Not Fit for a King? (12 page)

“Zale—”

He lifted a hand to silence her. “Enough. Have some respect. Please.” Hand still lifted, he walked out the door.

Z
ALE
left his room and returned to the old castle keep, crossing through the once grand medieval hall still lined with heraldic banners and suits of armor, to the new wing on the far side, a wing which he’d had built five years ago to house his personal gymnasium and sport facility.

The sport facility was really a world-class sport complex, containing a regulation football field on the first floor with real grass, nets and stadium lighting. The second floor was divided into various sport courts—one for tennis, basketball and handball—plus a weight room where he still trained every other day.

A locker room adjoined the weight room, outfitted with a sauna, a whirlpool and a massage table for rehabilitating injuries.

Not that Zale got injured anymore. But it made him feel connected to the person he’d been, the one who’d lived and breathed sport above everything. The sport facility hadn’t been cheap, either. It’d cost him millions to build, but he’d used his own money and he maintained it with his own money, too. In this part of the palace he wasn’t a king but a man. A man who needed nothing but a ball, a net, an expanse of grass.

In his locker room he stripped out of his dress shirt and trousers, changing into sweatpants, a T-shirt and his running shoes.

Today he wouldn’t run on the treadmill. Today he ran on the
track that circled his field, running fast, hard, one kilometer and then another and another but no matter how fast he ran he couldn’t escape himself.

Couldn’t escape his thoughts.

It was madness to have trusted her. Madness to have cared.

They hadn’t signed the prenup and they had had sex. But she was cheating on him, still seeing Alejandro. It was within his rights to send her away. But ending it with Emmeline wouldn’t be a small thing. It would be a huge crisis, personally and politically. But once she was gone, and once the shock of the news had worn off, people would move on. He’d move on.

But when Zale imagined her leaving, when he imagined her gone, he didn’t feel relief.

He felt … pain.

Loss.

Her fault, he thought. The hollow emptiness within him, this sense of loss, was her fault. She was a witch, not a princess, and she’d cast a spell on him.

But it was a spell he had to break. Sooner than later.

And so he ran harder, ran faster, leaving the track to do tortuous wind sprints down the center of the field, again and again, pushing himself for an hour, running until his legs shook, and his heart pounded and he couldn’t catch his breath.

Finally, finally his mind was calm. His thoughts were quiet. Yes, his chest still ached, but now it was due to exhaustion not emotion. And he could handle that.

In the Queen’s Chambers, Hannah paced the sitting room for a half hour after he left her, in case he should change his mind and return. He didn’t.

After thirty minutes she went to his rooms but he wasn’t there, either. She returned to her room, sank onto the small pink silk couch and picked up one of the French fashion magazines Lady Andrea had bought but she couldn’t read, or even look at the pictures.

She wanted to fix things with Zale, make amends somehow,
but he didn’t return to their rooms or summon her, and the afternoon slipped away and then evening came and the maids and footmen slipped in and out of rooms turning on lamps and building fires.

Numb, Hannah watched Celine build the fire in her sitting room’s hearth with the pink marble surround. She listened to the pop and crackle as the dry kindling caught, and fed the bigger logs until flames danced and licked making the fire bright. But even with the fire’s warmth next to her, Hannah remained chilled.

What if this was her last day here? What if Zale sent her away?

What if he was making plans this very moment to put her on a plane?

Her stomach heaved and acid rose up in her throat. She couldn’t leave, not like this. She had to see him. Had to make him understand. Hannah left the sofa even as the thought hit her—

What was she to do to make him understand?

That she’d tricked him, yes, but she’d had good intentions …?

Or that she’d deliberately deceived him because she’d fallen in love with him at first sight?

Hannah sank back down on the sofa cushion knowing she could never confess any of that.

Knowing she could never make any of this okay.

Some things were too bad, too horrible to forgive.

When seven o’clock rolled around and Zale still hadn’t put in an appearance or sent word about dinner, Hannah ate the meal Celine brought for her on one of the silver trolley tables they sent up from the kitchen.

At nine o’clock Celine asked Hannah if she’d like help changing into her gown and robe for bed.

