The Last Prince of Dahaar. Tara Pammi

      After more than an hour of mingling with guests, either strangers or her father’s family, who snubbed her or the courageous ones that veiled their insults cleverly, Zohra was to ready to escape when she found herself next to her new husband.

      His nearness unsettled her, an extra layer of awareness sparking to life. Or maybe it was that he had a habit of saying things that burrowed under her skin.

      A ten-layered white glazed cake that looked like a castle perched on the edge of a mountain was wheeled in front of them.

      She laughed and turned toward him. “This has to be the best part of wedding a prince.”

      His gaze lingered over her mouth a fraction too long before he responded. “A lesser man would take offense at that, Princess.”

      His hand was callused and warm over hers as they cut the cake, his breath an unwanted caress against her skin. Maintaining her smile took more effort than it should have. “It’s a good thing you’re not a lesser man, or even the average. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be so...”