One Night With The Forbidden Princess. Amanda Cinelli
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cruelly. ‘Don’t you see, you silly girl? We are facing financial ruin without this union.’
Olivia opened her mouth to protest, only to have her father’s scowl stop her as he continued on his own personal rant.
‘The Kingdom of Zayyar is overflowing with wealth, thanks to this man. He is an economic genius. But the civic history of his country still stands in the way of true acceptance from the west. To put it bluntly, they need our political influence and we need their money.’
‘Money…’ Olivia bit her lip, wanting to ask just how much she was worth, considering he was essentially trading her body for cash.
‘Sheikh Khalil has the capabilities to take Monteverre back to its glory days—surely you want that for your people? What good is being able to read if they have no money to feed themselves?’
She had never heard her father speak so frankly, and his eyes were red-rimmed with half-madness. Olivia knew that Monteverre was in trouble. A series of bad leadership decisions and banking crashes had left them neck-deep in debt and with many of the younger generation emigrating to greener pastures. They were bleeding, and it appeared that this Sheikh had come offering a magic bandage. At a particular cost…
‘Trusting an entire country’s economic future to one man’s hands? That seems a bit…reckless. Surely there is another way without the marriage—?’
‘No,’ he cut across her, his voice a dull bark in the silent room. ‘There is no going back on this. I won’t hear another word.’
Her father’s eyes were dark in a way she had never seen them before, as though he hadn’t truly slept in months.
‘Everything you have had since birth is thanks to your position. It’s not like you have an actual career to think of—you spend most of your time looking pretty and waving. None of that would even change. Your life would continue just as it has been—only as the Sheikha of Zayyar.’ He took a breath, smiling down at her as if he had just bestowed upon her some enormous gift. ‘This is your duty, Olivia. To Monteverre. It’s not about you.’
She felt his words sink into her skin like an icy breeze, setting off goose pimples down her bare arms. Did being born a Sandoval really mean surrendering every aspect of your life to the good of the kingdom?
As the second daughter she had naïvely believed that her life would be different from her older sister’s. She was not first in line to rule Monteverre—she didn’t bear that crushing weight of responsibility and she had always been infinitely glad of it.
‘The Sheikha of Zayyar…’
Her mother’s melodic voice intruded on her thoughts, sounding absurdly serene.
‘Sounds like something from a film…’
‘I don’t even know where Zayyar is,’ Olivia said numbly, almost unable to speak past the tickle of panic spreading across her throat.
‘Somewhere on the Persian Gulf,’ Queen Aurelia offered, twirling the liquid in her glass. ‘They have a hotel shaped like a boat sail.’
‘That’s Dubai.’ King Fabian rolled his eyes. ‘Zayyar is halfway between the desert and the Arabian Sea. Gorgeous scenery—you will love it.’
‘Thank you for the sales pitch, Father.’ Olivia sighed, looking across to her mother, who had once again turned to gaze into the empty fireplace.
It was customary for her mother to permanently nurse a glass of the finest cognac after midday. In Olivia’s memory no one had ever questioned it or raised any concern. There had always been an unspoken understanding among the Sandoval children that their mother and father each did whatever they pleased and things would always be that way. They did not welcome personal discussions.
She looked up to the ceiling, feeling the familiar sense of exhaustion that always accompanied any meeting with her parents. For that was all they ever were. Meetings.
‘Sheikh Khalil simply wanted to ensure your safety, Libby. Surely you find that romantic? I know you are prone to the sentiment.’
Her father looked down at his wife, but she had drifted off, her eyes dull and unfocused as she stared into nothingness. The look on his face changed to outright disgust and he turned away, busying himself with retrieving his jacket from a chair.
Olivia’s heart broke a little for her parents’ fractured marriage. She had fleeting memories of a happier time, when her parents had seemed madly in love and the Kingdom of Monteverre had been a shining beacon of prosperity and culture. Now there was nothing but cold resentment and constant worry.
‘Father…’ Olivia took a breath, trying to calm her rapid thoughts. ‘This is all happening very fast. Perhaps if I just had some more time—’
‘Why do you think the Sheikh arranged this trip? He plans to propose formally this afternoon so that the announcement can be made public before he leaves.’
Olivia’s breath caught, expanding her throat painfully. ‘He…he can’t do that…’
‘Oh, yes, he can—and you will be grateful for his patience.’
His voice boomed across the room, the sudden anger in it startling her, making her back away a step.
He took a breath, deliberately softening his tone. ‘Can’t you see that you are a vital part in this? There is power in your position.’
‘Power…’ Olivia repeated weakly. Her shoulders drooped. Even her bones felt heavy. Women are not always destined to surrender to men… Those words—his words—had struck something deep within her.
Roman Lazarov.
She bit her lip hard. For a moment she had regretted her decision to have him captured. He had seemed to glow from within—a fiery protector and proclaimer of women’s strength. Now she knew he was just like the rest of them. Here to ensure that her cage was kept good and tight. That she had no hope of freedom.
King Fabian tightened his lips, forcing a smile before shrugging into his navy dress jacket and fixing the diamond cufflinks at his wrists. He paused by her side, looking down at her.
‘You will have a private lunch with Sheikh Khalil tomorrow.’ He placed one hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. ‘I know you will give him the answer he wants. I’m so proud of the beautiful woman you have become.’
Olivia closed her eyes, not wanting him to see the tears that glistened there. Her heart seemed to slow in her chest as she nodded her head in defeat, glad when he was gone, with the smell of cigar smoke wafting on the air in his wake. How could he be proud of the woman she was when she had no idea who she was herself?
‘I can’t do this,’ she breathed, silently hoping her mother would look up. That she would hold her and listen to her worries, then kiss her forehead and tell her everything would be okay.
But sadly she knew that would never happen. She had no memories of ever being in her mother’s arms, and even if she had the woman who now sat like a living ghost in the sitting room was not truly her mother.
She stood still for a long time, letting the tears fall down her cheeks and stain the neckline of her dress. Eventually she wiped her face and turned away from the unbearable silence, walking through the long main corridors of the private suites.
As usual, the guards pretended not to notice her.
She took her time, idling through the gardens on her way back to her rooms. With a few deep breaths she calmed the tremor in her throat. It had been a long time since she had let a single tear fall—probably not since the day of her grandmother’s funeral. Crying was a fruitless activity when her future had already been neatly packed up and arranged.
She sat heavily on a marble bench in the centre of the courtyard. This was her favourite part of the palace, where a low stone square fountain provided the perfect vantage point to sit and listen to the staff as they went