And now she was gone and all he was left with was that memory. It killed him to realise that he had never told her what that day had meant to him, had never put into words how wondrous that experience had been. He cursed himself that he had assumed she must have known how he felt. For surely she must have known?
Why the hell hadn’t he told her?
Why hadn’t he thought to warn her of the ancient declarations in the coronation ceremony before she could imagine how he felt about what they had done, that he had been merely impregnating her?
And he remembered her frosty demeanour, her shutdown expression. He had wounded her so deeply. It destroyed him to think he had hurt her and that she might still be hurting.
He replaced the pages on the desk. He should not have read as much as he had; in truth he should not have read anything, but he was not sorry that he had. For now he knew what he must do. He must go to Jemeya and seek Aisha out. He must explain; he had to tell her what he felt for her, he must seek her forgiveness. For he had to get her back.
He had to.
Still, he wasn’t sure why.
Only that he had to.
And from the mists of time he remembered those words his uncle, the King, had told him, the only positive lesson from his youth that had stuck. ‘Choose your battles, and choose them wisely.’
He would go to her today. Tell her that he was sorry. Ask her if she could trust him enough to give him one more chance. Because this battle was worth fighting. This battle was one he could not afford to lose.
He could not let Aisha go. He could not bear the thought of her not being here with him.
Behind him the door was pushed open. ‘Excellency,’ the vizier uttered with relief, ‘I have been looking for you everywhere. You must come quickly, there is news.’
For a heartbeat he hoped that Aisha had changed her mind and returned of her own accord.
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘It’s Mustafa,’ the vizier said. ‘He has taken Princess Marina hostage.’
Zoltan’s blood ran cold.
As much as he hated his half-brother, his first thoughts went to his wife.
Aisha.
How would she feel when she learned the news? How terrified she would be, knowing what kind of man was holding her beloved sister.
Aisha had already suffered enough at the hands of his half-brother. She had suffered more at his own clumsy and ham-fisted efforts to possess her. He could not bear her to suffer more.
He would not allow it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AISHA was sick with fear, sick with worry. Mustafa had Marina, had taken her hostage on her way to the coronation. Even though her father swore that she would be rescued and brought safely back to Jemeya to be reunited with her family, and despite the relief of learning that her two children were safe at home with their nanny, Aisha wondered when this nightmare would ever end.
The only positive thing that Aisha could see was that at least worrying about her sister took her mind off thinking about Zoltan.
Most of the time.
She picked up her childhood bear, from where it winked at her on its shelf, and hugged it, wandering to the window of her bedroom, the treasured bedroom she had yearned so desperately to return to. She looked out over the cliffs of her island home to the shoreline of Al-Jirad in the distance. For there lay another palace that stood encircled by sandy deserts ruled by a king she had once imagined she had felt something for.
Two days now she had been back in Jemeya, and she could not deny the truth any more, for each passing day piled a heavier weight on Aisha’s heart than the one that had gone before. The fact Zoltan hadn’t tried to stop her from leaving, the fact he had let her return to Jemeya in the first place—didn’t that say something about how little he actually valued her as his wife? Didn’t the fact he hadn’t come after her speak for itself? Surely she had been right to leave when she had, no matter what her father had tried to tell her?
Two days. A world ago, it seemed now. And her time with Zoltan could almost be some kind of dream. Imaginary. Unimportant.
Except then she remembered the touch of heated hands and the brush of a whiskered cheek against her breast, the thrust of him deep inside her, and she knew that so long as the memories remained in her mind there was no way she could ever easily forget him.
Damn him.
Damn herself!
For now she was here, back in her own room where she had always maintained she wanted to be, and after the places he had taken her it seemed a hollow victory indeed.
A spoilt princess?
Maybe Zoltan had been right all along. For, yes, she still felt betrayed and manipulated, but when things hadn’t gone her way she’d as good as stamped her feet and run away.
Fool.
