20. Ehmet goes to the beach.
twenty
Ehmet goes to the beach.
T he following day was the picnic on the beach, planned by his mother, of course. At the start of the week, Ehmet had been giddy for the damn outing, thinking of how he could separate Saka or Hevva—or whoever he’d been considering her at that point—away from the rest of the group.
His plan had involved requesting an innocent walk as the luncheon was drawing to a close. They would stroll by the water’s edge where the sand was firmer. Then, Lady Hevva and he would head to the cliff that jutted out into the ocean, where the outcropping created a natural wall that marked the western edge of the palace’s private beach. Beyond the cliffside, there was a boulder-filled grotto that he called King’s Cove. Tucked between undulating slabs of vertical stone, the half cave, half open-air sanctuary offered solitude amongst the crashing waves and squalling seabirds. No one would have disturbed them there.
Unfortunately, that was no longer the plan.
Ehmet had awoken in a cold sweat that morning, odd considering the heat of the newborn day already pummeling him through open windows. A hollow sense of dread settled in, beginning in his stomach before sucking the life out through his limbs with alacrity.
Everything had gone to absolute and utter shit. And, his fucking mother was in his bedroom .
Is this even legal? I’m the bloody king!
She scurried across the room. “Come, come, get up.”
“What the fates are you doing here, Mum?” Ehmet croaked, voice thick with sleep.
“Up, up!”
The king raged into his pillows like a hormonal boy while the dowager ripped open curtains.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you these past few days—up, up, up! You have a palace teeming with eligible young women who would love nothing more than to be your queen. Our week is drawing to a close. Let’s go, get up!” She yanked on his arm with two of her own. The dowager queen hadn’t the strength to pull Ehmet from bed like she did when he was a child, so he gave in and pushed himself to sit.
The king spent the next ten minutes trying to get out of it, but his mother insisted he attend the beach picnic and outing with his guests. She knew as well as he did that they were his guests, not Nekash’s. Though, the prince’s birthday offered a suitable cover for the true purpose of the house party.
He’d tried, he really had.
Ehmet grumbled to himself about pushy, intrusive mothers as he plodded barefoot across the cool sand. Following the shade along the edge of the cliffs, he wandered east. The king wasn’t in the mood to look at the western cliffs and the naive fantasies he’d dreamt up earlier in the week...before everything unraveled.
Ehmet had done it without his mother’s help. He found a worthy candidate for the role of Queen of Selwas, someone he considered a friend and rather enjoyed spending time with—not to mention her captivating looks. What more could he have asked for?
Oh, maybe for her to say, “Yes?” Maybe for the longstanding laws of my kingdom not to make our marriage an impossibility? Maybe for last night to not have happened? He kicked at the sand, scattering a wave of grains and small shells. Then the miserable king began to make his way back toward the party.
Plans had changed, but he was still desperate to speak with Lady Hevva, if she’d even fucking let him catch her eye. He’d spent over an hour making attempts before the stabbing pain of injustice, or whatever was tearing at his insides, became so much that it forced him to take a walk. But he was back, ready to try again.
As the picnic came to a close, some guests still sat in the shade of the canopies, and some began to wander off in pairs or small groups. Others explored the length of the beach in quiet conversation. A few raced to the water’s edge and splashed in, unbothered by the prospect of their fine garments being spoiled by salt.
Lady Hevva sat in the sunlight, beside an empty canopy, alone. And, because he was paranoid now, Ehmet forced his eyes away from her to locate Lady Tahereh. She was there, by the water’s edge with her mother, Lady Nathari.
Swinging his gaze back to Hevva, Ehmet hastened in her direction. Her slender arms were outstretched behind her, palms flat upon the sand. Pale blue skirts rippled around her legs, ending where her bare toes peeked out beneath the hem. Back arched and face turned toward the sky, Hevva soaked up the warm rays of the late summer sun. He wondered wryly if she somehow harnessed that energy, to power her ethereal glow that persisted long after dark.
Drawing near, he spied blue ribbons woven through her long silver plait. It flowed like a shimmering waterfall to splash upon the hot sand, a puddle of moonlight. She wiggled her toes, probably in time with some tune in her head.
“Lady Hevva,” he began.
Eyes snapping open, she pierced him with a stormy glare. The sand opened up around Ehmet, swallowing him up to his knees. Before he could squeal, it tightened, and he fell flat on his arse.
Stunned, he stared back at her for a moment before booming with laughter.
The earth clenched around his calves.
He raised his palms in defeat and gasped between laughs, “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!”
She released the pressure .
“Gods, Hev, I had no idea you were so powerful,” he mused as he tugged each leg free of their gritty prisons.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry,” he said softly.
She pressed her lips into a thin line and exhaled a tired sigh. “What do you want, Your Majesty?”
