly moved.
He was growing so soft. He very much feared he was becoming infatuated with his wife, constantly wanting to put that light in her expression and feel her throw her arms around him like he was her savior.
He picked her up and took her to the bed, distantly wondering what she would say when he told her he had learned her friend was pregnant.
I don’t desire your children.
He didn’t know why that continued to sting when they made love so passionately every night. It was early days in their marriage and he ought to be pleased they were making love frequently without morning sickness or other health concerns curtailing their enjoyment of each other.
Still, as they stripped and began losing themselves in each other, he was aware of a deeper hunger that went beyond the drive for sexual satisfaction. Beyond his need to feel her surrender to him and take such joy at his touch. He wanted all of her. Every ringing cry, every dark thought, every tear and smile and whispered secret.
He suspected he wanted her heart.
* * *
Do I look pretty, Mama?
Galila was in the gown she intended to wear to stand next to her mother at the children’s hospital gala. This used to be one of their favorite events, but for months now, her mother had been growing more and more critical. Galila didn’t understand why.
She had tried very, very hard this time to be utterly flawless. Her gown was fitted perfectly to her growing bust and scrupulously trim waistline. Her hair fell in big barrel curls around her shoulders. Her makeup was light, since her mother still thought she was too young—at sixteen!—to wear it. Nail polish had been allowed for years, though. She had matched hers to the vibrant pink of her gown and wore heels, something the queen had also been arguing were too old for her.
She thought she looked as beautiful as she possibly could and smiled with hope, trying to prompt an answering one from her mother’s stiff expression.
Her mother winced and gave her a pitying look. I expect you to have better instincts, Galila. The green would be better and a nude shade on your lips.
Rejection put a searing ache in the back of Galila’s throat. She turned away to hide how crushed she was, waiting until her mother went back into her own closet before she reached for a tissue on the shelf and dabbed it beneath her eyes, trying to keep her makeup from running.
Why was her mother being so cruel lately? She stared blindly at the bookshelf, trying to make sense of her mother’s change in attitude. She used to be all purrs and strokes, now she was claws and hisses. Just like...
The object before her blurred eyes came into focus. It was a bookend. Two slabs of ebony with a bright gold figure upon it. A lioness. She stood on her hind legs, one paw braced against the upright wall as she peered over the top, as if looking for her mate—
* * *
Galila sat up with a terrified gasp beside him, jolting Karim awake.
“What is it?” He reached out a hand in the dark, finding her naked back coated in sweat. The bumps of her spine stood up as she curled her back, hugging her knees protectively. Her heartbeat slammed into his palm from behind her ribs, drawing him fully out of slumber.
“Nightmare?” he guessed. “Come here. You’re safe.”
She only hugged herself into a tighter ball, tucking her face into her knees, back rising and falling as she dragged long breaths into her lungs, as though she was being pursued.
He came up on an elbow, and rubbed her back, trying to ensure she was as awake as he was. “Are you in pain?”
“Just a bad dream.” She didn’t let him draw her under the covers, though. She pressed a clammy hand to his chest and pushed her feet toward the edge of the mattress. All of her shook violently, her reaction so visceral, his own body responded with a small release of adrenaline. He caught at her arm, ready to protect her against frightening shadows and monsters under the bed.
“What was it about?”
“I need a minute. Let me—” She left the bed and found her silk robe, pulling it on before she disappeared into the bathroom.
He was sleeping inordinately well these days, thanks to their regular and passionate lovemaking. The sated, sluggish beast in him wanted to lie back and drift into unconsciousness again, but he heard water running.
Concerned, he rose and followed her into the bathroom where the light blinded him. She had turned on the tap and buried her face in a towel to muffle her sobs. The cries were so violent, they racked her shoulders.
His scalp tightened. This reaction was off the scale. “Galila.”
She hadn’t heard him come in and gasped, lifting a face that was so white, his heart swerved in his chest.
“You look like a ghost,” he said. Or she’d seen one. He tried to take her in his arms, but she wouldn’t allow it.
