A Royal Wedding(39)

He liked that, too. She was as much the child of the late King Azat, his revered mentor, as she was of the faithless woman who was her mother. Brave. Vibrant. And she would be his wife. His queen, as had been decided so many years ago. The warrior in him appreciated the way she stood so straight, emotion darkening her eyes but not overtaking her, her body lean and supple and strong. The king in him imagined the future her blood assured, the children they would bear together, the way they would rule his beloved Alakkul. And the man in him wanted to taste the fullness of her mouth, and sink his fingers into the dark glossy waves of her long hair.

Just as he’d always wanted her, even back when they were both young.

He had wanted her even after her lying mother had spirited her away, taking her far from her home—far from Adel. He had wanted her in all the years in between, when the old King insisted they leave her to her new life and Adel had wondered when he could ever lay claim to the woman who had always been his. He wanted her as she denied him, as she fought with him, as she looked at him as if he was her enemy.

He had wanted her so long, it had become as much a part of him as his own name. It did not matter what she’d done in all the intervening years. It did not even matter if she’d forgotten him. He was here now, and she was his.

She was far too Western. She was dressed for summer in America—all bare skin and tight clothes that outlined curves his hands itched to touch. Her hair was untamed, uncovered, a silken black mass of curls spilling around her creamy shoulders. Her high, full breasts filled out the tight, V-necked shirt she wore to perfection, while her slim hips and long legs were encased in scandalously tight denim.

Her feet were bare to his sight, her polished pink toenails in thonged sandals.

These things should have displeased him. Perhaps even angered him. Yet they did not. She did not.

At all.

He was fascinated.

“Explain this to me,” she said after a moment, her eyes meeting his and then falling, as if she could sense the direction of his thoughts. “My father signed me away to you? When I was twelve? And you are the sort of man who wants to honor that kind of archaic, misogynistic agreement?”

“Your father was the King of Alakkul,” Adel said swiftly, not rising to the obvious bait. “And I am his chosen successor. You are his only daughter, and the last of your bloodline. It is fitting that you become my queen.”

It was more than fitting—it was necessary, though he did not plan to share that with her. Not now. Not yet.

Her throat worked. Her eyes clouded over, though with temper or hurt, he could not tell. “How romantic,” she managed to say.

“Surely you have always known this day would come, Princess,” he replied, keeping his voice even, wondering why he felt the urge to comfort her. There was no point addressing that bitter note in her voice. “You have been permitted to live freely for years. But it was always on borrowed time.”

“Interestingly, I was under the impression that I was simply living my life,” she said, her gaze freezing into a glare. “I had no idea you were lying in wait!”

“You cannot tell me you do not remember me.” He saw the tell-tale brush of color on her cheeks, heard the catch of her breath. He remembered the sweet taste of their first, stolen kiss. The music of her sigh of pleasure when he touched her. He could see she did, too. “I can see that you do.”

“It might as well be a dream!” she said fiercely, though her flushed cheeks told a different tale. “That’s what I thought it was!”

“Life is often unfair, Princess,” he said, his voice low, his attention on the way she stood on the balls of her feet, as if she meant to run. Would she dare? “But that does not change the facts of things.”

“There are your facts, and then there are my facts,” she said in a low voice. She took a breath, and her silver-blue eyes turned to steel. He liked that, too. The warrior in him, who had fought and trained and gladly suffered to achieve all that he had done, sang his approval. “You can go ahead and sue me for your money. I won’t pay it. And whatever the courts in your tiny little country might say, the court of public opinion will have only one word for a king who chases down a defenseless woman like this. Bully.”

Adel smiled then, because she was so much more than he had dared imagine, when he’d thought of her growing up so far from her people, her traditions, him. She was not her mother’s daughter at all, as he had feared, no matter how that worthless woman had tried to poison her against all that was hers.