Hannah shook her head. “Not yet,” she answered huskily. “But there’s no need for you to stay. I can change later when I’m ready. I know where everything is.”

“You’re certain, Your Highness?”

Hannah winced at the Highness part, feeling anything but royal. “Very certain. Good night, Celine. Sleep well.”

At ten Hannah had had enough of sitting, waiting, worrying. She had to do something. Take action of some sort. Move.

Walk. Find Zale.

Find Zale. Yes, that’s what she needed to do. Immediately.

Ignoring the uniformed guards posted outside her room and throughout the palace, she went downstairs to the wing that contained his suite of offices—his library and office space, as well as adjoining rooms for secretaries and various assistants. But he wasn’t there. The rooms were dark, the doors locked.

Where else would Zale be at ten o’clock at night?

With his brother maybe?

Hannah returned to the family wing but on reaching Tinny’s suite, she discovered it dark and Mrs. Daum in her nightgown and robe as it was Mrs. Sivka’s night off.

Hannah stood on the grand staircase, confused. A footman approached her. “Is there something you’re looking for, Your Highness?” he asked.

She struggled to hold her smile. “Yes, His Majesty. I seem to have misplaced him.”

The footman appeared truly apologetic. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I have not seen him, but I can certainly ask and see if someone knows His Majesty’s whereabouts.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“And will you be in your rooms, Your Highness?”

“Yes.”

Fifteen minutes later Krek knocked on her door, arriving with the message that His Majesty hadn’t gone out, nor was he with his brother, or in his private gym, but most definitely somewhere in the palace. Just where, no one knew.

It wasn’t until Krek left that Hannah thought she knew where Zale would be. The parapet. Where they’d had lunch today. Hadn’t he said he liked to walk there when he had things on his mind or wanted to be alone?

Hannah took a soft velvet blue cloak from the dressing room
and left her room to head downstairs, walking quickly through the now deserted grand rooms and corridors of the palace for the old castle keep.

The lights were dim in this part of the palace and her footsteps echoed eerily loud in the medieval hall as she searched for the right hallway that would lead to the tower stairs. But finally she found the stone arch and the circular staircase that wound to the top of the tower.

A guard was at the top of the stairs in front of the door, but he bowed and immediately opened it for her.

Hannah sucked in a quick breath at the chill in the air as she stepped into the night. It was a clear night and the lights of the city below played off the bright stars overhead.

She drew her dark blue velvet cloak closer and set off, walking along the high thick wall in search of Zale, imagining all the people who must have walked the same path in the eight hundred years since the castle was built.

She imagined the worries people must have had, the hopes and dreams, as well as the pain. In eight hundred years, politics, fashion and technology had changed, but the human heart hadn’t.

“What are you doing?”

It was Zale’s voice, coming from the dark and she jumped and turned, peering uneasily into the night. “Where are you?”

He moved away from the shadowed wall and into the open. Moonlight silhouetted his tall frame and lit his profile. “Here.”

She couldn’t read his expression but his voice was hard, his tone impatient. For a moment her courage wavered and then she gathered her strength and pushed on. “I am so sorry you had to hear any of that earlier, but it isn’t what you think. It wasn’t Alejandro. I haven’t spoken to him since Palm Beach and even then, there was nothing.” The words tumbled from her, one after the other, hoping somehow to get through to him.

He wasn’t listening, though. “I don’t care,” he said brusquely.

“But I do, which is why I had to find you.” She took a deep breath, nervously crushing the soft velvet fabric between her
fingers. “I know I haven’t been easy. I know I’m not the woman you wanted. And I wish I had been. I wish I could be the right woman, the one that could make everything perfect for you—”

“I don’t need perfect,” he interrupted roughly. “But I also won’t tolerate dishonesty or deceit.”

“I’m sorry. I am. But you must know that since I arrived I’ve only wanted one thing, and that is you.”

He made a sound of disgust.

She moved toward him. “I mean it, Zale. There is no one else for me. I need you to believe me.” “Emmeline,” he said warningly.

