Читать книгу Falling For His Convenient Queen - Therese Beharrie - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

ZACCHAEUS TILTED HIS HEAD, acknowledging—but refusing to dwell on—the warmth that went through his body at her words. ‘Is that so?’

Though her cheeks pinked, she nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘Because my laughter is so charming?’

‘Because it makes you look...like a man,’ she said. ‘Not like a king.’

Caught by the picture she was painting, even though he knew it would only start trouble, he asked, ‘Does no one notice the man when he’s a king?’

‘No,’ she said softly, her eyes following the hand he didn’t seem able to control as it swept a piece of her hair from her face. ‘People look at the deeds of a king. That’s how they notice his heart.’

‘Which means people think I have no heart,’ he said before he could stop himself.

He paused and gave himself a moment to stuff the emotions he was feeling back into the box he’d created in his mind especially for them. It was harder than it generally was, and he ignored the inner voice telling him it was because of the woman in front of him.

No, he told himself. His feelings were just becoming harder to cope with because there had been so many of them over the last months. Feelings about his mother’s affair, about her leaving. About the demands she and her lover in Macoa were making of Kirtida. About his father’s illness, and the fact that he’d forced Zacchaeus to pretend to overthrow him...

There had been no time to deal with them—no time to even think of them. But a part of him warned that he would have to face them at some stage. And that if that time didn’t come soon, they might just bubble over, forcing him to deal with them.

Though it left a sick feeling in his stomach, it helped him remember he couldn’t think of himself as a man—however tempting it was, he thought, looking at the woman who drew him in unlike any other. He was a king. Which was why he had to ignore the betrayal, the sadness, the hurt swirling around inside him because of his parents.

Which was why he had to refuse the attraction he felt towards the woman in front of him. He had to focus on his kingdom. He had no other choice because he was King.

And a king shouldn’t be standing in a stream with his fiancée, laughing at something that could be misconstrued.

‘We should probably get out of here,’ he said, keeping his voice devoid of emotion. And keeping his heart devoid of it too, when it wanted to react to the way her face fell.

‘You’re right,’ she said after a few moments and aimed unsettlingly cool eyes at Stefan. ‘Can you make do with what you have, Stefan? I’d prefer not to repeat this process.’

It was a jab at him, he thought. And it hit its mark.

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Stefan rushed forward now and helped Nalini out of the stream. ‘I will edit these pictures immediately and have them sent to the castle for approval.’

‘Thank you,’ Nalini answered as she stepped onto the grass. Water ran down her legs—long and shapely in the heels she wore—and Zacchaeus had to force his eyes away from them to look for someone who could assist them.

He strode to the nearest staff member he saw and requested that towels be brought to them as soon as possible. When he returned to Nalini and Stefan, Nalini was thanking the photographer again in a voice significantly warmer than the one he’d heard her use before he’d left.

‘I’m sure the pictures will come out beautifully,’ she said before turning to him. Her eyes went cool again, and something chilled inside him as well.

He told himself that it had nothing to do with the fact that she was filled with light and happiness. That her laughing at something that she could have found embarrassing had been so authentic that he thought it was the first time he’d seen a glimpse of the real Nalini.

Which had him wondering why she thought that she needed to hide the real her.

He shook his head, grateful for the distraction of being brought the towels he’d asked for. He took them and handed one to Nalini.

‘You should dry off.’

‘I’d prefer to have a shower,’ she answered, but took the towel and rubbed it over her legs. She slipped out of her heels and dried her feet and, though he was tempted to keep watching her—what was it about her legs that was so captivating?—it reminded him that his feet were wet too.

Like her, he wanted a shower. And dry clothes and shoes. Since he’d angled his body so that she would have some privacy from the onlookers, he couldn’t dry himself off as she was doing. Yet he was hesitant to leave.

That burst of light he’d seen from her had been so refreshing—and so completely different from the perpetual darkness he’d felt shroud him since the night of the State Banquet. Since before then, he knew, thinking about his mother.