by Amelia Autin
Last night had changed his world. The reality of making love to Tahra was far, far better than his imagination had painted it when he’d dreamed of having her in his bed—her passion had nearly matched his. And if it hadn’t been her first time, if he hadn’t been absolutely sure she wasn’t physically ready for anything more, he might not have been able to take her back to the palace, reputation be damned. But... Someday soon, he promised himself. Someday soon he would make love to her all night long. Someday soon he would take her to new heights, and in doing so he would take himself there, as well.
But not until we are married, he vowed, knowing it would take even more strength of will than it had previously...because now he knew. Now he knew how soft Tahra’s skin was...everywhere. Now he knew the little sounds she made when she reached the peak and tumbled over the other side. Now he knew just how easily his self-control was shattered by one word from Tahra—please.
And for the first time since she’d returned his engagement ring a few weeks ago, he knew—really knew—Tahra loved him. Last night would never have happened if that weren’t the case. Which meant they would be married. Not as soon as he’d like—which would have been today if he’d had a choice—but soon. As soon as her memory returned.
Which could be any day now. The spontaneously resurfaced recollection of the baby shower gift had to be a sign Tahra’s memory would return completely. Or at least most of it, except for the actual explosion. And if her memory returned, if she could identify the man who’d left the bomb at the preschool...
That brought Marek’s thoughts right back to the Zakharian Liberation Front, and the confirmation he and Angelina had received in Timon about the real goal behind the terrorist attacks all over Zakhar: assassination.
Assassinate King Andre, who would be succeeded by Crown Prince Raoul. Assassinate Queen Juliana and Prince Xavier—Colonel Marianescu—whom the king had named as regents. That would leave the crown prince, who wasn’t even two years old yet and far too young to rule, with no one to act as regent.
The Zakharian Liberation Front, through the traitor who—as he’d already intimated to Colonel Marianescu—sat on the Privy Council, would move swiftly into that power vacuum, seizing the young king and seizing power at the same time. Setting the little boy up as a puppet and ruling in his name...for the time being. Until they’d consolidated power and no longer needed the legal myth of the crown, and they took sole control as a totalitarian dictatorship.
But they couldn’t just assassinate the crown prince after his father and immediately seize power; the citizenry wouldn’t stand for it. Zakharians were fiercely devoted to the much-loved monarchy and were proud the House of Marianescu had reigned in an unbroken line for centuries. So the Zakharian Liberation Front needed the legal fiction of maintaining the monarchy. And to do that, they needed Crown Prince Raoul alive. For now.
Marek didn’t know who the traitor on the Privy Council was—just that one of its members had to be the one heading up the Zakharian Liberation Front. Nothing else made sense. And by the time the king was dead and the traitor stepped forward to act as regent, it would be too late.
Once upon a time the Privy Council had been appointed by the king, acting as his advisers but having no real authority. But when King Andre Alexei IV ascended the throne several years earlier, he’d slowly placed more power—and responsibility—in the hands of the Privy Council, an elected Privy Council, a change he had instituted over the objections of nearly everyone. As the king had explained to his intimates, absolute monarchs were passé in the twenty-first century, and Zakhar needed to modify its political structure.
Marek agreed with the king...in theory. But now he saw the fallacy in his reasoning, because a taste for power by someone on the Privy Council had led them all into this...quagmire. For just the second time in his life Marek realized the king was only human, with human failings. And instead of weakening his devotion, it increased it. Because if the king wasn’t a godlike being who was never wrong, that meant he needed men like Marek, now more than ever. And not just as a bodyguard for his son.
Chapter 16
The phone rang just as Tahra was finishing dinner, and she picked it up eagerly, hoping it was Marek. Instead, it was one of the palace switchboard operators, who said, “I have an overseas call for you, Miss Edwards. She says she is your sister. Would you like to take the call?”
“Of course.” Tahra had tried calling Carly several times but had never gotten through. She’d left messages, though, and finally her sister was calling her back.
“Tahra?” Carly’s voice sounded in her sister’s ear, with the hint of the Virginia roots she’d tried so hard to eradicate from her speech for her on-camera TV job, an accent that always crept in when she was excited about something.
“Carly? I’ve been trying to reach you for days. I’ve left messages, and—”
“I know, I know, and I’m so sorry. I just got back from Antarctica and called you as soon as I could.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Covering a story, of course—and freezing my ass off. Global warming is not a myth, as anyone who sees my exposé in two weeks will clearly understand. But that’s not why I called you.” That excitement was back in her tone. “Can you fly back from Zakhar a month from now?”
Tahra thought quickly. “Well, I’m on medical disability leave from my job right now. And if my memory returns, I’ll have to return to the embassy. But I do have two weeks of vacation left. What’s up?”
“How would you like to be my maid of honor?”
Tahra gasped. “Oh, Carly, really? Really? You and Shane?”
“I know it sounds crazy because we haven’t known each other all that long. But I’m thirty-five. Shane’s forty-one. And he’s The One, Tahra. I want to grow old with him.”
