Her accusations, the realization of the extent of the damage he’d inflicted on her, paralyzed him. For the first time in his life he felt powerless, helpless. How could he undo a wrong of this magnitude? Heal wounds this deep?
He fell to his knees before her, like a detonated building, struck, mute, her tears raining on him, burning away his soul.
He finally heard a thick, unrecognizable voice choking his defense, his plea for leniency. “I did manipulate you, but only because I believed the lies I’d been told about you. By the time I knew they were only that, I couldn’t risk your reaction, so I kept on deceiving you about my identity, but that was the extent of my deception. The magic we shared was real, from the first moment. Ana aashagek. I never lied about my feelings for you. I was going to confess everything, today, but ya Ullah, I left it too late.”
Her tears turned off abruptly, the nothingness creeping back on her face. “It’s really my fault. I was reckless and self-destructive and I got what’s coming to me.”
“No, b’Ellahi, you will believe me, believe that I care about nothing anymore but you, and restoring your heart and faith in yourself, in me. I will spend my life…”
She raised a steady hand. “Just…don’t. It doesn’t matter if your pawn is intact or glued together. I will serve my purpose.”
The rest of the journey was consumed by his frantic efforts to reach her. But it seemed the most vital mechanism inside her, her soul, was damaged beyond repair. She’d opened herself, given of herself so fully to him, and the blow had shattered her.
Shehab felt desperation becoming resignation, that she’d never trust him, or feel the same boundless emotions for him again. And he’d die without her trust. Without her love.
But he didn’t matter now, or ever. Only that he restored her. Only that she would be whole once more. But he no longer knew how he could do that. If he could ever do it.
All the way to the royal palace, she pulverized his heart all over again when she didn’t resist him when he reached for her, stroked and kissed and swore his love over and over.
And he knew. She’d succumb to him, to her duty, to the hold he had on her senses, and she’d die slowly. She was dying now.
And it came to him. What he must do. What he would do.
He’d let her go. Completely.
They were entering King Atef’s court when he finally decided how to phrase his resolution, started to voice it only for her gasp to silence him.
His gaze followed her shock, found King Atef standing between two women-his sister and a tall, slim, blond woman. Anna Beaumont, Farah’s mother. But it wasn’t surprise at her presence that he felt, but trepidation at the expression on their faces.
As they approached, Anna looked at Farah with reddened eyes, mouthed a soundless, “I’m sorry.”
Farah wobbled at his side, and he hugged her to him fiercely, glaring at King Atef. He understood nothing, but he’d give his life not to have her wounded again.
The king had eyes only for Farah as he came forward, the pain on his face portending devastating news.
Then he delivered it. “Farah…I can’t tell you how sorry I am, but it falls to me to divulge a most upsetting fact to you. As much as I rejoiced in finding you, now it crushes my heart to lose you. You are not my daughter.”
Eleven
Farah stared at the man she’d seen only once before.
His face, a desert warrior’s, one who’d weathered the brutality of nature and the tests of power and position, had been carved in her memory, demanding to be acknowledged as her father’s.
He was telling her he wasn’t her father after all.
His eyes were heavy with regret as he elaborated. “Evidence of your paternity was required to introduce you into the royal family, to complete the pact with Judar. We obtained a hair sample from your residence. DNA results were conclusive.”
Conclusive. Just as everything she’d been too upset or hurt to fully register, let alone acknowledge, became.
In spite of her shock and resistance, with her mother so distant and the vacuum of Francois Beaumont’s loss still gaping inside her, she’d been increasingly comforted thinking the king was her father, right up until he’d sprung the arranged marriage on her. And in spite of her pain and humiliation, she’d known she’d have no life without Shehab, had yearned to marry him for whatever reason, had hoped he’d meant even a fraction of his protestations. That one day, what had started as a duty for him might turn out to be a real and satisfying relationship.
Now she had no father.
And Shehab wasn’t duty-bound to marry her.
It was over.
She closed her eyes and begged silently for the pain to just finish her.
But something like a butchered bird flapped inside her chest. She tried to still its struggle, to no avail.
It kept screeching that maybe now that the king had no daughter, the two kingdoms would find another way to forge their alliance, and Shehab would be with her for a while longer…
“But my real daughter has been found.”
She lurched as the king’s words impaled the wild hope, killing it on the spot. And the king was going on, every word twisting the knife further.
“It turned out her mother-your mother-had given her up for adoption.” His burdened gaze turned to Farah’s mother, who was looking as if she was about to faint. “Then she married Francois Beaumont, adopted you, a two-year-old daughter, as a substitute for the daughter she couldn’t forgive herself for giving up.”
He then looked at the squirming woman by his side who was clearly his blood. “My sister was the one who adopted Aliyah, raised her as my niece among her family even if not in her rightful place. During the latest upheavals, she finally came forward, and another DNA test has just proven her allegation.” King Atef’s gaze settled on Farah, more pained than ever. “I regret all this more than I can say, but Aliyah is my daughter. And Shehab must now marry her at once.”
Shehab. His embrace had been surrounding her with his strength and presence all along. Only the consecutive blows had distracted her from homing in on his reactions to the shocking developments.
But she’d never seen into his heart as she’d been so certain, so giddily, ecstatically, stupidly certain, she had.
He kept insisting he’d never deceived her about his emotions, that the cruelties he’d uttered had been the only outright lies he’d ever told her.
But he took his duty to marry for the throne very seriously. He could have been making the best of this mess, placating the woman who’d be his wife, to smooth the course of the marriage Bill had described as forever.