The Royal Collection. Rebecca Winters

of praise. These were not poetic words in the least. And he had beat a hasty retreat after.

      Perhaps, much like his smiles, they felt larger than they were because they were so hard-won.

      He walked up the stairs to the podium that was set on the stage and her heart stopped. This was it. He looked completely calm, completely prepared. And she felt as if all of the nerves he should be feeling had been dropped down into the pit of her stomach, making it impossible for her to breathe.

      She clasped her hands in front of her and whispered a prayer. Then she whispered it again. And again. She wanted him to succeed. She needed him to succeed. Needed both of them to succeed in this. This mattered so much, and she wasn’t quite sure when that had happened.

      He opened his mouth and began to speak. And he stole her breath.

      Tarek’s words flowed over her like warm honey. He was so cultured, so well-spoken, those words he had clung to in the lonely years in the desert well chosen, well guarded. She wondered if, in this case, it was a bit like preserving beautiful artifacts. If those words, so rarely handled, so rarely brought out before the world, were all the more precious and awe-inspiring for it.

      Everyone in the room had the sense for it, she could see. They clung to each syllable as though it was gold.

      “I know I am the brother you never saw,” Tarek was saying now, “but you will see me now. I spent long years in the desert offering protection to our nation’s borders. I will offer protection now. Not only in the shoring up of the borders, but in reaching beyond them. Tahar has been isolated for too long. We have been isolated for too long. I am deeply regretful for any crimes committed against our people, brought about by those in my bloodline. As for myself, I only know one thing. And that is how to protect. I will do so now. As for the other tasks required of a ruler, I am hopelessly outmatched. But I am fortunate enough to have found help. Queen Olivia, who served her country with her late husband, is to be my wife. She will be Sheikha of Tahar, and all that she gave to Alansund she will now give here. Our goal is to help each other by strengthening any weak points the other might have. With that goal, we will strengthen this country. I understand that you, here in this room and listening at home, might feel reason to distrust me. I understand that I will have to earn your allegiance. But I stand prepared to do that. I must prove myself, and I am willing. Thank you.”

      With that, he strode from the stage, his focus trained on her, his posture rigid, his gaze unflinching. As though he was completely oblivious to the thunderous applause happening around him. As though he had no sense of how well he had done.

      In this sea of people, he stood alone. Nothing could break through. She wondered what it would take to reach him, to break down the wall.

      She began to walk toward him, her heart thundering, the sound around her muted now. She stopped in his path and he continued on, his dark eyes blazing. And for just one moment she felt as if she was at least seeing behind the wall. Even if she still couldn’t reach him, she was seeing more. The view beyond the rock and stone.

      He paused in front of her and she reached up, putting both of her hands on his cheeks. “You were amazing,” she said, keeping her eyes locked with his.

      He let out a hard breath, and she could feel his relief resonating inside her. “I have not caused a war,” he said. “Yet.”

      She heard the click of cameras, knew this moment was being captured on film. It would be a headline tomorrow. Her, and her peacock-blue gown, holding on to his face. It would look like love. It would at least look like lust.

      Honestly, it was the second. On her end, at least.

      Either way, it would make for a good headline. The kind of headline they wanted. Now, though, it was time for them to make the rounds. Time to be social. She had promised she wouldn’t expect him to dance, but that meant that he didn’t have a good chance at escaping social responsibilities.

      Over the course of the next two hours she did her best to provide balance to Tarek’s rather sullen version of conversation. She knew he didn’t come across as humorless on purpose; rather, it was just who he was. She wasn’t certain he was humorless per se, just that he didn’t know how to express his humor with any effusiveness. Still, he came across as quite deadpan, and by the end of the evening she was exhausted trying to add some buoyancy.

      And she felt even more determined to tear down that wall. It was almost as though he was operating on a separate plane. Possibly the plane he had been actively existing in the night she had seen him in the hall, naked and fighting imaginary enemies. There was strength there, vibrancy. Passion. She was hungry for it. To release it.

      He had admitted to feeling off balance because she seemed so comfortable in her role. But he made her feel even more off balance. Because he was untouchable. And she, most certainly, was not. He had reached inside her early on, and she had not felt right since.

      She knew that the party would go on for a while yet, and yet she also sensed that Tarek wouldn’t want to linger. They had done their rounds, done their duties, as far as she was concerned. And the press would be appeased. It made no sense to keep him in the ballroom past the expiration date of his social skills.

      She sensed he would only become more impenetrable as the evening passed.

      “Let us retire,” she said.

      “Is it the appropriate time?”

      “It’s fine. You’re very busy. No one will expect you to stay until the room clears.”

      He leaned in, his lips close to her ear. “Am I very busy?”

      Her body immediately applied a dual meaning to his words, sending a shaft of heat down low. “I could ensure that you are.”

      She could think of a great many ways the two of them could stay busy for a few solitary hours. Ways that would finally force him to meet her in the present. Ways that might show her the man beneath the control. Something raw, something elemental. Rather than all of this guarded, protected, manufactured civility.

      She’d had too much of that. Enough to last a lifetime. Too much isolation. She was so tired of being lonely. So tired of being alone.

      Suddenly she was tired down to her bones. Careful smiles; careful words. Nothing upsetting. Nothing too loud. No questions asked. No answers given. On either side. Her entire growing-up years had been spent that way, and then her marriage. She was so desperately sick of it.

      He made no response to her offer, allowing her to lead him quickly and quietly from the ballroom. The early exit would spark innuendo for the article about the evening. And that, she imagined, would be a good thing, too. Giving the press, the public, a love story rather than a cold alliance to offer a throne to a displaced queen and help to a barely civilized sheikh. Already she would add humanity to him. Already her presence was a help.

      Though at the moment she did not intend to let the published innuendo stand as fiction. She fully intended to reach this man once and for all. To forge a connection between the two of them.

      She could feel the palace security staying in line with them. Likely ensuring they weren’t followed or disturbed. The people around them sensed it as well, for they cleared a path, making their exit easy.

      Once they were out of the ballroom, she began to slowly move her fingertips along his forearm, her way of signaling intent.

      She felt a slight tensing in his muscles, the barest hint of a response. Coming from him, it might as well have been an emphatic yes.

      “Are you headed back to your quarters?” she asked, staring straight ahead.

      “Yes,” he answered.

      Her heart thundered in her head. “Okay.”

      She walked with him, not releasing her hold on him, and he did not release his hold on her. She took that as a significant development. They were, of course, headed to the same wing of the palace. And he might not realize it yet, but she intended to head to the same room. To smash that wall. And maybe, just maybe, one inside herself,