She swallowed as she dropped her gaze to his lips. She licked her own. “How was it meant to be?”
“You, passing through; me, a brief reprieve before I was dragged down by duty.”
She raised her eyes to his and at the sight of the pain that dwelled there she placed her hand on his chest, above his heart. “But that is surely still what is happening. I’m leaving tomorrow morning; you’re going to be doing your duty.”
“Yes, you’re right. That is still what’s happening on the surface. But inside?” He curled his fingers under her chin and swept his thumb over her bottom lip. “I knew there was a risk I might end up wanting something—someone—I could never have and that was a risk I was prepared to take. But I never wanted to hurt you.”
She dropped her gaze and he took the step across the space between them and pressed her head against his chest, his arms cradling her body as he kissed the top of her hair.
“And I think I have. I’m so sorry, Lucy.”
She closed her eyes as she breathed him in, her lips grazing his neck. “Forget about me. You can’t marry her, Razeen. She’s not best for this country; she’s not best for you.”
“Now there you are at great variance to all my advisers.”
“Then dismiss them. They’re wrong.”
He shook his head and pulled away from her. “No, they’re not. They know Sitra and they know the Sitran people. My country needs reform and my people demand a traditional King.”
“Have you asked your people what they want? Have you? Or is it just a few advisors you’re relying on. Razeen, you need to get out there amongst your people, find out what’s happening, discover what they want. Look at my sister, she’s going to make a huge difference to the people she lives with. You think they won’t appreciate that? Look at me,” she slammed her fist into her chest, repeatedly, trying to control the passion that threatened to overflow. “Look at me, look at how the women in the market have accepted me. Doesn’t that count for more than being of the right blood?”
“I wish it were that simple.”
“It is, Razeen, it is.”
“You don’t understand, Lucy. You’ve been here a week and you think you know the situation better than me? Than my advisers? Come on, even you cannot be that naive.”
She drew her arms defensively in front of her, suddenly feeling cold. “Well, if you’ve quite finished I’ll go back to bed. I’ve an early morning start.” She stepped awkwardly away and walked briskly to the door.
“I’m sorry—”
She held up her hand to stop him from speaking any further. She couldn’t turn to him, couldn’t face him. “Don’t. Just let me go.”
“I cannot make my own choices any more, my life is not my own.”
“I seem to remember you telling me that it wasn’t madness for Maia to freely choose where she wished to be.”
“But I am not free to choose. You must understand.”
“I can’t see it makes much difference whether I understand or not.” She turned to face him, needing to know. “But tell me, Razeen, if you were free, what, or who would you choose?”
The silence lay heavy between them. Razeen didn’t speak, only looked at her with an expression she couldn’t read.
“I see.” She turned away.
“I’m sorry, Lucy, that things can’t be different.”
The slam of the door echoed through the sleeping palace and Razeen closed his eyes as the pain washed through him. There was no doubt in his mind that they had no future together. There were so many reasons he couldn’t be with Lucy. No responsible man would have done otherwise. It was not only necessary for the future of the kingdom but he couldn’t go back on the word he’d given to his future wife and her family.
And, he thought as he picked up the photo of his mother, it was necessary for Lucy’s future happiness. He knew what his mother’s life had become; he knew how unhappy she’d been. And he also knew how much his parents had been in love initially. He picked up another photo of them on their wedding day. His father was unrecognizable: his face bright and happy. There was nothing to indicate the tyrant he would become. Even love couldn’t withstand such pressure.
He replaced the photos but continued to stare at the photograph of his mother, the details obscured under the hollow glare of the lamp. His eyes stung as he stared unblinking at the photo. But he’d ceased to see his mother and saw, instead, Lucy’s face—tense and hurt. Without taking his eyes from the photo he groped for the light switch and turned it off. His mother’s face was no longer visible: but Lucy’s face haunted him still.