Afraid to fail...
The rotor blades turned. The sound was getting louder and louder, replicating the whooshing inside her ears.
She gasped as the helicopter turned in a three-sixty and took flight. All around her was desert. Miles of it. Before the city sprang up from the red sands themselves.
It was something both ancient and surreal. A wall spanned the city at the base of the mountain, and buildings with rounded peaks stood on tall columns and archways. And up it rose. The city ascended into the skies. And there, in the distance, above the walled city, was a palace set against the mountains.
‘It’s a fortress!’ she exclaimed.
A calming realisation washed over her. The doubts and the fears were her dad’s, because her sixteen-year-old self was still inside her. She could feel her, kicking inside her chest and demanding Charlotte take this second chance being offered to her.
On her terms she would claim back her art and her identity. Because this was her ticket to adventure.
To life...
She wouldn’t fail this time.
Failure was not built into her DNA.
She flicked a glance at Akeem. Confident. At ease. Intuitively, she felt safe—protected. But wasn’t that the most dangerous illusion of all? Because the scariest of all the things that were changing around her was him, andthe part of herself that saw this as a second chance with Akeem.
Turning away from him, she refused to acknowledge that part, and focused on the views before her. On the golden globe of the sun descending behind the mountains and turning the sky a deep orange and the landscape beneath—a mystical brilliance of burning red, golden spires piercing the skies from doomed roofs, and splashes of green feathered throughout.
Taliedaa was breathtaking.
She watched, entranced, as with complete, confident control Akeem flew them towards the palace in the sky.
To her new home.
Where adventure waited.
He’d hungered for this. For nine years he’d dreamt of this moment—ached for it. Ached to rub all she’d thrown away to live a life of drudgery in her face. To shame her for doubting him. To hold the past by the hand and show it there was no place in his world for it now.
To show it—her—all he had become.
But her betrayal had never existed.
And now she would have a place in his world.
He unbuckled his harness and exited the chopper. Motioning to the staff at the gilded entrance to wait, he moved to Charlotte’s door and wrenched it open.
He looked down at her feet. Her bare feet were slender and long, with a high instep. Elegant. Unadorned. Ready to be embellished. He would have her toes painted. His eyes moved over the green robes covering her body. He could wrap her in silk, but could she become the Queen he needed her to be? Could she leave the past on the plane?
He met her eyes.
Could he?
Palms forward, she said, ‘Don’t carry me.’
‘Do you have a hidden pair of slippers?’
‘No.’
‘There is no carpet to cushion your feet here,’ he said.
‘Are you asking me if I can or telling me I can’t walk?’
He bit the inside of his cheek. ‘I am asking.’
‘Then ask.’
He reached for her but she halted him.
‘Questions require words,’ she said, ‘and I would like to hear yours. I’d like to hear your respect for the woman I am...a woman who can make her own decisions.’
His eyes flicked to the staff waiting for his command to come and greet them. He should cloak himself in his armour and become the Crown Prince—rightful heir to the Taliedaaen throne. He had been him for so long—the son of a king—it should feel like a second skin. But it didn’t. He felt crumpled. Dishevelled. As if someone beneath his suit of armour was stretching the seams...
‘May I?’ he asked tightly, and she nodded.
He reached for her again. This time, she didn’t resist. She came to him with open palms on his shoulders. He drew her in tight against him, feeling the quick inhale-exhale of her breath, and with one hand beneath her thigh, one around her waist, he carried her, step by step, to the front door of the royal palace.
Pride.
It burned in his belly.
‘Your Royal Highness... Miss Hegarty...’ the staff chorused.