Should anything happen to the king—God forbid! Marek always told himself whenever he thought of it—Crown Prince Raoul would ascend the throne. That transition would be difficult enough for an adult, much less a child of tender years, and Marek would do anything in his power to smooth the way. It was his duty, yes, but it was also his honor. The men of the king’s security detail would assume responsibility for their new monarch, but Raoul wouldn’t be familiar with any of them the way he would be familiar with the men who’d guarded him in the past. It would be Marek’s job to facilitate that transfer.
During Raoul’s minority, the king had named his cousin, Prince Xavier, and his wife, Queen Juliana, as regents...something the queen had vehemently protested. Marek had been an unwitting witness to the ensuing argument when that issue had arisen...almost a flaming row, in fact. Not that the queen wanted sole control; that wasn’t it at all. She just refused to accept the king might die and objected to any plan that meant she would have to go on without him.
A smile touched his lips. The timeless bond shared by the king and queen was becoming legendary, rivaling the love story of the first king and queen of Zakhar more than five hundred years ago. Two hearts as one, forever and a day. Words carved in Latin on the tomb of the first King Andre Alexei and Queen Eleonora. Words etched in his heart. Were they also etched in Tahra’s heart? He’d thought they were...until she’d rejected his marriage proposal three weeks ago. Until she’d tugged his ring from her finger—the same way she’d done today—and whispered in a voice that shook, “I can’t marry a man who doesn’t trust me. I can’t. I won’t.”
He’d told himself when Tahra had been in surgery that she’d been right to accuse him of not trusting her. But now a little voice of doubt whispered in the back of his head. If she really loved you as she said she did, would she have returned your ring? He would never know...until Tahra regained her memory. If she regained her memory.
Unless...
Unless he could make her fall in love with him all over again.
When the thought flashed through his mind as he descended the back stairway on his way to his office on the ground floor, he stopped so abruptly one foot was suspended in midair, and he almost missed the step.
Was it possible? Could he do it? Could he accomplish in a few weeks what had previously taken eighteen months...winning Tahra’s trust? Winning her heart?
Gaining Tahra’s trust hadn’t been easy. He’d wanted her from the first moment he’d spotted her in the reference section of the library, and he’d pretended to bump into her just so he could have an excuse to apologize...and start a conversation. But her reaction had been totally unexpected. He hadn’t missed the flash of fear in her eyes, quickly masked. And from the way she’d drawn back, her stammered apology, the color that had come and gone in her cheeks, he’d known instantly she wasn’t pretending—she really was afraid of him.
All of which had intrigued him and immediately aroused his protective instincts. And awakened the wolf inside him at the same time. He’d exerted himself to put her at ease, initiating friendly yet casual conversation, but making sure he kept a physical distance between them to make her feel safe. And eventually she’d rewarded him with a tentative smile.
He’d vowed in that moment that someday she would trust him enough for a real smile. One without the shadows in her eyes.
Within a month of knowing her, he’d known she was The One. As he’d told Alec Jones, a man would have to look far and wide to find someone like Tahra. Sweet without being cloying, with a tender, loving heart that made him determined to win her for his own. So he’d sat down, and with the deliberateness with which he’d planned his whole life after Zorina, he’d charted a course to accomplish his goal—Tahra as his wife.
It had taken him almost seventeen months, but he’d persevered. And three weeks ago he’d been the happiest man on earth when Tahra had agreed to marry him. Only to have his dreams come crashing down around his ears.
But he hadn’t given up hope. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Tahra’s sister he was merely giving Tahra time to come to terms with what he’d disclosed right after his proposal. Time for her to remember they shared a bond that could not be broken—especially not for so insignificant a reason.
Marek walked into his office just as the phone was ringing, and he answered it with his name as he always did. “Captain Zale.”
He listened to the voice on the other end without saying a word, his eyes growing hard and cold. Then he asked one question. “How could that happen when she was in custody?”
Tahra took a book from the sitting room to the daybed in her bedroom, thinking to read for a bit until her luggage arrived. But the novel, one of an eclectic collection that seemed to have been placed in her suite to appeal to a wide variety of readers, couldn’t hold her interest...because her eyelids fluttered, then suddenly became too heavy. She laid the book facedown on her lap, intending only to rest her eyes for a couple of minutes. But before she knew it, she’d dozed off.
She floated dreamlessly at first. Then things changed, and faces flashed through her mind. Faces she knew she should recognize...but she didn’t. The only man whose name she knew was the man who’d kissed her senseless earlier—and she only knew him because he’d been a nearly constant companion since she’d woken in the hospital. I should remember you, she confessed to Marek in her dream, but I don’t. Then pleaded, Please don’t be upset with me.
A knock on the door to Tahra’s suite startled her awake, and with the dream still vividly in her mind, her first thought was that Marek hadn’t been upset. He’d been understanding. Too understanding? Shouldn’t he be more upset she didn’t remember him?
The knock sounded again, and Tahra hurried to answer the door. I guess Marek is right, she thought, although she’d never tell him that. I’m not completely recovered. She’d never fallen asleep in the middle of the morning before. Well, not since I was a toddler, she added with a dart of humor. I must have been more exhausted than I thought.
The knock at the door turned out to be the delivery of her luggage...and the arrival of the maid, just as Marek had predicted. Tahra made only a token protest, then allowed the fresh-faced maid—who’d introduced herself as Ani, and looked to be somewhere in her late teens—free rein. But Ani had barely begun unpacking when there was another knock.
Ani said something in Zakharan when Tahra headed to the door to answer it, then bustled past her and switched to English. “No, miss, I will do that. You are to rest and take it easy—that is what Captain Zale said.” Ani shooed Tahra back into the bedroom, then returned two minutes later, a cream-colored envelope in her hand, excitement bubbling over. “An invitation from the queen,” she said in reverent tones, handing it to Tahra.
Ani’s excitement quickly transferred itself to Tahra. Like many Americans, she was fascinated by royalty—other countries’ royalty. Especially this queen, who was as American as Tahra was, a film actress who’d reigned as queen of Hollywood for years before she became a queen in real life by marrying the king of Zakhar.
“Open it, miss,” Ani pleaded.
Tahra was able to restrain herself just enough to keep from ripping the envelope open, forcing a calm she was far from feeling. Then read aloud the handwritten note card with rising excitement.
Dear Ms. Edwards, the note said. Thank you for accepting my husband’s invitation to stay in the palace until such time as it is safe for you to return to your home. I realize your memory is temporarily impaired, but I would love to renew our acquaintance. I would also appreciate the opportunity to thank you in person for saving the lives of all those schoolchildren. Would you do me the honor of lunching privately with me today? If that’s