That hurt. “Please, will you walk with me?”
“To what end?”
Images of his original plan, of her in the grotto, fizzled through his mind. He groaned at his own stupidity.
She raised her brow.
“Please? To talk.”
Probably because the Lords Nithim and Koulos were coming their way, and not because she wanted to, Hevva pushed to her feet and turned to stand beside him. “Fine. Let’s go.” Chin raised in defiance, she stared out at the sea, making the very clear point that next to none of her attention was reserved for him.
He crooked his arm.
She ignored it.
With a cough, he pleaded, “There are people watching.”
Ehmet knew he was manipulating the countess, but he couldn’t say he regretted it, because it worked.
She took his arm—sort of—and they set off. Relief plagued with a sliver of anxiety zinged through his bones, making his jaw tick every few seconds and his toes wiggle in the sand. Her palm hovered expertly a hair’s breadth above his flesh. If he jostled enough with each step, the points of her fingertips grazed him, burning with a fierceness that was not topped, not even by the sun-drenched sand beneath his bare feet. In an effort to calm himself, Ehmet’s thumb began its favorite repetitive motion, rubbing the knuckle of his forefinger over and over as they walked.
He angled their bodies toward the water on a diagonal, heading west. Those damned cliffs were ahead, the ones with the cloaked passage that would take them through to King's Cove. He sighed.
When they reached the hard-packed sand, and crashing waves lapped lazily at their ankles, he risked speaking, “Please, let me explain myself?” At this rate, he’d rub his knuckle raw from anxiety.
Her fingers bit into his arm for a moment before she caught herself and released them. “I have no interest in listening to your rambling excuses. It matters not to me.”
“If I speak, will you at least let me ramble on?”
He caught her terse nod out of the corner of his eye.
“Two nights ago, the day after we...you know.” The tension in her hand told him she knew which incident he referenced. “I was wallowing in my apartments when a note came under my door.”
He chanced a glance at her to find she was staring determinedly out at the sea. The set of her shoulders said she was relying on her countess’s composure, and the tick of her jaw assured him she was mad.
“The note—I thought it was from you, Hevva, honestly.”
She pulled her gaze away from the waves and settled it on him, searching his face for any sign that he was lying, or maybe any sign that he was speaking the truth.
“I thought it was from you. It asked me to meet in the billiards room at the end of the first set at the ball the next night. And I needed to see you. I desperately wanted to speak with you alone...so I went.”
Her chest rose and fell in quick breaths. He imagined if the surf wasn’t so loud, he would hear bursts of air escaping her nose every few seconds.
“When I got to the room, I thought you were there, because I so badly wanted it to be you. A few candles were lit, and she was standing there, facing away from me, and I should have known—I should have known. Her posture, her shape, it’s all different from yours. But I only looked at her hair. I went in, and I closed the door. Then those candles went out with a burst of air I didn’t even question—and she grabbed me about the waist and shoved me into the table. As I brought my hand to her waist, and her face, I realized she wasn’t you. I was beginning to question her, and demand the candles be relit, when the door flew open, and you waltzed in with Nekash.”
They walked in silence for several moments, nothing but the rhythmic crashing of waves to align with his frantic heartbeat every sixth thump around. His thumb was out of control, so he wrapped it in a fist to tame the thing.
“I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t do anything, except walk in there like a fool.” Ehmet figured he should clarify a bit, in case she was still wondering. “I don’t know her motivations, but—”
“Lie.”
“None of that is a lie.”
“You don’t know her motivations? Truly? You’re the king, holding a wife-finding party. I think we can guess her motivations.”
“Fine. I am not positive of her motivations, but I did not kiss her.”
“A lie.”
“Not a lie.”
Her eyes flicked to him long enough to appraise his sincerity. Hevva’s fingers softened the death-grip they’d taken on his arm. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t do that,” she snapped. “I understand that what happened last night was different than it looked. But some things, like our conversation in the guest room, are exactly as they seem.”
He sighed, “I know.” What he offered was not what she wanted. Love and all its volatility would be disastrous for him and for the kingdom.
She dropped his arm though she kept pace beside him. Ehmet shivered despite the balmy sundrenched day, for the loss of her contact was too much to bear.
“You know I’m not interested in a marriage that is merely an arrangement?” Hevva’s question was so quiet he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.
“As it stands now, it’s no longer a possibility anyway.” Sadness weighed heavy on his voice.
“How do you mean?” She bumped against his side when she looked over at him. He assumed her action was an accident.
He gave her a synopsis of his Uncle Yusuf’s dealings and potential blackmail of many of the kingdom’s nobility. She’d already been aware of the issue in general, having ears and all, and was quick to catch on to the rest.
