the room in a flash, ready to scurry her out, but violet eyes halted him. That voice not so soft when she spoke next. ‘You will address me as Your Highness…’ Still veiled, she stood very still as Akmal bowed deeply. The poor man was clearly torn between royal protocol and protecting his master—only Xavian wasn’t annoyed, in fact he was thoroughly enjoying himself, a rare smile dusting his lips as Akmal struggled to appease them both. ‘Your Highness, I was about to come to you, to inform you of the King’s decision.’
‘How tiresome…’ She was no longer looking at Akmal. Instead her eyes held Xavian’s and the smile slid from his face. ‘That a husband and wife must speak through advisors.’ Still she held Xavian’s eyes. ‘Could you inform the King that regretfully, on this detail, the Queen cannot compromise—the people of Haydar need to see that their new King relishes his role, that he wants to help lead them, and a brief visit isn’t going to appease them.’
‘Your Highness…’ Akmal duly started to relay her words. ‘The Queen has—’
‘Silence!’ Xavian snapped to his vizier. ‘Leave us.’ As Akmal shooed out the dresser he walked slowly to where she stood, but she didn’t move, barely blinked. Only her eyes were visible, and this time they did not lower as he approached.
‘I have considered your request.’ Xavian’s voice was ominously calm. ‘And, as I take my new duties seriously—’
‘So seriously,’ she interrupted, ‘that you could not even be bothered to turn up to your wedding on time!’
How dared she?
She should not question him, should not even let on that she had noticed. Instead she should be proud— proud that the King of Qusay was now her husband— yet he was being greeted with complaints and demands.
‘I had my reasons for being late.’ He did not need to offer even that, and he certainly did not have to tell her his reasons, so why was there still silence?
He had never had to offer an explanation—his decisions, his word, his presence always sufficed. Did she really think he was going to stand there and discuss reasons?
She was waiting for an explanation.
A mirthless smile spread over his face at her barefaced cheek. Maybe he should tell her, watch her reaction when she found out that her new husband sometimes thought he was going insane—that at times the scars on his wrist burnt so fiercely he thought his skin might rip open, that at times, when sitting quietly, sometimes he could swear he heard a child laughing? He could just imagine her appalled reaction—especially when he told her that he thought that the child was him!
‘You left me waiting for close to an hour.’ Her eyes never left his. ‘And you offer me no explanation—yet you expect me to accept that you take your duties seriously. Today was a duty!’ Layla lips were tight beneath her veil. ‘And you carried it out dreadfully.’
‘Silence!’
His hand splayed as he considered slapping her.
In that instant Xavian, who had never struck a woman—would never strike a woman—considered slapping her. Yet in rapid self-assessment he realised the anger that rose within was in fact directed at himself.
He had carried out his duties badly today. Always meticulous, always thorough, he had, on this rare occasion, been tardy. Rarely did he concede, but to be a good ruler sometimes it was necessary. And so, rather than slap her, he did something rare.
‘It was not about you.’ He saw two vertical frown lines appear between those probing eyes. ‘It was not about keeping you waiting, or shirking my duty, or making a mockery of the marriage…’ Xavian could hear the words coming from his mouth, yet he could scarcely believe they were his, that for the first time he was explaining himself.
Some of himself.
‘A letter arrived…’ He saw those lines deepen. ‘I should have left it for later. I knew it might well distract me.’ He swallowed before continuing. ‘And it did.’
He had offered little explanation, but she knew it was more than he had ever given before, and after just a brief moment of hesitation she gave a courteous nod.
‘I am sure you have a lot on your mind,’ she conceded. ‘I, too, missed my parents today, but your loss is more recent. I accept your apology.’
He hadn’t actually apologised, Xavian wanted to point out—or had he? Did sorry actually have to be said for it to count as an apology?
Xavian continued. ‘If it will please the people to have more time with their new King then I will grant you your month. Of course the people of Qusay will also want time with their new Queen. I suggest that after the desert, instead of heading straight to Haydar after the formal reception, we spend a week here first.’
What was he doing? Xavian’s mouth was moving, calm words were being spoken, yet his mind was racing—he was committing himself to six weeks: a week in the desert, a week here, a month in Haydar. Six weeks with her…six weeks when it should have been two…six weeks with this woman who had so boldly challenged him…six weeks with a woman who had not lowered her eyes, who even now dared to hold his gaze as she responded in soft tones.
‘I would be honoured to spend time getting closer to the people of Qusay.’
‘Good,’ Xavian clipped.
Still she looked at him, and Xavian was sorely tempted to pull back the veil, to see his bride, to reveal the woman who would be his bedfellow for the next few weeks. But of course, he did not. Instead he opened the door, and again Akmal practically fell into the room.
‘I trust you heard that?’ Xavian said. ‘We shall remain in Qusay for a week after the reception, then the Queen and I will be in Haydar for a month. You can release that information with the wedding photo.’
Layla gave a brief nod and then walked out of the room. Xavian stood, his back ramrod-straight, his jaw grinding together, as she paused and addressed Akmal.
‘You will bring the new release to me for approval after it has been worded.’ Briefly she turned back to Xavian. ‘I like to check all press statements personally…I am sure you are the same.’
Xavian was still smarting even as the helicopter lifted to take them deep into the desert. How dared she walk into his chambers and make demands so boldly? How dared she tell him what was wise? How dared she speak as if she were his equal? Why, he was King of Qusay— King of a rich, prosperous land that produced both oil and rare emeralds, a progressive land where the people flourished under strong leadership. It was her country that needed him—the people of Haydar who needed strong leadership to guide them out of the Dark Ages! His voice that she needed to quell the rising unrest.
He was annoyed with himself too—for offering her an explanation, for engaging with her. He did not particularly want a wife, and certainly he did not want anyone close.
His own company was enough to be dealing with now.
And he hadn’t apologised!
He was tempted to tap her on the shoulder and tell her that.
The golden expanse of sand stretching beneath did nothing to soothe him. Xavian was seriously rattled now, and ready to remind her of her place. Baja, her senior lady-in-waiting was accompanying them in the helicopter, and he could feel her silent disapproval as he took his new wife’s hand, pleasantly surprised by the slender, pale fingers that he held in his, admiring the manicured nails. For the first time he actually looked forward to the unveiling, to finding out what was in the package that awaited him.
‘A feast awaits us,’ Xavian said, smiling to himself as she blinked her lowered lashes. Then he leant towards her and watched as her eyes squeezed together in the first display of nervousness he had seen. And that gave him pleasure too, so he elaborated slightly. ‘And after we have eaten, another feast awaits.’
The desert staff came out to greet them, and to