And yet he would trade his entire kingdom to have it back.
He turned the letter over in his hands, feeling the weight of it. His thumb traced the seal she had pressed into the paper—the seal he had given her, the one she had smiled so brightly at receiving—and something twisted in his chest.
And then he opened it, preparing himself for the worst.
I wish you well, too, Your Highness.
And I truly mean that because I’ve come to realize that living away from you was exactly what needed to happen for my eyes to be opened.
I’m destined to be with another man.
And it is thanks to you that I’ve already met him.
The sheikh read the words once.
Twice.
Three times.
And then his fist closed around the letter, crumpling it into a ball.
She thought she was destined for another man.
She thought she could thank him for helping her find someone else.
As if he hadn’t memorized every curve of her body. As if he hadn’t tasted her sighs. As if she wasn’t already his in every way that mattered.
As if any other man could ever be her prince.
No more.
Mik’hail had tried to do the right thing. Had tried to push her away, to protect her from the scandal that would erupt if anyone discovered the truth about them. Had told himself that she deserved better, that she deserved someone who wasn’t haunted by the ghost of her dead sister.
But he was done.
Done pretending he didn’t want her.
Done pretending he could live without her.
Done letting her believe that anyone else could ever take her place.
He was her prince. He had always been her prince. And it was time he started acting like it.
The sheikh rose from his chair and strode to the door, yanking it open to find Gordan waiting in the hall.
“Your Highness?” The retainer’s eyes widened at whatever he saw in the sheikh’s face.
“Ready the car.” Mik’hail’s voice was ice. “I’m bringing her home. Tonight.”
