Princess's Nine-Month Secret

Detachedly, he inspected the rest of the room as he mentally ran through the list of other bridal candidates that had been presented to him when the subject of his nuptials first came up a year ago. Like most royal arranged marriages, although one choice had been favoured above the others, there were always contingencies in case of sudden unsuitability.

Three of those candidates were downstairs, ruled out as potential brides to the King and reduced to honoured guests at his wedding. Could one of them be elevated to the position that would turn out to be a dream come true for them?

Zufar’s lips twisted.

There was no way to execute that plan without announcing to the whole world that he’d been jilted. That would only result in frenzied tabloid gossip the media would feed off for years.

Not that any solution he came up with wouldn’t cause ripples. But keeping it under wraps until he was ready would control the beast.

Which meant he had to keep the circle of trust as tight as possible while he found a quieter, interim solution.

But to mitigate the uproar of impending scandal, he needed a bride; needed to ensure he was married within the next two hours before news that he’d been jilted got out.

His reason for choosing his new bride would need to be explained, of course. That would be a problem for tomorrow.

He turned away from the wedding gown and came face to face with the chambermaid. He’d forgotten about her. To be honest, she was barely breathing, striving to be as unobtrusive as possible. Zufar was surprised she hadn’t fled while his back was turned.

Her w

ide-eyed gaze fixed on him, watchful and wary as she followed his pacing figure.

He slowed to a stop on the next pass, an impossibly ludicrous idea taking root in his brain. ‘How long have you been in my palace?’ he asked.

‘All...um... Most of my life, Y-Your Highness,’ she stammered.

He gave a satisfied inner nod. She would know his customs, know the value of discretion.

Sweet desert stars, was he really entertaining this preposterous notion? ‘And how old are you?’ Zufar growled.

She swallowed, her nostrils quivering delicately as she inhaled. ‘Twenty-five, Your Highness.’

He stared at her for a full minute, then nodded briskly. There was neither chagrin nor prevarication in the decision his brain latched onto.

He needed a solution, and he’d found one. His gaze dropped down to her twisting ringless fingers. ‘Do you have a husband?’ he asked.

A deep blush flamed her cheeks, her gaze flitting away from his again as she shook her head. ‘No, Your Highness, I am unmarried.’

Just to be sure, he probed deeper. ‘Are you committed to another?’

Her mouth tightened for the briefest second, but she shook her head before she mumbled, ‘No.’

He wanted to demand that she repeat that. To look him in the eyes while she did so. But time was slipping through his fingers.

Zufar’s chest filled with grim purpose as his gaze sprang from the unsuitable woman before him to the wedding dress, and back again. She was roughly the same size as Amira, if perhaps a little bustier and wider of hip than his...former fiancée. Their heights too were similar and so, from what he could see beneath the blotchiness and drabness, was their colouring.

Of course, Amira had held herself with more poise than this maid, years of first-class schooling and a finishing school in Switzerland undertaken for the sole purpose of her future role as Queen. The woman in front of him was nowhere near as polished.

But he didn’t need a gem, just a polished stone to pass off as the real thing until he could resolve this situation quietly and on his terms.

‘Come here,’ he commanded evenly as he strolled to stand next to the wedding dress. Now he’d decided what to do, he couldn’t afford any more tears or, heaven forbid, tantrums that would further delay him.

She presented him with that rabbit-caught-in-headlights look again, the pulse fluttering at her throat racing faster.

Zufar bit down his exasperation. ‘You’re not deaf. I know you can hear me. Come here,’ he stated firmly.

She jerked into movement, stumbling to a stop two feet away from him.

He inspected her, noting that her eyes were in fact a dark amethyst, not the brown he’d thought, and that her eyelashes were far longer than he had initially noticed. Her mouth too was curved in a perfect little bow that, should it ever find its way into a smile, might salvage some of her dreariness.