For Duty's Sake. Lucy Monroe

me and my father.”

      It was true. From one of the most influential families in Jawhar, Cemal had been fostered in the royal household when his parents died. He’d been raised like a brother to Malik, but they shared no blood relation. Which had actually played in favor to the agreement drawn up ten years before as Zahir and Angele had no blood common between them.

      “I did not think this bothered you.”

      “It doesn’t.”

      “You cite it as reason for not keeping your commitment.”

      “I never made a commitment. When I was thirteen I was informed that one day we would marry.”

      A mere girl. He had felt compassion for her. “But you never complained. Why now?”

      “I spun fairy castles in the air, dreams that took me too long to realize they had no basis in reality.”

      Dreams of love. Didn’t she know? That commodity was not for such as them. “You need to consider this more carefully.”

      “Zahir, I’m giving you your freedom.” Exasperation and a tinge of anger laced her tone. “Instead of trying to talk me out of it, you could simply say thank you.”

      Did she really believe she was doing him a favor? He did not think so. “Our families will be shamed.”

      “Oh, please. Nothing official has ever been announced.”

      “Nevertheless, the expectation exists.”

      “So?” She shrugged, as if really, this did not matter. “Those who have expectations will have to be disappointed.”

      “Like my father. Like the man you call uncle. They will be humiliated.”

      The look she gave Zahir said she did not buy his calamity scenario. “Disappointed maybe but, in that regard, not as much as they would be by a divorce.”

      “Why divorce?” Though he admitted he did not know her as well as he could, he had never considered her a pessimist. “You are not making any sense.”

      “Zahir, can you honestly tell me that you are not feeling even a little niggle of hope right now? That relief isn’t warring with your need to talk me out of doing what you know you want?”

      Shock held him silent. Her words implied that she actually believed she was doing him some sort of favor; that somehow he would and even should thank her for threatening to break her word. He tried to think of what could have caused her to draw such a ridiculous conclusion, but despite his superior intellect he came up with nothing.

      No possible reason for her outlandish ideas.

      She sighed, her shoulders slumping just enough that he knew she was not as calm about this as she was pretending to be. “Your silence speaks better than your words could. I will take full responsibility for the aborted engagement with our families and the media.”

      “No.” He surged up from his desk, realizing that perhaps now was not the time to intimidate with that barrier between them.

      “I have only one request.”

      He halted on his way around the desk. “What is it?”

      “I want one night in your bed, the wedding night I will not now have.”

      If she had shocked him with her threat to break their agreement, this request practically had him catatonic. What in blue blazes was she thinking?

      “Why?” he ground out while trying to somehow make sense of his prim and proper princess-to-be offering him, no, demanding from him, something that should not be indulged in until after their marriage.

      The next heir could not be conceived under a cloud.

      “I want you to be my first.”

      Well, naturally. “But you do not wish to marry me.”

      Did she truly believe there was any sense, even the smallest modicum of logic in such a scenario?

      “Did you want to marry Elsa Bosch?”

      He’d indulged in fantasies at one time. He’d believed himself in love. More fool him. But even then he’d known it was pure fantasy to even consider such a thing. He’d soon realized that more than her career made her the wrong choice as future queen of Zohra.

      Even in his most youthful exuberance of untried emotion, he had not been a fool. “It was not a consideration.”

      “But you had sex with her.” The blunt words falling from Angele’s usually prim mouth added to his sense of falling down the rabbit hole.

      It was time to put a stop to this conversation. “That is not something I will discuss with you.”

      “I’m not asking you to—I’m simply making an observation.”

      “This entire conversation is insane.”

      “No, what is insane is two people prepared to marry for the sake of nothing but family obligation in the twenty-first century.”

      Her American upbringing had much to answer for.

      “I will one day be king. The woman who rules Zohra by my side must be a suitable match.” Angele knew this. He should not have to repeat it for her. “Love has nothing to do with the obligations you and I must uphold.”

      “You say it like it’s a dirty word.”

      It was his turn to shrug. In his life? That particular emotion had caused more pain than pleasure.

      “Your brothers have both found love.”

      “They do not have the responsibilities of the crown to uphold.” And neither man had had a particularly smooth road to true love, either.

      Zahir had no desire to follow in their footsteps in that regard. He had enough of his own challenges in life to face as ultimate leader and servant to his people.

      “Your father doesn’t wear a crown.”

      “Don’t play semantics with me—this is too important.” He could not believe she was saying these things. “I believed you understood the importance of your obligations.”

      “My greatest obligation is to myself. I know you don’t see it that way.” She quoted an Arabic proverb he often used that was strangely apt to their situation. “I’m not that person. I don’t believe countries will topple if their leaders seek personal happiness in a manner of integrity.”

      “What is honorable about breaking our engagement?”

      “We aren’t engaged.” “As good as.”

      “Really? You truly believe that?” she asked as if his answer carried great import.

      “Yes.”

      Unutterable sadness came over her features and the light in her eyes dimmed. “I’m sorry.”

      “You will give up this idea of backing away from our wedding?”

      “No.” Her voice was laced with determination, but there was a flicker of fear in her expression.

      And suddenly, he thought he understood. Things that made no sense began to fall into a picture he could comprehend. She was concerned about their compatibility in the bedroom. As well she might be.

      In one respect, she was spot-on. They were not a nineteenth-century couple where the bride and groom had been expected to go to the marriage bed untouched. Or, at the very least, the bride.

      She’d spent her life in the United States, surrounded by a culture that had demystified sex and frequently glorified it. He had never made improper advances because, despite his claim, they were not actually engaged.

      At first, Angele had been too young, and later he’d had his liaison with Elsa. A relationship doomed from