‘She is the end of the vine…’ Fahid’s voice wavered. ‘My daughter, my precious. I don’t want her overseas.’ The King looked to his son and then back to Mikael. ‘I am not just talking about tradition…’
‘I understand that fear,’ Mikael said. ‘Your daughter is trouble. I wanted her off my hands, and yet I felt ill at the thought of her coping in a city she wasn’t used to. If Layla came to live in Australia then I would take time off from work—however long it takes—to ensure she understands all that your son does, having lived overseas. Layla could still work, still see her students…’
‘I don’t want to lose her.’
For the first time in more than two decades Zahid watched as his father struggled not to break down.
‘You could never lose Layla,’ Mikael said.
It was then that Mikael was glad that Trinity was not there. She did not understand just how ingrained these traditions were. She would have argued Layla’s case, interrupted him; instead Mikael had stated his own case to a king who was listening.
‘You couldn’t lose Layla,’ he reiterated, and then admitted what he perhaps shouldn’t. ‘I have already asked her to marry me and she laughed in my face. She said she would not turn her back on her country and you. I am as sure as I can be that Layla would only ever leave with your blessing—and, if she did, she would return often with love and gratitude to you.’
Mikael had nothing left. He had used every argument he could, every weapon in his arsenal, had planned every move to the endgame.
It was as if the Queen that Layla so sorely missed had nudged him to checkmate.
Yes, it was for the King to decide now—but before he did, Mikael voiced the one united thought of everyone present in the room.
Even Queen Annan.
‘I love Layla.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘READY?’ TRINITY ASKED.
‘I am,’ Layla said, though her heart was breaking.
Of course she was ready, she told herself. She had known for ever that this day had to come.
‘I have my memories and I have all my dreams…’
‘You do.’
Trinity was torn. It was like taking a beautiful lamb to slaughter; how she wanted to tell Layla that Mikael was here, and yet Zahid had told her not to.
In this she had to trust that her husband knew best.
Layla walked down the palace stairs, determined to see this through without breaking down—and then she saw the closed doors and thought of the men behind it, and Hussain.
She looked down to her wrist, at the tiny little mark there, and knew that the match had burned more than twice for now it flared again.
‘No!’ Layla screamed, and went to run up the stairs.
Jamila grabbed her arms and a guard caught her by her dress as she dropped to the floor.
‘She’s having another seizure!’ Jamila shouted.