Sweet Revenge

traditional greeting. He barely touched his lips to her cheeks, and with less emotion than he might have given a stranger. It hurt. She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t been prepared for it, and it hurt.
    “You are welcome here.”
    “I’m grateful for your permission to return.”
    He sat, and after a long, silent moment, gestured to a chair. “Are you a child of Allah?”
    This she had expected. Religion was breath in Jaquir. “I am not a Muslim,” she said steadily, “but God is One.”
    Apparently it satisfied him, because he signaled for a servant to pour tea. It was a concession of sorts that two cups were waiting. “It pleases me that you will marry. A woman requires a man’s protection, his guidance.”
    “I’m not marrying Philip for his protection or his guidance.” She sipped at the tea. “Nor does he marry me to increase his tribe.”
    She had spoken flatly, as a man might speak to another man, not as a woman to a king. He could have struck her; it was his right. Instead, he sat back, cupping the tea in both hands. The cup was delicate, of fragile French porcelain. Hishands were broad and studded with rings, “You’ve become a woman of the West.”
    “My life is there, as my mother’s was.”
    “We will not speak of your mother.” He set his cup down, then held up a hand as a servant sprang forward to refill it.
    “She spoke of you. Often.”
    Something came into his eyes. Adrianne couldn’t prevent a part of her from hoping it would be regret. But it was anger. “As my daughter you are welcome here, and with the honor that is your right as a member of the House of Jaquir. While you are here, you will abide by the rules and traditions. You will cover your hair and cast down your eyes. Your dress and speech will be modest. If you bring me shame, you will be punished as I would punish any woman of my family.”
    Because her fingers weren’t steady, she dug them into the teacup. After all these years, she thought, so many years, and he could speak only in orders and threats. Her plan to be the woman he would expect was overrun with her need to be what she was.
    “I bring you no shame, but I feel shame. My mother suffered and died miserably while you did nothing to help.” When he rose, she stood as well, so quickly that the cup fell from her hand and shattered on the tiles. “How could you do nothing?”
    “She was nothing to me.”
    “Nothing but your wife,” Adrianne tossed back. “It would have taken so little, but you gave nothing. You abandoned her, and me. The shame is yours.”
    He struck her then, with a backhanded blow that snapped her head back and made her eyes water. It wasn’t the careless slap an angry parent might give an ill-mannered child, but the deliberate, full-fledged hit a man deals an enemy. If she hadn’t crashed into the heavy chair and gripped for support, she would have fallen. Though she staggered, she managed to stay on her feet.
    Her breath came quickly as she fought for control, fought to keep the stinging tears back. Slowly, she lifted a hand to wipe at the blood where a jewel from his ring had nicked her. Their eyes held, so similar in shape, so alike in expression. It hadn’t been her he had struck, and they both knew it. It had been Phoebe. It was still Phoebe.
    “Years ago,” she managed, “I might have been grateful for that much attention from you.”
    “I will say this, then it will not be spoken of again.” Carelessly, he signaled for the broken china to be cleared. The rage she incited in him was rage unbecoming a king. “Your mother left Jaquir and forfeited all rights, all loyalty, and all honor. By doing so, she also forfeited yours. She was weak, as women are, but she was also sly and corrupt.”
    “Corrupt?” Though it might have earned her another blow, Adrianne couldn’t bite back the words. “How can you speak of her so? She was the kindest, most pure-hearted woman I’ve ever known.”
    “She was an actress.” He said it as though a word could taste vile. “She flaunted herself before men. My only shame is that I allowed myself to be blinded by her, to bring her to my country, to lie with her as a man lies with any whore.”
    “You called her that before.” This time Adrianne’s voice shook. “How does a man speak so about the woman he married, about the woman he shared a child with?”
    “A man can marry a woman, can plant his seed within her, but cannot change her nature. She would not embrace Islam. When I