‘I am simply trying to show you that you will not fall.’ He spoke with surprising softness as he turned to face her. ‘The danger exists only in your mind.’
In a few long strides he was beside her, taking her gently by the wrist. Her breath caught painfully in her throat at the heat of his skin on her own. She did not resist as he gently pulled her, step by torturous step, across the marble-tiled floor until she stood in the exact same spot as he had. He took her hand and placed her trembling palm against the cold glass. Cressida felt her insides tremble as she tried not to look down, focusing on the sensation of his hand still pinning her own in place.
‘Open your eyes.’ The command was gentle, but a command nonetheless. She gingerly fluttered one eyelid open, feeling as though her heart was about to beat straight out of her chest. He had not been lying when he said the view was better over here. On one side she could see the entire coastline stretching out into the distance, the sun sparkling on the water like a thousand diamonds. They were otherwise surrounded by a sea of sleek modern buildings and hotels, with the barest glimpse of unspoiled desert peeking out in the distance.
‘Just don’t look down.’ Khal’s voice came from somewhere near her ear as he removed his hand from hers and stood alongside her.
‘You just reminded me that there is a down to look at.’ She exhaled a little harder but resisted the urge to step back.
‘Your composure is effortlessly regal, Your Highness.’ She could hear the smirk in his voice as he placed one hand on the glass and faced away from her.
She couldn’t help but let the corner of her own mouth turn up. ‘I think all these brave masculine displays of royal window-leaning have reassured me.’
He turned to face her, a strange expression on his face. ‘Now, you see, describing it as brave and masculine strokes my ego. Why lessen the effect by making it a royal activity?’
‘I doubt most people would think that being royal lessens anything at all.’
‘Ah, but we know better, don’t we?’ he said softly, his gaze travelling down her body for a split second. He swallowed, a frown creasing his brow.
The way he used the word ‘we’ so easily, she could almost imagine for a moment that they were a normal couple sharing a quiet moment of intimacy. She looked away, feeling the acute sting of awareness that she was looking for something that would never exist. Strange that, no matter what situation she was in, this feeling was always familiar, like an itchy blanket. The feeling of wanting more from someone but knowing she would never have it. Feeling as if she should be grateful for whatever small sliver of attention she had been given. The old pain threatened to overwhelm her until a silky voice invaded her reverie.
‘Your mind has wandered away.’
Pulling herself back to the moment, she nodded, avoiding his gaze. ‘I must be tired,’ she offered, knowing she was lying but just wanting to retreat to her own space and analyse whatever she was feeling.
‘You should rest, then. We leave for the ball at eight.’
Cressida nodded, making a mumbled show of thanks as he escorted her to her bedroom door before practically darting from his side. With the door firmly closed between them, she leaned back against the solid wood and waited for her heartbeat to return to normal.
Suddenly she longed for the solitude of the palace and the comfort of not being in such close proximity to the man who set her heartbeat racing and her stress levels rising. It was just simple chemical awareness, she told herself. He was the only man she had ever been close to, the only man who had ever kissed her or touched her. She had been married for less than a month. There was still another four years and eleven months to survive.
* * *
Unsurprisingly, she spent the following few hours in a less than restful state. As the sun began to dip in the evening sky, Cressida forced a smile as she took in her reflection in the floor-length mirror of her dressing room. The dress her team had chosen for the ball was a deliberately Western-styled design of midnight-blue lace, elegant and figure-hugging. If she could have chosen a gown to wear upon her first formal occasion as Queen, she could not have chosen one more perfect than this.
The silhouette made her appear more womanly, without making her feel self-conscious. The delicate capped sleeves were adorned with tiny seed pearls and the tiniest glints of sapphire. The same gems adorned her ears and her wrist, designed in Monteverre she was told, which was a nice touch. East meets West, she thought wryly as she gave a little turn in the mirror. She looked up, noticing that the door had opened, and was met with the dauntingly attractive sight of her husband in his formal robes. The King, she corrected herself sternly. The more she thought of him as her husband, the harder it was to forget what she wanted to forget. Taking a couple of breaths before she turned, she steeled herself for the onslaught of simply being in his presence. They were not alone in the room by any means, surrounded by the remnants of her wardrobe team, her assistant and members of her security detail. And yet she felt overheated and on edge.
‘You look...beautiful,’ he said, sincerity in the deep baritone of his voice.
‘Thank you.’ Cressida bowed her head slightly, clasping her hands in front of her. ‘I thought we were meant to meet in the foyer?’
‘I thought it best that I escort you down myself.’ He extended his hand. ‘That is, if that is all right with you?’
Cressida fought the urge to roll her eyes at the strained formality of it all. Instead, she straightened her spine and placed her hand in his.
Apart from a near miss when her heel got caught in the train of her dress coming down the stairs, their entrance to the ball was utterly flawless, as planned. Cressida bowed and curtsied to various foreign dignitaries as needed, projecting what she hoped was an air of calm regal elegance when internally she felt far from it. Khal remained by her side as they were met with a queue of guests waiting for introductions to the new Queen of Zayyar.
As she’d expected, most of the guests commented on her appearance while choosing to compliment her husband on his most recent accomplishments. With her, they gushed over her designer jewellery and fawned over how utterly flawless her skin was. As though she had any control over the fact that her skin was pale and clear.
After a time, the smile she had pasted on her face began to hurt her cheeks so she simply stopped smiling. Apart from noticing Khal staring at her on a number of occasions, no one else seemed to notice. She was grateful when they sat down finally, having not eaten since breakfast in preparation for the event. Apparently it was customary to starve oneself before wearing a designe
r gown in order to achieve maximum leanness and avoid bloating. She had developed a new appreciation for what her sisters must have gone through in the past while she had avoided occasions such as this.
The menu was a mixture of traditional Zayyari meats and spices arranged in various European-style dishes. It was an ingenious incorporation of textures and flavours on the part of the Michelin star chefs who had been employed for the occasion. But, honestly, she could have been eating plain porridge and it would have tasted like sweet ambrosia.
‘I see you have found your appetite.’
Cressida looked up, trying in vain to hide the gigantic mouthful of chicken she had just placed in her mouth. It was entirely impossible to appear ladylike or delicate when one’s mouth was full of food. Khal smiled, stifling laughter with his hand as he leaned close.