The Desert King / An Affair with the Princess. Оливия Гейтс
you by any stretch of your admittedly wildly fertile imagination see that happening?”
“Nah, this here Pacific would dry up first.”
“This here Pacific has to take care of its own abundance. I have that of my decrees and declarations taken care of. As for you—” he leaned closer, his gaze sweeping resigned appreciation over her “—it’s abundantly clear your own old age has been good to you.” He raised one eyebrow. “If not to your tongue. I don’t remember it being anywhere near this…forked.”
That tongue came out to glaze those perfect lips, sending his hunger roaring to sample the moisture, drain it. “No? Are you sure your memory, once so reliable, isn’t going?”
“My memory will be the last thing that dims in me, around the time I turn a hundred and twenty.”
“You intend to deteriorate that soon?”
“Just being realistic here.”
“Heh. You probably are, too. But one word of advice. In this constant gloating state over your superiority, don’t drive while anywhere outside of Judar. You’d be apprehended for driving under the influence of a mind-altering high.”
“What and whose purpose do I serve if I don’t act on my superiority? You don’t see a lion hiding his just so that other animals won’t think him full of himself.”
“A lion, huh? You’re really stretching to fit the job description, aren’t you? Lord-of-all-you-survey galore.”
“You mean you don’t think the shoe fits?”
“You mean you think any shoe exists to fit your figurative foot?”
“One must never give up hope.”
“You mean you don’t give hope decrees?”
“I don’t currently have it on my subjects’ roster, no.”
“That must be why there’s still hope.”
“I’m working on acquiring its controlling shares. Enjoy wild, unregulated hope while you can…” He paused when her eyes stilled on him with a new intensity until he groaned. “What?”
“I’m watching for the moment you slip into that coma. I’m also debating seeking help or leaving you passed out on the floor.”
Another laugh took him by surprise. Just as this whole meeting had. This tug-of-war of wills and wits had dragged him into its rapids, was so fluent, so unlike anything he’d had with her, yet somehow the same. Their conversations in the past had been about mutual pleasure, not one-upping each other with witty salvos, but they’d been perfectly matched, totally on the same wavelength, kindred in tastes and views and perceptions. And how he’d missed that.
But the mind that had housed all those qualities he’d craved had also been infested by vices that had appalled him…
Her voice brought him out of his unsavory musings. “But all macabre comedy aside, that’s how you all wanted me to react, right? So you could move on with your plans without the inconvenience of pausing for a few minutes to think about how I’m grappling with my identity and past, plus your proposal to completely mess with my future?”
“I am pausing for a whole evening.”
“Yeah, sure. You want to hear about how I’m coping. Your memory isn’t going but gone if you expect me to believe that.”
He pursed his lips. “We must leave the past in the past.”
She imitated his expression. “How very convenient for you.”
“It’s convenient for both of us. For our future together.”
She jerked as if he’d slapped her, flooding his mind with the emory of her similar reaction when he’d revealed to her the ugliness of his agony and madness seven years ago.
After a long, frozen moment, she rasped, “This was all fun and reminiscent of the sordid past. But let me set one thing straight. We don’t have a future together. Our kingdoms will have to come up with another way to secure whatever they’re hatching together. I’ll never marry you, not for politics, not to save my life.”
It was his turn to stiffen as the mind-warping disillusionment of the past crashed into him, blasting away all softness and the spell she’d been weaving—that he’d let her weave—on him.
She’d changed, all right. Not for the better, as he’d been fooling himself up till now. But into a vindictive harpy who’d send a whole region to hell to have her revenge on him.
He sat forward in his chair slowly, slammed her with his own rage and animosity. “This was my mistake, as it was in the past—being so civil and accommodating that I give you illusions about your importance. But in reality, you always served only one purpose. The difference now is that it’s a worthwhile purpose for a change. And you will serve it. As for what you think or feel, it’s time you realized that your emotions and identity, your past and future, you, don’t matter. Not at all.”
Three
Aliyah didn’t jerk this time.
Not even when the fork clattered to her plate, fracturing the silence that had fallen in the wake of his barrage.
Time reversed like a screeching record. It came to a jolting halt at her last time in this mansion. Then it started to play. Memories of begging his valet to let her wait for him. Trembling on the way up to his bedroom. Gambling away the last of her pride. It hit Pause on his face as he’d issued his final threat. Then it all overlapped, merged with the same savage face now flaying her with his loathing.
Fool. Reason and self-respect lashed her, harsher than he could ever be. She’d been letting them slip away ever since she’d laid eyes on him again. They sneered at her now, at her flimsy struggle to slow down her headlong plunge under his spell. At the way she’d let him encroach on her senses, wiping her memory as he’d advanced.
After his initial shock—which she could only attribute to her changed appearance—he’d seamlessly changed tacks, scorching her with the appreciation smoldering in his eyes, the awareness in his vibes and the amusement in his expressions, his words.
He’d laughed at her barbs, volleyed them back without rancor, baring himself to her ridicule, appearing to enjoy it, had stopped trying to reciprocate the abuse that had soon ceased to be that, morphing into teasing instead. He’d lulled her into loosening her grip on her rage and memories.
Then he’d mentioned a future. Together. And reality had slapped her in the face. With the rush of recollections. With the realization that every second of this evening had been another undetectable maneuver of a master manipulator.
She’d groped for her resolve, said what she’d come here to say. And he’d decided it was more efficient to give up trying to coax her into submission and was now coercing her into it.
He leaned forward in his seat, magnifying his silhouette against the light radiating from the room, his face in the moonlight a hewn mask of inhuman beauty and coldness.
Then he spoke, his voice freezing her. “Now that I’ve made this clear, let me make another thing as unequivocal. This marriage is happening. That’s not up for negotiation. I’ve only called you here to discuss our terms in the deal.”
Her vision began to blotch. She inhaled a choppy stream of oxygen before it blinked out, heard her wavering whisper. “It’s another hostile takeover for you, this so-called marriage, isn’t it? You make no distinction between discussing one or the other.”
He leaned back in his seat, relieving her of a measure of his influence so that breathing turned from a struggle to a mere effort. “For once we agree. Hostile takeover just about sums it up. You’re hostile, and I am taking over.”
“You’ve got that only half right. I sure am hostile. With the