“I’m sorry. I can’t—” Her words ended in a choke. She set aside the towel and splashed the water on her face, then dried it only to hide behind the dark blue cloth again.
Her desire for distance surprised him. Stung, even. He was used to her turning to him for the least thing. He liked it.
“What was it about?” he insisted. “Tell me.”
* * *
She couldn’t. She was barely making sense of it herself. She wasn’t even sure if it was a genuine memory. Dreams were pure imagination, weren’t they?
Clenching her eyes shut, she tried to recall her mother’s boudoir. Her bookshelves. Was it possible the lioness she had pictured so clearly had been conjured by the curiosity that was plaguing her? She wanted to know who her mother’s lover had been, so she was inventing scenarios in her sleep.
Or was it real? The palace of her childhood was full of objets d’art. Masterpieces in oil, ivory, ceramic and yes, some were sculptures cast in gold. Could she mentally picture all of them? Of course not, especially the ones that had been in her parents’ private rooms. She hadn’t entered those much at all.
But she had gone to her mother that one afternoon, ahead of the children’s hospital ball. That was a real memory. She distinctly remembered it because the ball had fallen right after her birthday. The pink gown had been a present to herself, one she had been certain her mother would approve of.
None of that was the reason she could hardly catch her breath, however.
What if it is true? What if her mother had owned the other side of Karim’s father’s lion bookend? Did that prove Karim’s father had been her lover? Or was it a bizarre coincidence?
“Galila.”
Karim’s tone demanded she obey him.
She opened her eyes and searched his gaze, but couldn’t bring herself to ask if it was possible. How would he know? He’d been a child. And the suspicion was so awful, such a betrayal to his mother, she didn’t want to speculate about it herself, let alone put it on him to wonder.
What would such an accusation do to this tentative connection they had formed? She couldn’t bear to lose what was growing between them. He had married her to be a link between their two countries, not the catalyst for a rift that couldn’t be mended.
With lashes wet with helplessness, she said very truthfully, “I don’t want to think of it.” She held out her hand. “Make love to me,” she whispered. “Make me forget.”
He was too sharp not to recognize she was putting him off, but he let her plaster herself across his front and draw his head down to kiss him.
Within seconds, he took command of their lovemaking, taking her back to bed where they were both urgent in a way that was new and agonizing, as if he felt the pull of conflict within her. Impending doom. He dragged his mouth down her body, pleasured her to screaming pitch and kept her on the edge of ecstasy, then rolled her onto her knees. She gripped the headboard in desperate hands as he thrust into her from behind, but even after she shuddered in release, he wasn’t done. He aroused her all over again, his own body taut and hotter than a branding iron when he finally settled over her and drew her thighs to his waist.
Now he was everything, her entire world, filling her, possessing her, driving her to new heights that they reached together, so intense she sobbed in glory.
Spent, she fell asleep in his arms, clinging to his damp body as if he could save her from her own subconscious.
But the lioness stalked her into the morning light.
When she woke, she knew what she had to do.
* * *
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Karim asked twice over breakfast. It was usually a private meal now. He let their aids in when they were nursing their second cup of coffee, rarely before. “You’ll feel better if you talk it out.”
“It’s silly,” she prevaricated, but couldn’t find the dismissive smile she needed. “Just a silly dream.”
He knew she was lying to him. She could tell by the grim frown overshadowing his stern gaze. It chilled her heart to disappoint him and even worse, deserve his consternation.
“I don’t want to relive it,” she said, miserable at not being able to share.
His mouth twitched with dismay, but he let the subject drop. A few minutes later, he rose to start his day.
When she was certain he was on the far side of the palace, she texted Niesha, Zufar’s wife and the new Queen of Khalia. With so much going on, she had barely absorbed her brother’s email yesterday concerning his new wife and the startling possibility she could be the lost Princess of Rumadah.
