‘The doctors are here,’ he said.
‘Do we need to do this now?’ she hedged, unable to stop the scenarios that reeled through her head, all ending with the unassailable fact that if she was confirmed pregnant, her honeymoon would be over.
True, her supposed honeymoon had been filled with accompanying Zufar to endless engagements and smiling through luncheons and state dinners when she would rather be curled up with a book in one of the quieter rooms of their royal suite.
But during those events, she had a front-row seat to the daily life and work of the man she’d married. No longer did she have to watch him on a TV screen or gaze at glossy, still pictures in a magazine.
She’d watched in real life as he’d negotiated a trade deal over pre-dinner cocktails with little more than a handful of sentences. She’d listened, stunned, as he’d given his frank opinion on a decades-long border dispute between bitter enemies, only to see it implemented days later. Last night she’d looked on, her heart melting, as he’d charmed the eight-year-old daughter of his ambassador.
Who cared that he barely said more than a handful of words to her throughout their engagements? Fine, she cared. No one liked being ignored.
But still, those times she spent with him, secretly hoping she would absorb even a little of his effortless ability to govern and charm? Niesha...liked it, she admitted reluctantly. Watching him navigate the sometimes choppy waters of diplomacy was a sight she wasn’t ready to be rid of despite the dangerous waters her heart waded into.
She didn’t need to be a genius to know that the moment her pregnancy was confirmed she would be whisked back to Khalia. If he wasn’t touching her on their honeymoon she could guarantee they would resort to separate beds, like his parents, on their return. On the other hand, if her pregnancy wasn’t confirmed then...
The idea that she was hoping she wasn’t pregnant just for a chance to stay in Zufar’s bed for a little longer struck her in equal parts with shame—for being so weak—and with a hunger she couldn’t dismiss.
‘It needs to be done, according to royal protocol,’ he pronounced, in answer to her question. There was no gentleness to his tone, only a firm recital of purpose and duty. ‘I’m assured it won’t take long.’ At her continued hesitation, he beckoned with a commanding hand. ‘Come.’
Little one.
He hadn’t used the endearment since their wedding night and even as she mocked herself for the absurdity of missing it, she couldn’t deny that its absence left a small hollow inside her.
Firmly, she pushed that sensation away, then forced herself not to dwell on the fact that his hand dropped to his side when she approached him, instead of reaching for hers as he did when they were out in public.
Those moments were for show, she reminded herself. Zufar and Niesha al Khalia had been hailed as the world’s most photogenic and romantic royal couple. She barely managed to stop her lips from twisting.
If only they knew.
So, as she’d trained herself to do, she went to his side, making sure to keep a small distance between them as they re-entered the living room.
There were three physicians in total, two male and one female, all of middle age, and a younger male intern who bowed as they approached.
‘I’m Dr Wadya. We will not keep you very long, Your Highness,’ the female doctor promised with a smile.
A little more at ease, Niesha acknowledged other introductions and took a seat on the sofa. Zufar took his place behind her, one hand resting lightly on the seat a hair’s breadth from her shoulder. When she was instructed to, she removed her wrap, handed it to an attendant hovering nearby, then resisted the urge to run her sweaty palms down the thighs of her silk slip dress.
Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her racing heart. Not when she, and everyone in the room, were holding their collective breaths at the possibility that she could be carrying Zufar’s heir.
The drumming in her ears precluded her from hearing what was being discussed. In a way it was a blessing because she could temporarily forget that her life was being planned and plotted around her.
Still, she heard the sharp inhalation from the older male doctor, Dr Basim.
‘What is it?’ Zufar enquired sharply.
The man’s pale-faced gaze was fixed on the birthmark on her forearm. He gave a slight shake of his head, but remained silent, his focus on the pink starfish mark that resided on the inside of her arm just below her inner elbow.
She frowned, her heart lurching as she looked at the faces of the doctors.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
As if dragged from a stupor, Dr Basim’s rose gaze from her arm. ‘I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,’ he said.
‘What is a coincidence?’ Zufar bit out. ‘Explain yourself, if you please.’ The statement was less request, more directive.
‘I don’t wish to jump to conclusions, Your Highness,’ the doctor said. ‘I merely thought I recognised the mark on Her Highness’s arm.’
Tense silence descended on the room. Niesha’s breath strangled in her throat as everyone remained frozen in place.