Scandal: His Majesty's Love-Child

Had he rejected her because he couldn’t accept her love? Because he couldn’t return it?

‘Here. Please! Sit down.’ The secretary grabbed her elbow and guided her into a nearby chair.

Obediently Annalisa sank, grateful for the support as her knees turned to water.

‘Are you absolutely sure?’ She fixed him with a look that begged him to be wrong.

Hurriedly he shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry. His Majesty cancelled the arrangements only a few hours ago. Perhaps if you talk to him…?’

What? He’d agree to marry her after all?

From the first Tahir hadn’t wanted marriage. He’d felt obligated. And now…now, for all their physical intimacy, perhaps she’d got too close to that part of himself he held so private.

Her heart throbbed pure pain. No doubt he thought it easier to provide financial support for their child than entangle himself with a needy woman.

‘Wait there. I’ll get you some tea.’ Her companion hurried away, leaving Annalisa to stare at the cluster of gilded French antique furniture in the room. It reminded her inevitably of the huge gulf between her and Tahir.

Had she fooled herself with dreams of a love-match? How had she let herself think for a moment it was possible?

She tried to tell herself it was for the best, ending things now rather than going through the emotional entanglement of a doomed marriage.

Yet she couldn’t convince herself.

She was still gazing dry-eyed before her, when a door slammed and she heard footsteps on the inlaid floor of the outer office.

‘…and your personal leadership during this disaster has made all the difference, sire. Without it the relief operation would not have been so effective.’

‘You flatter me, Akmal. But thank you. I realise I’m not the man the elders expected to have on the throne.’

‘Let me assure you, your actions these past couple of months have won their respect. As will your decision to cancel that imprudent marriage. It’s gratifying you’ve taken the advice of your counsellors on this issue.’

Annalisa pressed her palm to her mouth.

‘If I’d taken your advice, Akmal, I’d be crowned already and married to a foreign princess with blue blood and ice in her veins.’ Tahir’s voice was terse.

The sound of it made Annalisa twist in her seat. But they couldn’t see her. She was hidden by a carved screen inlaid with mother of pearl. Her stomach fluttered in distress. She didn’t want to be here, listening to their discussion. But she couldn’t face him. Not yet.

‘I wish you’d stop delaying your coronation, sire. It’s what the country needs. Stability, proof that the monarchy is solid and here to stay.’

‘You don’t think marrying the mother of my child indicates a certain permanency?’

Annalisa winced at the heavy irony in his tone.

‘Laudable as your intentions were, Majesty, we both know the child can be brought up out of the limelight. With sufficient money it will be well cared for and educated. And if you wish to continue a discreet relationship with the mother…’

Nausea engulfed her, and she didn’t hear the rest of the sentence for the buzzing sound in her ears. She hunched over, arms wrapped around her waist, breathing slowly through her nose in an attempt to force down the bile in her throat.

‘Besides…’ The other man’s voice began to fade, presumably as they entered the inner office. ‘Such a marriage isn’t possible. The King must either marry royalty or a woman of pure Qusani blood. It’s written in the constitution. This woman’s father was Danish. She’s not suitable as your consort.’

Annalisa barely heard the thud of heavy doors closing. Her mind was filled with the brutal words she’d not been meant to hear.

Tahir’s advisor proposed to pay her off with cash then set her up somewhere so she could be the King’s…what? Mistress? Concubine? Even for Qusay the idea was medieval.

As for the requirement for pure Qusani blood! Right now her blood, pure or not, was boiling at the man’s attitude. How could he take such an antiquated view of the world? Hadn’t he heard of the twenty-first century?

She shot to her feet and paced the small salon.

To be discussed as if she were a problem, a thing to be moved or used or discarded as they saw fit! To be rejected because she wasn’t royal, or because her father had been born in Copenhagen! She was as much a Qusani as Tahir and his precious Akmal. More so. Unlike Tahir, she’d lived here all her life—and, unlike his advisor, not in a gilded palace but with ordinary Qusanis.

How dared they belittle her like that?

Fury surged in her bloodstream, propelling her across the room and out of the door.