It wouldn’t have surprised her in the least if Niesha hadn’t returned her message, preferring to take time to absorb her own life changes, but she video-called Galila a short time later. Galila dismissed the maid in her room and answered, forcing herself to strike a casual pose on the end of a sofa, as if she wasn’t wound so tightly with nerves she was ready to snap. It took everything in her to get through a few gentle inquiries after Niesha’s situation and well-being.
“Thank you so much for calling me back,” Galila said when she felt she could steer the conversation to her own interests. “I don’t know what made me think of a particular keepsake of my mother’s, but I wondered if it was on the shelf in your room? Would you be able to show me? It’s an ebony bookend with a lioness cast in gold.”
“I’m so sorry,” Niesha said. “All her rooms have been completely redecorated, but your mother’s things were boxed up and put into storage. Nothing was discarded. It’s all safe.”
“No apology is necessary. Of course, you made it your own.” Galila spared a brief thought for how odd it must be for Niesha to be living as a queen, rather than a maid. They were equals now and Galila had to remember that, but she was fixated on learning the truth. “Do you recall seeing a bookend with a lioness, though?”
“I don’t recall it, no. Let me check with Zufar. I’m sure he’ll agree you should be the one to have her things. I’ll have them shipped to you.”
It wasn’t exactly the answer she wanted. Galila had hoped to solve the mystery in seconds. Instead, she had to act like it was a trifling thing, not an obsessive worry.
“Whenever you have time,” she said with a flick of her hand. “I don’t want to disturb you when you have so much going on.”
The more Galila thought about it, however, the more she was convinced that Karim’s father, King Jamil, had been her mother’s lover. The timing fit with Adir’s age and her own father’s diplomatic tour. A brief glance at Zyria’s history online confirmed that Karim’s father had died very shortly after her father had returned to Zyria.
Had his death been a catalyst for her mother telling her father about her pregnancy? Had Jamil’s accident even been an accident?
She couldn’t help dwelling on every possibility as she waited for the boxes to arrive.
What if Karim’s father had been her mother’s lover? That would mean Adir was Karim’s half brother, too. How would he react to that news?
Not that she could burden him with any of this. Definitely not until she had more evidence than a spooky dream.
But if it did turn out to be true, was it wise to tell him? He would have to keep it from his mother, who still held Jamil so close to her heart. What of the political ramifications? Zufar was already dealing with an embittered man who blamed him for the loss of his birthright. She couldn’t subject Karim to the same.
A sensible woman would leave the mystery unsolved, but she couldn’t let it go. At the same time, keeping all of this inside her was like trying to ignore an abscess. It throbbed and ached in the back of her throat, flaring up and subsiding as she pretended to Karim that she was fine, all the while waiting on tenterhooks for news that the shipment of boxes had arrived.
A week later, rather than bother Niesha again, she had her assistant speak to the palace in Khalia. The boxes had finally left and should arrive in a day or two.
Somehow, knowing they were on their way was far worse than if they hadn’t left.
* * *
“Should I cancel our dinner engagement tonight?” Karim asked over breakfast.
“Pardon?” Galila’s gaze came back from staring at nothing and focused on him. She seemed to become aware that her coffee was halfway to her mouth and set it down without tasting it. “Why would you do that?” she asked.
Because she had been positively vacant the last few days. He wanted to know why. This was usually her favorite time of day, when she had him all to herself. She usually flirted and chattered, reminded him to call his mother and asked if he had any preferences for upcoming menu choices. She might sidle up to his chair and kiss him if she was feeling particularly sensual.
She’d become downright remote of late, though.
He hated it.
“You’re not yourself. Is there something we should discuss?”
“What? No! I’m completely fine.” A blatant lie. “Just...distracted. Should I let the staff in?” She rose to do it.
“Does it have to do with Adir? Because I have news.”
“You do?” She swung back, interest sharp.
“He married Amira. She’s expecting. Sooner than one would anticipate, given she was supposed to marry your brother a month ago,” he added drily. “My reports are that they’re quite happy.”
“Oh. I thought she must have had some sort of relationship with him, to be willing to go with him like that. It’s good to know she’s well.” She stood with her hands linked before her, still taking it in, chewing her lip and pleating her brow. “That’s all you learned?”
