“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” the bodyguard blurted out, getting out of the front seat of the car. “One moment the crowd was cheering for her, and then—I never expected them to turn like that!”
Omar glared at him. “Send the doctor to the queen’s bedchamber.”
Nodding, the bodyguard fled.
Beth was still in his arms. Feeling her body against his caused a reaction that Omar couldn’t control. For weeks, since the night of the engagement banquet, he hadn’t touched her. Not so much as a kiss.
Every night, Beth had slept in the queen’s suite, adjacent to his own. Safe on the other side of the bolted door.
Safe.
Omar took a deep breath. He’d never imagined his people could turn on her like that. They’d seemed to love her.
But he knew how violently loyalties could turn. He’d grown up hearing stories of how thousands of people had died, turning family against family, neighbor against neighbor, in the wanton destruction of Samarqara’s civil war, barely sixty years before.
Now, Omar anxiously looked her over. “Did the rocks hit you?”
Beth shook her head. “They all missed by a mile.” Looking down at her white denim overalls, now splattered with red, she said ruefully, “The tomatoes are another story.”
What would have happened if the men had used weapons deadlier than tomatoes and rocks? He shuddered at the thought. “I’m taking you to your bedroom to rest. You’ll be checked over by a doctor.”
“I’m fine. I was scared more than anything—”
“You will see a doctor,” he said harshly. When she hesitated, he lifted her up against his chest and carried her, so she could not defy him.
His heart was still pounding. No longer with rage, but with fear.
What had he done, bringing Beth into his palace? Unlike Laila al-Abayyi, who’d been brought up in a powerful family and understood Samarqara’s history, Beth naively believed the best of everyone. What place did she have in politics? What protection would she have, from those who might seek to hurt her, either with weapons, or with words?
None.
When they reached the queen’s chambers, Omar gently set Beth down in the en suite marble bathroom. The late morning sunlight shone gold against the silver fixtures.
Turning on the shower to heat up the water, he looked down at her. Her eyes looked up at him, but she didn’t say a word. When he put his hand on her shoulder, he felt she was suddenly shivering hard. As if the fear had finally, truly hit her.
Unbuckling the tops of her overalls, he let them drop to the floor. She did not resist as he lifted her arms to gently pull off her T-shirt, then her bra, then her panties. He wasn’t thinking about her body. He was only thinking about how to comfort her. How to keep her safe.
He looked anxiously into her numb eyes. “Dr. Nazari should be here any moment.”
“A male doctor,” she said.
“No, the queen’s doctor is always a woman. I’ll let her in.” He gently nudged her into the hot, steamy shower, and left without looking back. He didn’t want to see his wife naked and pink with steam, standing in the glass shower. He could o
nly endure so much.
The doctor arrived a few minutes later.
“Your betrothed is hurt?” Dr. Nazari asked.
“She was scared. So I want you to check. And—” he hesitated “—will you let me know if she’s pregnant?”
The doctor looked at him, then slowly nodded. “If she wishes it.”
“Thank you.” He went into his own bedchamber to wait. He leaned his head back against the wall, exhaling.
If Beth was pregnant...
He wanted that desperately. And dreaded it.