Would she resent Wasim and Saira as the years went on because her love for them held her back? Shuttling between Siyaad and Dahaar, a daughter but not a true one, a wife but not a true one. Nothing in her life held any significance, not to her, not to anyone else.

She was so tired of having no one to laugh with, no one she could even call a friend, of living each day with no sense of purpose or hope for a fleck of future happiness.

The depth of her loneliness choked her.

Zohra stiffened as the son of her father’s cousin, Karim, came to a stop beside her. He was the most vicious of them all, hungry for the power of the throne, unhappy that her father had formed an alliance with Dahaar.

He blocked her against the table and leaned in a little too close.

“My sympathies, Zohra.” The false sympathy in Karim’s words coupled with that ever-present seediness made the hairs on her neck stand to attention. She knew what he thought of her. Easy. Whether it was the accident of her birth or the fact that she didn’t simper and bow like a traditional Siyaadi woman didn’t matter.

“I knew this would happen,” Karim said, standing scandalously close. “I warned Uncle Salim that no one could be expected to accept you as his wife, even the Mad Prince.”

Her stomach churned just hearing Ayaan spoken of like that. “You’re not fit to utter his name.”

Shaking his head, he smiled. “Tell me, Zohra. Why did he parcel you back to Siyaad after only three weeks of marriage? Has he already figured out you are...unfit to be even a madman’s wife?” He made a tsk-tsk sound that scraped her nerves. A deathly silence fell around her. Could everyone hear the filthy words that fell from his mouth? “Is this because he discovered you are the result of your mother’s affair with a married man or because he has discovered your own...adventures into love?”

The not-so-veiled threat in his gaze curled into dread she couldn’t shake. That her past could sully Prince Ayaan’s family’s name sent feral fear pulsing through her. Not when he had been nothing but honorable toward her, offered her nothing but respect. Ayaan had challenged her, pushed her buttons, surprised her with his sense of humor, but not once had he treated her with anything but honor. The realization stupefied her even as Karim leaned in closer.

“All I ask is that we be mutually beneficial to each other.” Bile scratched her throat. “And remember, Zohra, I am always here when you need comfort, comfort that the Mad Prince should be—”

Long fingers that looked extremely familiar curled around Karim’s shoulder, cutting off his words. Zohra turned so hard that she had to grab the table behind her to keep her balance.

Ayaan stood next to her, cold fury stamped over his features. He bent his head toward Karim, but his gaze collided with her own, unasked questions in its golden depths. “Stand within a mile radius of my wife again and you will regret it. Deeply.”

He hadn’t spoken loudly yet his voice carried around the room. The color fled from Karim’s face, leaving pasty whiteness beneath the dark skin. “Prince Ayaan, allow me to welcome—”

“Run as fast as you can, Karim.”

The older man cast one last look at her and left the hall. Prickly silence shrouded the hall. Zohra breathed hard, her gut twisting and untwisting.

When had she become everything she detested? A useless princess waiting for her prince to do the saving?

She had known there was a chance Ayaan would be here. But she had been so caught up in her own misery to answer Karim back.

And now she was beholden a little more to the man she wanted to maintain distance from.

Standing so close that she could smell the scent of his skin beneath his faint cologne, Ayaan clasped her wrist gently. Their gazes met and held, the ever-present currents of desire arching into life. She could see the puckered scar over his eyebrow, hear the slightly altered tempo of his breathing.

His gaze missed nothing, the banked need in it reaching out to her. “Are you okay, Princess?”

This isn’t about you, Zohra reminded herself sternly. If she had learned one thing in three weeks of marriage, it was that Ayaan bin Riyaaz Al-Sharif would have come to any woman’s aid in the same situation. Honor was in his blood.

“I am fine,” she finally managed to mumble. “And please, will you stop calling me that?”

He bent closer to her, the whole room watching them with bated breath. His brows pulled together, his gaze held a question.

“If you are waiting for me to thank you for coming to my aid so heroically,” she said jerkily, hating that the crushing loneliness she had felt mere minutes ago disappeared in his presence, “you will be waiting for a while.”

Tags: Tara Pammi Billionaire Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net