The rock-solid assurance in Carly’s voice was good to hear. She’d prayed Carly would find a man who deserved her—Tiger Shark might be her nickname in the TV industry, but Carly had a loving heart, which Tahra knew all too well—and after everything her sister had gone through, she deserved to be deliriously happy.
The two sisters chatted excitedly over the details of Carly and Shane’s upcoming nuptials for several minutes, then Carly said, “I forgot. You called me and left messages for me to call you back. Is something wrong?”
“Oh.” Tahra came down from the wedding high she’d been floating on. “I wanted to ask you why you didn’t tell me the truth...about my own engagement.”
She knew she’d taken her sister by surprise from the sudden silence at the other end. Then Carly said, “Your memory returned?”
“No.” Tahra shook her head, even though she knew her sister couldn’t see it. “But I figured out our engagement was a fake and confronted Marek. He admitted it, and told me you knew.” She took a deep breath. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because...” Carly sighed. “Okay, because ever since I fell in love with Shane, I’ve been... I can’t really explain it except to say I’m a sucker for a man in love. And Marek loves you so much, Tahra. He made his case for why he’d lied, and I...I bought it.” When Tahra didn’t say anything, Carly continued, her voice taking on a fierce note. “Did he do something? Did he try to take advantage of you? Because if he did, I’ll kill him. He swore to me that—”
Tahra’s “No!” was sharp, cutting off the flow of words from the other end of the line. “No, he didn’t,” she said, forcing herself to a calmness she was far from feeling. “And you don’t have to fight my battles for me anymore,” she told her sister. “I can take care of myself.”
“Are you sure?” Tahra was surprised by the hint of uncertainty in Carly’s tone—Carly, who always seemed so self-assured. “I don’t mean, are you sure you can take care of yourself. I mean, are you sure he didn’t try to take advantage of the situation.”
Tahra
laughed a little. “The shoe’s on the other foot, actually. If one of us took advantage of the other, blame me, not him.”
“Does that mean what I think it means?”
A tapping at the door to her suite gave Tahra a welcome opportunity not to answer the question. “Hang on, someone’s here. I’ll be right back.” She put the receiver down, and when she opened the door, there stood Ani.
“Finished with your dinner, miss? You didn’t ring, but I thought perhaps...”
Tahra pushed the door open. “I was on the phone, but I was just about done. So yes, you may take the tray.”
“Sorry,” she told Carly after Ani left. “My maid was here to take the dinner tray.”
“Must be nice living in the lap of luxury,” her sister teased.
Tahra suddenly remembered how Marek had convinced her to accept Ani’s services, and couldn’t help but smile. “When in Rome,” she began. “Or in this case, in the royal palace in Drago...”
Her sister let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, Tahra, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you talk this way. Just like your old self. I was so worried when you were in the hospital...”
“I’m fine. More than fine, actually. And last night I remembered something from those missing months.” She filled Carly in on the details. “So I’m really hopeful everything will come back soon,” she finished.
“And...Marek? How are things between you? I mean, if you know the engagement was fake, do you know why it was fake? Why you gave him back his ring?”
“I know. And we’re working on that trust thing.” She breathed deeply. “But I’m still wearing the ring.” She held the phone between her ear and her shoulder so she could look at her left hand and Marek’s ring, which seemed so right on her finger. “And...I love him, Carly. I know it’s hard to believe, because it’s as if we just met when I came out of the coma last week. But...”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Carly said, a dry note in her voice. “I think I fell in love with Shane almost from the moment I met him, but I was sure he was The One in less than a week.”
“Maybe it’s an Edwards thing,” Tahra joked.
“Maybe it is.” But there was no laughter in Carly’s voice. “Dad said something to me once. I’ve never forgotten. I must have been...oh...fifteen? He said he took one look at Mom and he knew. Convincing her took longer, but he never had a doubt. And they’d been married for almost twenty years when they...well...you know.”
The little ache in her heart that never quite went away made Tahra confess, “I’ve never envied you anything, Carly...except that. You had Mom and Dad for so many more years than I did.”
“I kinda sorta knew that. You went through a phase, remember?”
Actually, Tahra had forgotten. But now that Carly reminded her... “How you managed to put up with me, I’ll never know.”
“You were my sister,” Carly said simply. “You were all I had.”
Tahra choked back tears. “Oh, Carly...”
“And anyway,” Carly said with what sounded suspiciously like tears in her own voice, tears she was trying to hold back, “that phase didn’t last long, thank God.”
“If I never said it, thank you for sharing those memories of Mom and Dad with me.” She sighed with regret. “Sometimes I wonder if I really remember them...or if I’m just remembering things you told me about them over the years.”
“Does it really matter one way or the other?”
In her mind she heard Marek say, “Do not struggle so hard, mariskya. I will tell you anything you need to know. But I do not want to tell you everything, for then we will never know if you truly remember...or if you are only ‘remembering’ what I tell you.”
