Had it not been for the drab, body-shrouding beige clothes that painfully and distastefully stood out against the gold and cream bed linen, he would’ve mistaken her for one of the pillows or part of the rich drapery that decorated the four-poster bed.
As he advanced towards her he noticed that her slim shoulders were shaking. Another few steps and the small sniffles of her quiet sobs reached his ears.
Zufar stifled his curse before it ripped free.
He didn’t care for weak women. He cared even less for weak, crying women.
Behind him, Marwan clicked his tongue sharply.
The figure jumped up, stumbled over her long, shapeless skirt, and immediately tumbled to the floor in a graceless heap at Zufar’s feet.
He waited, impatient breath slowly spilling through clenched teeth, for her to rise. But she didn’t seem interested in regaining her feet. Instead, she was developing an almost mesmerised interest in his shoes.
He took a step forwards, hoping to dislodge her hypnosis. When that failed to work, he cleared his throat.
‘If that is a shoe fetish you’re exhibiting, may I suggest you indulge in it another time? When the reputation of my kingdom isn’t at stake, perhaps?’ Zufar drawled.
A sharp intake of breath, then, finally, she raised her head.
Large, tear-soaked dark eyes rose from his feet, and plotted an excruciatingly slow journey up his body. By the time they reached his face, her expression was creased into abject horror.
Coupled with a face blotched and bloated with tears and a mouth frozen in an unattractive O, she was the most unsightly girl Zufar had ever seen.
‘What is your name?’ he bit out, praying she could actually string enough words together to answer.
She didn’t respond. She simply stared up at him, her horror intensifying by the second.
‘Do you not hear your King addressing you, girl?’ Marwan demanded sharply.
Her mouth closed. She swallowed noisily, but still uttered no word.
Zufar’s fists started to curl. Almost a year’s worth of meticulous planning hung in the balance because of one tear-streaked, dumbstruck girl.
About to move, he paused as her gaze darted to his fists and she recoiled.
The sight of her naked fear struck an uncomfortable chord in him. He breathed out and slowly unfurled his fingers. There would be no coherent conversation with her unless he found a way to defuse some of her fear, he realised.
He sensed Marwan moving towards her and held up his hand. ‘Leave us,’ he instructed.
Marwan made a small sound of surprise. ‘Are you sure, Your Highness?’
Zufar’s lips tightened. ‘Leave. Now.’
The room emptied immediately. He kept his gaze fixed on the girl crouched before him, and slowly extended his hand towards her. Again, her gaze darted between his face and his
hand, as if terrified he would do something unpredictable. Like bite. Or strike.
He frowned.
She reminded him of the skittish colts in his stable. The ones that demanded substantial time and patience to respond to his commands.
Except he was in gross negative supply of either today. His marriage ceremony was scheduled to commence in less than two hours.
Zufar leaned down and extended his hand further. ‘Stand up,’ he instructed, firming his voice.
She placed her hand in his, scrambled upright, and immediately gasped and dropped his hand as if she’d been scalded.
He ignored her reaction, his gaze moving over her, confirming that the drabness indeed extended from the top of the dishevelled tufts of dark hair peeking out of her beige scarf to the soles of her feet.