Читать книгу In Defiance of Duty - CAITLIN CREWS - Страница 8

IT WAS a question her own mother echoed a week later when Kiara was back at the winery, trying to handle her responsibilities in one part of her life so she could go to Khatan and do her duty in the other part.

She’d assured Azrin she was ready and willing to do it. Eager, even. She’d been so earnest she’d nearly convinced herself.

Nearly.

“Are you honestly prepared to be a queen, Kiara?” her mother asked coolly, as if she’d looked inside and managed to articulate all the dark and unpleasant things Kiara was pretending she didn’t feel. “This isn’t a game, you know. Khatan’s monarchy is not ornamental.”

Kiara forced herself to silently count to ten, sitting there in her mother’s pretty office with the breathtaking view out across the Frederick vineyards, green and healthy-looking in the afternoon light—not that she could concentrate on that now, though the view usually calmed her down. She had to keep herself from succumbing to the temper she knew her mother would view as a weakness. And, worse, as a confirmation.

Besides, she was all too aware that the temper was just a camouflage for the guilt that lay beneath. A lifetime of guilt, because she knew she was the reason her mother had dedicated her life to this place, these vineyards, after Kiara’s father had died. Without Kiara, who knew what Diana might have done with her life?

Was it any wonder that Kiara was in no rush to have any babies herself?

One, two, three …

She eyed her mother across the wide expanse of Diana’s always-neat desk, seeing far too much of herself in the older woman. As ever. It was like looking into some version of her future, much as she preferred to deny it to herself. The same narrow shoulders and long-legged frame. The same way of holding themselves, though Kiara knew she would never have her mother’s innate elegance. That was all Diana.

Kiara was the only one who had seen beneath her mother’s polished exterior. She was the only one who knew what it had cost Diana to give up so much for this place. For Kiara. For the legacy she thought Kiara’s father would have wanted to give her himself, if he could have done.

Five, six, seven …

Diana had taken over the Frederick wine business with more determination than skill after her husband’s early death, and had ushered it into its current state of prominence by the force of her will alone. She’d hardly been around at all during Kiara’s formative years, leaving the day to day raising of her daughter to Kiara’s late grandmother, Diana’s mother-in-law. And yet none of that prevented Diana from being far too opinionated about the choices she thought Kiara should have made. And judgmental about the ones Kiara actually had made.

Meaning, her mother did not approve of Azrin. At all. Of what he represented, as she liked to put it. She thought that Kiara should have married that nice Harry Thompson who’d been her first boyfriend, whose family was also deeply entrenched in the Barossa Valley—and who could, she had always maintained, understand Kiara in a way Azrin never would.

And somewhere deep inside, where guilt and obligation mixed into something sharp-edged and prickly, a part of Kiara had always wondered if Diana was right. She wondered it even more today, as she prepared for a role she and Azrin had never discussed in any detail, both assuming it was too far off in the future to bother worrying about.

Was she prepared to be his queen?

She couldn’t forgive Diana for asking the question she didn’t dare ask herself.

Eight, nine …

“Why wouldn’t I be prepared, Mother?” she asked, aware that her voice was more strained than it should have been, clearly indicating that the question had got under her skin. She felt as if she’d lost points before she’d started—an all-too familiar feeling where her mother was concerned. She willed herself to exude the kind of cool poise that she was known for everywhere else but here. “I knew who Azrin was when I married him.”

She’d known who he was the moment she’d laid eyes on him. Too powerful. Too dangerous. Too overwhelming and much too ruthless. She might have fallen in love with him, but that didn’t change the basic facts about who he was. She’d never lost sight of that. Had she?

“When you married him he was a financier who happened to be a prince, and he was perfectly happy to traipse about the globe with you,” Diana said in that seemingly nonchalant way of hers that immediately put Kiara’s back up. Nothing about Diana was nonchalant. Not ever. “Now he will be a king, which is not the same thing at all, is it?”

“He was always going to be a king.” Kiara’s voice was much too cross, and she had to work to produce some approximation of a serene smile to counterbalance it. “A good one, I think. I hope.”

“But what kind of queen can you expect to be?” Diana asked, her brows arching high as if astonished Kiara had not raised this issue herself. “You were raised to know about oenology and viticulture, not royal intrigue and matters of state.”