And suddenly she missed Marek so much it was a physical ache. She closed her eyes for a few seconds as longing speared through her. Not sexual desire. Just a yearning to see his face, hear his voice, touch his hand. Watch him smile. And because all her life she’d shared what she was feeling with her older sister, she blurted out, “Does it hurt when Shane isn’t there?” Then she rushed to apologize. “Sorry, that was totally out of left field, wasn’t it?”
But Carly seemed to understand. “I thought I was losing my mind when I was in Antarctica because it hurt so much.” Her voice softened. “What makes it bearable is knowing he feels the same way.”
And again a memory came to her. Marek saying, “You almost died, Tahra. If that had happened, I would also have died. I would have gone on breathing, but...”
She and Marek shared the kind of love granted to very few. A very lucky few. Like Carly and Shane. Like Queen Juliana and King Andre. And the realization struck her like a lightning bolt. She wasn’t just Marek’s mariskya—he was hers, too. Something she couldn’t live without.
* * *
Soldiers from the Zakharian National Forces who had been deployed elsewhere had continued to arrive in Drago throughout the day and into the evening in a seemingly random stream, which was actually highly organized. Two of every three who had shipped out were to return in secret—so the orders had read, and so the senior commanders had complied. The orders had not specified the best and the brightest, but the senior commanders had read between the lines. The Zakharian National Forces were preparing for war. Only the best would do.
By the time the last commercial plane carrying recalled soldiers in civilian garb landed, two more warehouses had been prepared to receive and house the returning men. The sixty soldiers in the last wave were processed and eating a late dinner by nine that night.
The lights in all three warehouses went out at ten. And the soldiers—being soldiers, men who could sleep anytime, anywhere, almost as if on command—were soon fast asleep. The only sounds were the creak of cots as men turned over...and the occasional snore.
* * *
Tahra had tried to stay awake for Marek’s call, but after a long, relaxing bath—not quite as long as the one she’d taken last night after Marek returned her to the palace, but long enough—she curled up on top of the covers on her bed. Still in her robe, and with one of the books she’d brought back from her apartment, a murder mystery that she told herself would keep her awake. Then she put the book facedown after a few pages, intending merely to “rest her eyes” for a moment. And promptly fell asleep.
The phone rang at half past ten, jolting her awake, and she scrambled to answer it. “Hello? Marek?”
“I woke you,” he said with obvious regret. “It is late and I should have realized...but you had asked me to call you before I went to bed tonight. And you had said ‘please.’” His voice dropped. “I cannot resist you when you say ‘please,’ mariskya.”
The longing that swept through her this time was sexual. Desire for Marek’s hands, his lips, his rock-hard body on hers. In hers. Moving with controlled male power. Taking his time, making sure she was with him every step of the way. Carrying her into that place where all she could feel was him. Where all she could hear was the frantic sound of their breathing and her voice almost begging for release. Where all she could see was Marek’s face transformed. His blue eyes alight with passion...and love.
Tahra’s breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t have spoken even if her brain could function enough to form words.
“That is why you must promise me not to say ‘please.’”
She swallowed, and her words came out in a croak. “What do you mean?”
“I have sworn to myself I will not... That is, we will not... Not until we are married. But since I cannot resist that word on your lips, you must refrain from using it...in that context.”
Tahra would have laughed...if Marek didn’t sound so dead serious. Okay, yes, things had changed in the United States in the past fifty years...and Zakhar hadn’t moved with the times. But it used to be the woman who wanted to wait for marriage...not the man. Yet he
re was Marek telling her “no more sex” until the knot was tied.
“How is that fair? You’re putting all the responsibility on me.”
“No, no, you misunderstand. I will undertake to be responsible for controlling my own desires...but I cannot withstand yours and mine. So you must refrain from asking me.”
She could almost see him nodding decisively. As if that settled that. And she strangled the laughter that threatened to bubble out of her. “I’ll...” Cough, cough. Gurgle. Snort. “I’ll think about it.”
Oh, how she loved this man. Would always love him. And as Carly had said about her fiancé, she wanted to grow old with him. But first she wanted to make babies with him. Beautiful babies, like Alec and Angelina’s son, Drew. And just as marriage was a prerequisite for sex to Marek—where she was concerned, anyway—marriage was a prerequisite to babies for her. Because even though the world had changed...she hadn’t.
And speaking of marriages...
“Carly called me tonight,” Tahra told him. “She and Shane are getting married next month. She wants me to be her maid of honor. Will you come with me?”
“Next month?” He seemed to be weighing her statement, as if trying to fit that date into some timeline of his own. “That should be...possible. What is the exact date?” When she told him, he said, “May I give you a definite answer next week? There are some...arrangements...I will have to make.”
“Of course. And if you can’t make it, I’ll understand. But...” She let her voice soften into almost a coaxing tone. “I would love to have you with me.”
“I will do my best.”
She almost said, “You always do,” but thought better of it. If for some reason Marek couldn’t go—maybe he had too many men on the crown prince’s security detail already scheduled for vacation next month—she didn’t want him to feel bad about not being able to accompany her.
She yawned suddenly, and though she tried to smother the sound, Marek heard her. “It is late and you are tired, mariskya. I am keeping you from your bed.”