“So, you need me. ”
He nodded solemnly. In so many ways . . . “I do.”
“What exactly would you like me to do?”
Everything we cannot... “I need to know I can count on your vote on my behalf, should the issue of succession go to a referendum.”
She nodded but gave no agreement. “And?” The lady was astute. Ehmet was fairly certain she knew what else he wanted to ask, but she wanted more to hear him beg.
“Your father.”
“What of my father?” She swung wide, splashing steps in the surf.
Yep, she was doing it on purpose.
“Should we be called on to vote, my continued reign will be dependent on the support of you and your father—and Yaranbur, but that’s neither here nor there. I don’t expect you to convince that man. But I was hoping you might help me to ensure I have the Duke of Stormhill’s support?”
The corner of Ehmet’s mouth pulled up into a pleading smile as he turned to face Lady Hevva. Her eyes focused ahead on nothing, and her expression was flat. It increased his anxiety ten-fold. He started rubbing his knuckle again.
Hevva sighed, and though he could not hear it, he could see the heavy rise and fall of her chest. “I have been impressed by your reign thus far, as has my father. You’ve implemented several progressive measures in less than a year, Ehmet. We believe in the direction you’re taking the kingdom. You have my support in this. It will not waver. No matter what else may be...” she trailed off as she turned her head to face the waves again.
Lifted by her compliments, he was yanked back down by the reminder he’d lost the giver of them. “I meant it, when I asked you to marry me.” He wasn’t sure why he needed her to know this, but it was important to him. “I truly meant it. I know you don’t agree with my reasons for wanting the alignment, but I was genuine. Then I learned how far Yusuf had gotten.”
Her braid bobbed with her nod. She turned back to gaze upon the sand. “It is fine.”
It wasn’t fine, Ehmet could tell. But Hevva refused to drop the act, and he was too tense to push for it. He proffered his arm again, but she ignored him, and he let his hand fall listlessly to his side .
Three steps later, she started talking, “We were merely having fun, that is all. It was not even us. Not really, just Saka and Berim. You know I take on aliases regularly. Saka’s one of many. Nothing to worry about there. Plus, you said you do not love. Or whatever it was.” She waved her hands through the air as if his comments following the botched proposal were following her, buzzing around her face, an obnoxious fly.
He followed her gaze to the cliffs ahead, studying the way the solid stone jutted out into the ocean where it sloped and crumbled away into nothing, worn by the crashing of waves and passage of time. “I am not interested in the burden of love,” he reiterated numbly.
She scoffed. “I am well aware. And that is why we cannot be. Never mind the political nonsense. Us , we make no sense. We don’t want the same things.”
With that, Lady Hevva stopped ambling beside him, turned in a tight circle, and headed back toward the guests.
He plodded along, watching her go as he fought to swallow down the pit that had risen up from his stomach and lodged itself in his throat.
Eventually, Hevva joined the Ladies of Rohapavol and Napivol, and Ehmet peeled off to find solace beneath an unused canopy.
The dowager queen popped up from beneath one of the small, angled tents, and latched onto her son.
“Ah, my boy.” She carried her discarded slippers in one hand as she stuck out her other for an escort.
“Mother,” he offered his arm.
“Walk with me a while, we need to speak.” She beamed with her teeth but not with her eyes as she urged him to the east.
At least he could keep his back to Hevva as he fought against the images of her advancing through his mind.
“My spies have informed me,” she began, and Ehmet’s stomach dropped to his toes.
During their short walk up the beach, the dowager queen informed her son that plans were bubbling, if not underway. An emergency referendum of the voting nobles would soon be called to consider the validity of the Crown in their branch of the Hethtar line .
Amorphous fear took shape, creeping along behind him with a shadowy knife in hand.
“Ehmet, it is time,” she spoke with crisp certainty. “You have no choice but to take a wife who will strengthen your reign. Do you understand?”
“Of course I understand.” Hevva was off the table. Not that she wanted him anyway. He wasn’t in love, and he didn’t need to be falling in love. A disastrous, tumultuous thing, it was.
“It would behoove you to consider aligning with a house currently tied to Kashoorcih.”
Ehmet groaned.
“Your best bet at this point is to consider a proposal to Yusuf’s niece, Lady Tahereh, the daughter of the Earl of Appven.”
“I know who she is,” he ground out.
“Will you give her a chance?” the dowager whined. Her voice had risen in pitch with every sentence of their frantic conversation and now pierced his eardrums with its insistence.
“Perhaps.”
“Ehmet, don’t be a fool. You are nearly thirty. It is high time for you to marry, regardless of your uncle’s scheming. Marry Lady Tahereh. It would end this. Placate your idiotic great-uncle and ensure that Appven’s vote moves to your side. Resolve the issue of succession.”
“I will, mother.” Fuck.