‘We barely spoke two words. Mainly she insulted me and then she walked away.’
Both men were silent for a long moment, facing off in the midday heat.
‘The girl is reckless,’ Roman said darkly. ‘Are you sure that you want to marry someone so...unpredictable?’
‘My kingdom needs it. So it will be done.’ Khal smoothed down the front of his robes. ‘I have been heavy-handed with my approach so far. I worry that perhaps I have scared her off completely.’
‘How so?’
‘I ordered a stricter security regime. I needed to make sure she was protected adequately before her name was linked with mine. In case...’
Roman saw the haunted look in his friend’s eyes and immediately stopped. How had he not realised before now?
He moved towards him, placing a hand heavily on his shoulder. ‘Khal... I understand why you felt the need to ensure her security...believe me. But there is such a thing as smothering with safety.’
‘We both know the risks for any woman who is by my side,’ Khal said, standing to his feet.
The moment of weakness had passed and he was once again the formidable and controlled Sheikh of Zayyar. But Roman could still sense the heaviness in the air, the unspoken worries that he knew plagued his friend and had likely tortured him for the past four years.
Nothing would bring back his friend’s wife. Her sudden death had shifted something in the easy friendship that had once bonded them together, and nothing would erase the pain of knowing that he hadn’t been there in Khal’s time of need.
Roman cleared his throat. ‘I will go and find the Princess,’ he said gruffly.
‘No. Definitely not.’ Khal turned back to him, crossing his arms. ‘Your presence would only aggravate the situation further.’
‘If it was my actions that caused her to rethink the engagement, then let me be the one to apologise and bring her back.’ Roman pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, feeling the weight of his own error settle somewhere in his gut. ‘This is my fault.’
‘Yes. It is.’ Khal raised one brow. ‘And I hate not knowing if I can trust you to fix it.’
Roman’s jaw clenched. Khal was like a brother to him—his bratik. The closest thing
to a family member he had ever chosen for himself.
‘You have trusted me with your life in the past. Are you telling me you don’t think I’m capable of retrieving one errant little princess?’
‘This is important to me, Roman.’
‘I will bring her back. You have my word,’ Roman said, meaning every syllable.
He would find the little siren and bring her back to her royal duty if it was the last thing he did.
* * *
This had been a terrible plan.
Olivia slumped down in her seat, tucking an errant strand of bright red hair back into her dark, wide floppy-brimmed hat. Because of the dark sunglasses she wore, and the rather plain white shift dress, thankfully so far nobody had looked at her twice.
Olivia sighed. Had she really been so naïve as to think that she could just check in to the next commercial flight without question? The realisation of what she had almost done suddenly paralysed her with fear. She had almost broken the law, for goodness’ sake.
She was hyper aware of her surroundings, noticing every little movement of the people in the departures hall. Every time one of the airport security guards looked at her she unconsciously held her breath, waiting for the moment when they would realise who she was and unceremoniously haul her back to the palace. And to her father.
She didn’t even know exactly what she was trying to achieve here. Honestly, had she really been so immature as to think that her father would take her more seriously just because she had attempted to run away from her engagement? In reality this little stunt had done nothing but ensure that she would have even less freedom than before.
She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat and wishing that she had never come up with this stupid plan. She felt the air shift to her right, a gentle breeze bringing with it an eerily familiar scent of sandalwood and pine.
‘A risky choice, hiding in plain sight,’ a deeply accented male voice drawled from beside her, bringing memories of strong, muscular arms and eyes like gunmetal.
Roman Lazarov lowered himself casually into the seat beside her and lazily propped one ankle on the opposite knee.