For some reason, the way her gaze searched his caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up.
“Yes.” The word why? stayed locked in his throat.
With a thoughtful nod, she let in their staff, curtailing further discussion.
* * *
Galila wanted the lion on hand to compare to the lioness when—if—it arrived. Would Karim miss it if she removed it from his study? At the very least, she needed a fresh look at it. She wanted to search for a signature or an identifying engraving or seal—anything that might prove it was one of a pair.
She would take a few photos on her phone, she decided, as she crossed to the far side of the palace.
Karim had left their breakfast room about an hour ago for his day of royal duties. Would he cancel their dinner? She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Her mind was a whirlwind these days, one where she could barely take in what Karim had said about Adir and Amira when she was so focused on discovering who Adir’s father was. Obviously her distraction was beginning to show, but she couldn’t tell Karim what was bothering her until she could provide a definitive answer.
Much like the first time when she had arrived without warning, she was invited to wait in his study. She again insisted he should not be interrupted. She wanted to be alone for this.
The bookend was exactly where she had seen it the first time. It was surprisingly heavy. She turned it this way and that on the shelf, taking photos, then tilted it to look at the bottom.
There was a date that fell a few weeks into Galila’s father’s trip away. The artist was someone she didn’t know, but she would look up the name later. Where was he located? Zyria? Khalia? Somewhere in between where lovers might meet?
Most tellingly, the piece was called Where Is She?
Her heart began to thump as she instinctively guessed the other would be called Where Is He?
“They just told me you were waiting.”
Karim’s voice startled her so badly she dropped the bookend, narrowly missing her foot and crying out with alarm as she leaped back from it.
“Did it hit you?” Karim grasped at her arm to steady her, then crouched, trying to examine her foot.
Galila stumbled back, certain her guilty conscience gleamed bright as full moon on a clear night. “I’m fine,” she stammered. “Did I break it? I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Worry about your foot.” He picked up the bookend and rose, turning it over and weighing it in his hand. “I don’t think a nuclear bomb could hurt this thing, but you would be in a cast if it had landed on your toes. What was so engrossing about it?”
“I don’t know,” she babbled, finding it increasingly impossible to lie to him, especially when she had been working so hard to coax him to open up to her. “It’s just a very well-crafted piece, don’t you think?”
He narrowed his eyes and studied it more closely, reading the bottom before slowly setting it on the shelf and nudging it up against the books.
“It belonged to your father, I imagine? I would feel horrible if I had dented it.”
“It’s fine.” He folded his arms and frowned at her. “What did you need?”
“I—” She couldn’t say Nothing. Not when she had said she needed to speak to him and would wait here for a private audience. Last night, when she had decided to come here to examine the bookend, she had conjured a question about Adir and Amira, but he had answered that this morning. They had private conversations every day over breakfast. She had no good excuse for being here.
Fighting to keep her gaze from drifting back to the lion, she racked her brain.
“Is it whatever you’ve been hiding from me?”
Her heart took a hard bounce, causing her voice to stutter. “W-what?”
She knew damned well her gaze was rife with culpability as it rose to his. She watched his own narrow like a predatory bird swooping into a nose dive.
“You think I can’t tell? We’re so attuned, I sense the slightest shift in the cadence of your breath and the change of scent on your skin. You’re worried about something. You avoid my eyes—” He muttered an imprecation. “You’re doing it now. Look at me.”
She couldn’t. Guilt weighed her lashes along with her shoulders and even her head on her neck. She couldn’t tell him, though. Not until she knew for sure.
This morning, when he had mentioned Adir, she had wondered if he had learned Adir was his half brother. Now, through her panic, she recalled something else that had penetrated the edges of her mind during that conversation. A suspicion that had been overshadowed by her turmoil over a pair of bookends.
It was something she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge because she could be just as wrong about that as she might be about his father. But she would rather speculate on that than the other.
“I think I’m pregnant.”