It was just like him, of course. King Rashid acted. He did not consult a soul. He simply did what he deemed best. Just like when he’d scooped her up and brought her to Kyr against her will.
“I have told you your options.” His voice was smooth and even, as if he was explaining things to a child.
Anger wrapped long fingers around her throat and squeezed. “I still have Annie to consider. What about her?”
His expression grew hard. Hard and cold and unapproachable. “What about her?”
That was the moment when the bile in Sheridan’s stomach started swirling hard, pushing upward, demanding release. She got to her feet and staggered toward the bathroom. She barely made it in time, and then she was bending over the sink, retching.
There was a hand in her hair, holding it back. He put another hand on her back and rubbed gently while tears sprang to her eyes and she felt utterly miserable. She wanted to tell him to stop touching her, but in fact it felt nice to have him soothe her. She was a traitor even to herself.
“I’m not trying to be harsh,” he said, his voice gentle for once. “But your sister cannot figure into my dynastic responsibilities. There are other solutions to her problem. You told me yourself about an experimental treatment.”
Sheridan put her hands on the counter, bracing herself, her eyes squeezed shut as she prayed there was nothing else left to come up.
“They can’t afford it,” she said miserably when she could speak.
“I can.”
Sheridan turned on the water and gulped some down before she straightened shakily and turned to face him. His beauty always hit her with a punch and now was no exception. A king had just held her hair while she’d thrown up the little bit of food she’d managed to eat.
If anyone had ever told her such a thing could happen, she’d have never believed them.
“You would do that for them?” Her heart was still pounding, but for a different reason now. It was everything she could have wanted for Annie. There were no guarantees the treatment would work, but it was a chance.
“I would not do it for them,” Rashid said very softly. “I would do it for you.”
* * *
Rashid watched her mouth fall open on a soft “oh” and was seized with a desire to claim her lips and take everything he desired. But she wasn’t feeling well, and he hadn’t come here for that anyway.
No, he’d come because Fatima had said she wasn’t eating. And because he’d been getting endless reports about her roaming the palace, commenting on the architecture, talking with endless people, playing with orphaned puppies and spending time in the kitchen discussing recipes and food service.
At a recent lunch he’d attended with some visiting dignitaries, the napkins were folded in shapes. They had been lotus flowers, he’d realized, and he’d been so fascinated that he’d missed the first half of what one of the dignitaries had been saying to him about water rights and oil production.
When he’d asked about it afterward, someone had told him that Miss Sloane had taught the staff how to do it. Lotus napkins. Puppies. Even Daoud spoke her name with a quiet reverence that set Rashid’s teeth on edge.
Everyone liked Miss Sloane, and that had made him think about her more than he wished. He liked her, too, but in a different way. He liked the way her body moved beneath his, the sounds she made when she came and the way her mouth tasted his so greedily. He’d thought about it for days now.