Chapter Thirteen
ARETHA HEARD THE FOOTSTEPS before she saw him.
Heavy. Deliberate. The stride of a man who owned every inch of ground he walked on.
But to Aretha, those footseps were the sound of reckoning.
Because this man was the one she had come here to destroy.
She schooled her expression into something wan and sober, her hands folded neatly over the hospital sheets. She had considered crying—had even practiced the trembling lip and glistening eyes that had served her so well with Aurora—but she knew better than to try such tactics with the sheikh.
Mik’hail had never been moved by her tears. Not even when they were real.
The door opened, and he stepped inside.
He looked terrible. Dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and there was a tightness to his jaw that spoke of sleepless nights and clenched teeth.
Good.
It was delicious to see him suffering, but it was not enough.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
But first, she must exercise caution and patience.
“Your Highness.” She let her voice come out soft. Subdued. “I was half convinced you wouldn’t visit me.”
Mik’hail knew better than to react to the words. Unlike Aurora, who only saw the goodness in her sister, he had always seen Aretha for the woman she was. She was just like him, imperfect, ruthless, and dangerous when crossed.
He studied his former betrothed. “How are you feeling?” She looked weak, but he wasn’t buying it. He had a feeling there was more to her disappearance, and he wanted to make sure that she was not a threat to his kingdom.
Aretha made a show of forcing herself to meet the sheikh’s gaze. “I’m sure you already know the answer to that. And besides...” She swallowed hard. “I think I should be the one asking you.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m sorry, Mik’hail.” Aretha’s voice was quiet. Gentle. The voice of a woman who had nothing to hide. “I’m not blind. I know you’ve always had a soft spot for her.”
Mik’hail’s jaw clenched. A soft spot? That was the understatement of the century.
A phrase that failed to capture even a fraction of how much Aurora mattered to him.
How much she had always mattered to him, from the very first moment she had curtsied in the throne room and called him akh with that teasing twinkle in her eyes.
But he should have known she was too young for him.
Should have known the novelty would wear off eventually.
Should have known better than to believe a girl like her could ever truly want a man like him.
“When I regained my memories,” she continued softly, “I realized that life was too short to stand between you. I wanted you both to be happy, even if it meant stepping aside.”
Mik’hail decided he had heard enough about Aurora. The sooner he forgot her, the better. And that could only happen if anything and anyone connected to her—her own sister and his former betrothed included—was out of the picture.
He opened his mouth to tell Aretha the real reason he had come here—to inform her that arrangements were being made for her return to Suneria, that their betrothal was permanently dissolved, that he never wanted to see her face again—
But then she spoke again.
“I just didn’t expect she’d back out.”
Mik’hail paused.
Back out?
That was a curious choice of word for a girl who had dropped him for being too old.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Aretha added, her eyes downcast. “I know how much it must have hurt.”
He took a closer look at her this time. Aretha looked fragile and delicately beautiful in her hospital gown, propped up against crisp white pillows like a porcelain doll.
But he also knew her well enough to recognize that her appearance was meticulously planned to the last detail.
The artful drape of her dark hair. The pale pink of her lips.
Even the way she had positioned herself against the pillows—it was all calculated to make her look as sympathetic as possible.
“Indeed,” he heard himself say slowly. “Her reason for backing out surprised me.”
Aretha nodded, her expression full of sisterly concern.
“I even asked her to reconsider.”
Aretha jerked. She couldn’t help it. The words caught her so off guard that her body reacted before her mind could stop it. The sheikh had asked Aurora to reconsider?
That shouldn’t have happened. This was not.
..this could never have happened if Aurora had just done what Aretha had asked her to do.
Aretha might not be in love with Michael, but she knew him.
Knew how proud, noble, and stupidly honorable he was.
That man would never have asked Aurora to reconsider because that wouldn’t have been noble. And so that could only mean one thing.
Aurora had said something else.
But what?
“Aurora wouldn’t hear of it,” Mik’hail continued. “She was tearfully adamant.”
Aretha struggled to conceal her growing panic.
..along with her rage. She knew she should say something soon.
The sheikh was watching her with those dark, unreadable eyes, and she could feel the weight of his attention like a blade at her throat.
One wrong word, and he would be on to her.
But if she stayed silent, wouldn’t that arouse suspicion as well?
Think, Aretha. Think.
“I know you’re loyal to your sister,” Mik’hail said quietly. “But you need to tell me the truth.”
Bullshit, Aretha thought. If she were to tell him the truth, he would have—
Wait a minute.
Aretha nearly gasped as understanding finally dawned.
That idiot.
That stupid, noble, self-sacrificing idiot.
Aurora hadn’t stuck to the script at all. She hadn’t told Mik’hail he was too old for her. She hadn’t claimed it was just infatuation. No—because Aurora shared the same foolish streak of nobility that Mik’hail had, she had told him the truth instead.
The truth about the envoys. The truth about Suneria. The truth about why she was really leaving.
Damn her.
“I’m sorry, Mik’hail.” Aretha let her voice tremble, just slightly. “I tried to stop her. I told her you wouldn’t be the type to care about such things. But she was adamant that leaving you was the best thing to do. For the sake of Layla and Suneria.”
Mik’hail’s fists slowly clenched at his sides. Aurora had never mentioned anything about Suneria. More importantly, she wasn’t supposed to know about the envoys or their threats. That meeting had been private. Confidential.
But she did know.
Somehow, she had found out.
And if he had known she was aware of the sanctions—
No, no, no.
Mik’hail remembered Aurora’s face in his study. The way she had sat across from him, pale and trembling, her voice steady even as her hands shook in her lap.
You’re too old for me.
There’s so much I still want to do with my life.
He remembered how she had agreed with everything he said. How she hadn’t argued, hadn’t protested, hadn’t begged him to reconsider.
I’m pleased to hear this.
I’m glad we see things the same way.
He remembered the flatness in her eyes. The emptiness in her voice. The way she had turned and walked out without looking back.
If he had just known. If she had told him she knew about the envoys.
He would have realized right away that she was lying.
That everything she said—the words about being too old, about infatuation, about wanting to experience life—
It was all a lie.
She had been trying to protect him.
And he had let her go.
Aretha could feel the tension rising from the sheikh like heat from a flame.
Something had shifted. Something in his expression, in the set of his shoulders, in the way his fists had clenched at his sides. And when he slowly turned to look at her again—
No.
She knew that look.
She had seen it once before, years ago, when a servant had been caught stealing from the palace treasury. The sheikh had worn that same expression then—cold and terrible and utterly without mercy.
He knew.
Somehow, impossibly, he had figured it out. Had pieced together the fragments and realized that she was the reason Aurora had left.
For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.
And then something inside Aretha snapped.
To hell with it.
To hell with getting back in his good graces. To hell with convincing him to honor their betrothal. To hell with becoming queen of Layla and ruling by his side.
None of it mattered anymore.
All that mattered was making him suffer.
“You’ll never find her.”
The words came out cold. Vicious. Nothing like the fragile, sympathetic woman she had been pretending to be.
Mik’hail’s blood went cold. “What did you do to her, Aretha?”