She looked down at the bear in her arms. Maybe it was time she grew up. Maybe instead of sitting here locked away in her room, waiting for Zoltan to make a move, she should be the one to make an effort, to reach out with an olive branch. After all, they were married and bound together. They had slept together—made love together. And no matter what she had spat out in her anger to Zoltan, there was no way she did not want to feel his body between her thighs again.
Maybe, if that was to happen, it was time for her to reach out to him, and if he didn’t want her back, well, she wasn’t an inexperienced virgin with dreams of falling in love with the man of her dreams any more. She was a woman. She would cope with whatever happened.
But first she owed it to herself to try.
There was a commotion outside her room, raised voices and someone shouting her name, and then the door was flung open and her father burst through, the smile on his face a mile wide, and next to him, her beaming sister.
‘Marina!’ she cried, and flung herself into her open arms.
It was a noisy reunion , filled with laughter and tears of joy, and it was only when her father went off to order a feast that Aisha had the chance to draw Marina aside to talk. They curled their feet beneath them on a sofa overlooking the sea and held hands as they had done ever since they were children.
‘I was so afraid,’ Aisha confessed. ‘Did he hurt you? Mustafa, I mean. He must have been so angry that he had lost me.’
Her sister patted her hand and for a moment her eyes grew serious, the muscles in her face tight. ‘He was angry. And bitter. He delighted in telling me in how many ways he would have me.’ Her eyebrows raised. ‘And in great detail.’
Aisha shuddered, remembering her own ordeal, and her sister put a hand to her arm, squeezing it.
‘But don’t worry. I now know why he had to spell it out. Because, my dear sister, it seems the man is impotent.’
‘So why did he say those things? Why did he take you?’
She shrugged. ‘I think he knew there was nothing he could do to challenge the ascension but he still wanted to frustrate things. I’m sure he was hoping the coronation would be delayed. As it was, apparently the news didn’t make it to the palace in time.’
She patted the back of Aisha’s hand where the remnants of the henna tattoos were still just visible. ‘Which reminds me, you are a queen now, and a married woman! Congratulations. Zoltan is such a wonderful man. You must be so happy.’
She shook her head. ‘No. Please don’t,’ she said, pressing her lips together, tears once more springing to her eyes, but this time not from joy.
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘It’s off. I left him. I don’t know if he’ll want me back.’
‘What?’
She shrugged. ‘I left him.’
‘How could you do that? Didn’t he rescue you from Mustafa?’
Aisha could sit no longer. She jumped up and walked slowly to the window to where the sandy coastline of Al-Jirad appeared as a thick white line in the distance, all the while trying to make sense of all her actions, trying to remember why leaving him was so necessary. ‘That was only so he could become king. Everything he’s done, it was to become king. That’s all he wanted. He didn’t really want a wife. He told me that. And he didn’t want me.’ She spun around, clutching her hands together. ‘And, before you say anything, it’s been two days now since I left his palace and he hasn’t bothered to so much as contact me. So, you see, he doesn’t care.
‘I will contact him, though,’ she said, before scraping her bottom lip with her teeth. ‘I’ve decided to try to make it work, if he wants to try.’
Her sister’s eyes opened wide. ‘You have no idea, do you? Nobody told you.’
‘Told me what?’
‘That Zoltan couldn’t call you because he was too busy rescuing me.’
‘What?’
‘It’s true. How do you think I got away if not for Zoltan and his friends?’ She looked up at the ceiling and blew out a breath. ‘Bahir included, as it turns out. Seeing him again was a blast from the past, I can tell you.’
‘You know Bahir?’ she said, distracted.
It was her sister’s turn to shrug, as a strange bleakness filled her eyes. ‘It was a long time ago. I’m not sure he wants to remember it either.’ She blinked and smiled. ‘But that’s not the point right now.’ She uncurled her long legs from underneath her and padded to where her sister stood. Aisha was still shocked from the revelation that Zoltan had been busy rescuing her sister all the time she’d been thinking he had written her off; still trying to work out why he had done that when there was no risk to his reign. He hated Mustafa, it was true, but why would he risk everything to rescue her sister? Unless.