“Your faith in me is touching,” Kiara said, her smile growing hard to maintain. She stood up then, desperate, suddenly, to avoid getting any deeper into this with her mother. She was afraid of what she might uncover inside herself that she didn’t want to know.

Diana only shrugged. “It’s not a question of faith,” she said. “I talked quite a bit with Queen Madihah at your wedding, you know. She was very open about having been trained to be the king’s perfect companion since before she could walk.”

Again her dark brows rose. She didn’t have to say anything further—it lay there between them as if she’d shouted it.

You are not queen material.

Kiara gathered up her things with as much control as possible, determined not to show Diana how unerring her aim had been, nor how hard she’d managed to strike her target. How did her mother manage to see straight into the heart of her, where she hid her worst fears?

“I don’t have time for this,” she said as calmly as she could. Which was perhaps not very calm at all. “I have to leave for Khatan early tomorrow. If there’s anything else?” She knew her smile was too brittle. “About the business, Mother. Not about my marriage. Please.”

“I would just like you to be realistic about this, Kiara,” Diana said, her flashing brown gaze showing the first hint of emotion Kiara could remember seeing in years. It made her stomach twist, guilt and obligation and something else.

“No, you wouldn’t,” she replied, temper boiling inside her, rushing in to cover the rest of the things she didn’t want to feel. Temper was easier. Cleaner. “You would like me to see things your way. You would like me to do things your way.”

“Do you imagine that you are the only girl to ever be swept away in some kind of fantasy romance?” Diana retorted. She rose, too, and waved a hand at the window, as if to encompass the vines stretching off toward the hills, the chateau, the whole of their family, their lives, their history. “I was starry-eyed when I met your father, but that hardly prepared me for the reality of running this business, did it? Much less raising a child all on my own when he was gone.”

Kiara didn’t want to hear this. Not again. This story was imprinted on her bones. It was a story of sacrifice and loss, and then a deep and abiding disappointment that Kiara fell so short of living up to all the things her mother had done for her. Was still doing for her.

It had guided her every step until she’d met Azrin.

“What can any of that possibly matter now?” she asked, her voice low, something dark opening wide inside her that she was afraid to look at too closely. That she knew she needed to close down, hide away, lest it rise up and eat her alive. “I am his wife. His queen. This is happening whether you like it or not, Mother.”

Whether you like it or not, too, a small voice whispered inside her—and she immediately hated herself for it. Diana let out a sigh that was loud in the sudden quiet of the office.

“Oh, Kiara,” she said, that familiar mix of bafflement and exasperation in her voice, her gaze. And something else—something that made that hard knot inside Kiara seem to swell in response. “None of this is about what I want.”

Azrin found her out on the private terrace that linked their suites in the family wing of the sprawling palace that sat high on the cliffs above the ancient city of Arjat an-Nahr, where brash skyscrapers now thrust into the skyline along with delicate minarets from centuries past.

She was curled up on one of the deep chaises, her gaze trained out over the dark sea that danced and shimmered far below her. The sun had set but recently, only a line of crimson edged with gold stretched out across the horizon to mark its passing.

Azrin liked that she was here, within reach, mere days since he’d seen her last. The pleasure of it moved through him, so deep and full that the tension of the long day seemed to ease away with every step that brought him closer to her. He liked her here, close by. He’d liked knowing that she had arrived safely and was already in the palace when he finally quit his endless round of meetings and strategy sessions.

She was the single bright spot in a long and complicated day.

She looked over her shoulder toward him as he drew near. There was an expression on her face that he couldn’t quite categorize—that he didn’t think he’d seen before—but then she smiled. He was already smiling back before he realized that her eyes were darker than they ought to have been.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

He moved over to the chaise and dropped to sit at the opposite end. The terrace was alive with blooms, bright blossoms by day and the sweet scent of jasmine now that night had fallen. Up above, the stars began to come out. And for a moment, he thought, they could be anyone. Just a woman and a man and the whole night stretched out before them.

He did not allow himself to examine how much he wished that could be true—that they could fall back into that world of pretend they’d lived in all these years. Hidden in, even.