A palace official bowed politely and offered a letter to her. Thanking him in her hesitant Arabic, she closed the door and opened the letter. It was a formal request to go to the palace that afternoon signed by an official she’d never heard of. She read it through again, trying to find something more in the collection of words than an invitation to the palace. What for? It didn’t say. She screwed up the invitation, pushed it deep in her bag meaning to throw it into the next available bin, and headed out into the bright sunlight to visit her friends. Just an official invitation, nothing personal. Just as well, she reassured herself, because she’d have run a mile. She’d be leaving in a few weeks, just as she always did. Domestic stuff wasn’t her. Domestic stuff spelled…heartache. So just as well Razeen had made it clear he didn’t want her.
The sun was glowing red in the sky by the time Razeen saw Lucy turn the corner, laughing with a couple of young women who were accompanying her. He felt her presence enter his body like a drug; his body recognized and welcomed her on every level, through every vein, every nerve of his body. He took a sip of his coffee and tried to look inconspicuous amongst the other cafe patrons. He wanted to watch her for as long as possible, unguarded and relaxed, just being Lucy.
Lucy was talking ten to a dozen and the women obviously adored her, no doubt unable to understand a quarter of what she was saying. But they were laughing and chatting back in Arabic, which no doubt Lucy could only barely understand, aided only by the occasional translation of one woman, presumably Aakifah.
And so they should be appreciative of her, he thought. She’d done more single-handedly for their welfare than any of his family since his grandfather. But, looking at them now, he realized two things. One, that the women didn’t only appreciate Lucy, they really liked her. They made contact with her, their hands resting on her arms when they spoke; they moved freely before her, laughing and joking as if she were an old friend. He realized with a start that she was accessible to them in a way that his family had never been to the people. The other thing that struck him forcibly, was that the regard went both ways. Lucy looked totally at home with them, despite the language barrier.
He frowned and turned away, replacing his coffee cup carefully on the table. As soon as Lucy had left he realized she had been right and his advisors had been wrong. He needed a Queen whose heart and soul were invested in Sitra. Neelam’s heart and soul yearned to leave Sitra and so he’d encouraged her to leave to follow her dreams and the wedding had been called off. But more than a passion for his country, he needed a Queen he could love. And that meant only one person. But this realization hadn’t made him track down Lucy and propose to her. How could he when she clearly demonstrated, by both her lack of words and her actions, that she didn’t love him?
He watched her farewell her friends and walk across the street toward him. And in that moment he knew he had to find out what she felt for him—good or bad—he had to know.
It wasn’t until Lucy stopped beside the cafe to pluck her keys out of her bag that she saw him. Her breath nearly froze in her throat as he met her gaze and rose to meet her.
“You’ve been gone a long time.”
“I’ve been with my friends from the market.”
“No, Lucy, I mean you’ve been away from Sitra for a long time.”
“I had no reason to return.”
He looked thoughtful. “But now you have.”
“Yes, now I have things to do here.”
She paused, gripping her key in her hand. What the hell was he doing here?
“May I come in?”
“I guess so.” She turned the key in the lock, entered the narrow hallway and immediately climbed the rickety stairs leading to her apartment. Razeen’s footsteps followed closely behind. When they emerged into the upstairs space he stopped and looked around.
“Is this satisfactory? Maia said you didn’t wish to stay at the palace so I found this for you. I’m afraid it’s a little small. I’d have preferred something more fitting for you, but Maia thought you’d like it and I knew you’d be safe here. The family downstairs are trustworthy.”
She turned away, not wanting to see how his words affected her. It was all thanks to him. Everything—from her favorite chocolate in the refrigerator to the newly planted window box filled with her favorite white-scented flowers—was down to him. “It’s perfect, thank you.” She turned and smiled at him. “I might have known you’d arranged it.”
“Of course.”
“Would you like a coffee or tea?”