She ignored the threat in his voice. “I hate it that you’re angry. Please forgive me—” “Em—”

She cut off his protest by rising on tiptoe to kiss him. His lips were cold, rigid beneath hers but she couldn’t give up, couldn’t not try. And so she kissed him slowly, sweetly, reaching up to clasp his face between her hands. She could feel the rasp of his beard against her palms and the gradual warming of his mouth beneath hers.

And then he was kissing her back, hard, almost aggressively. She welcomed the punishing pressure of his mouth on hers, and in an instant the kiss exploded into something hot and hungry and fierce. Zale dragged a hand into her hair and knotted the silken strands around his fingers, drawing her head back to give him better access to her mouth. He parted her lips, his tongue plundering the soft recesses of her mouth.

He kissed her until her head spun and little stars danced before her eyes, kissing her senseless, kissing her until he was all and everything.

He pushed her back, pressing her against the cold stone wall, as his hands took hers, trapping them above her head, holding her immobile. “This isn’t working,” he said, leaning into her, his voice a rasp in her ear. “We don’t work.”

She could feel the warmth of his fingers wrapped around her slender wrists and the pressure of his hips grinding against
hers. His hard, broad chest crushed her breasts and his knee pressed between her thighs, rubbing against her most sensitive place, and she felt absolutely no fear. Just pleasure. And desire.

She needed him. Wanted him. Wanted him even when he was savage and furious and intent on punishing her because he’d never hurt her. He’d always protect her. Even if it was from himself.

“But we do work,” she answered. “At least this part does … when we’re together like this.”

“But sex, even great sex, doesn’t make a marriage work. There has to be more. I want more.” His voice was hard, sharp, and yet his head dipped and he kissed the corner of her mouth and then her soft lower lip.

“But we could have more,” she protested, tipping her head back, eyes closing, as his lips traveled down the side of her neck setting her skin and body on fire.

“Yes, more drama,” he answered, lips at the base of her throat, breath warm on the small hollow there. “More lies. But I can’t do it. I won’t.”

“You promised me four days, Zale. We still have two days. Give me those days—”

“No.”

“Please.” “Absolutely not.”

“But isn’t the Amethyst & Ice Ball tomorrow night? I know it’s a huge fundraiser of the year for your personal charity. Won’t it seem strange to not have me there?”

“It’d be worse trying to get through the evening acting like I like you.”

Hannah flinched.

He released her and moved back a step, setting her free. “That was harsh, and I hate being cruel, but, Emmeline, we both know that you are not right for me, or good for me.”

She realized then she was fighting a losing battle. Zale was finished with her. He did intend to send her away. And maybe
this was the right thing to happen. Maybe this was the way it was to end.

She could leave in the morning and Zale would never know the truth … he’d never know that it wasn’t Emmeline who was here, but Hannah. He’d never have to know he’d been deceived.

He turned his back on her, moving to the stone balustrade to look out over the city that glimmered with light. “I’m tired,” he said after a moment. “Tired of talking. Tired of arguing. Tired of trying to make this work.”

She could feel his exhaustion, too. It was in his voice, the slump of his shoulders, the bite of his words. “I understand.”

“I will phone your father in the morning and tell him we’ve realized it won’t work. I’ll tell him it was a mutual decision and that our differences were just too great to overcome.”

“Okay.”

He looked at her from over his shoulder. “It’s better this way, doing it now, instead of waiting until the last minute to cancel the wedding.”

“I agree.”

He dropped his head, closed his eyes, fingers digging into the stone wall. “So why does it feel like hell?”

A lump filled her throat and her eyes burned. “Because despite our differences, we did have feelings for each other.”

He drew a slow, heavy breath. “I’m sorry.”

She went to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his back. “It’s my fault. It’s you that needs to forgive me.”

He covered her hands with one of his. “It’s late,” he said roughly. “We should go to bed. The morning will be here soon enough.”

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“That’s just asking for trouble.”

She kissed his back. Zale was warm and felt so good. But then everything about him was strong. Solid. Like the tough Texas men she’d known growing up, men with integrity, men who understood honor. “I won’t cause trouble,” she whispered.