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anticipated.” Pull yourself together, Kiara ordered herself then, suddenly aware that she was standing stock still in the middle of the bathroom floor, staring at him as if he’d transformed into some kind of monster before her very eyes. Hardly the way a good, supportive spouse should behave at such a time.
    She imagined there was no one in the world who wouldn’t feel out of their depth at a moment like this. Thrones! Kings! But this was her husband. This was real.
    She could sort out her own feelings later. In private. She walked over to him, rising on her toes to press a kiss against his hard jaw.
    “This can’t be easy,” she said softly. “But I love you. We’ll figure it out.”
    “I suspect he must be sicker than he wishes to let on,” Azrin said, his voice gruff. “He always promised he would die before he abdicated.” He let out a sound that was not quite a laugh. “But then, he took the throne when he was all of nineteen. There was only one way to hold it. He came by his ruthlessness honestly.” She kissed him again, determined to ignore that tension simmering in him and all around them. She knew that Azrin’s relationship with his father had never been easy. That the king had never been pleased with the way the kingdom viewed Azrin as some kind of savior-in-waiting. Azrin had always said that if his father had only managed to have another son, Azrin would never have remained his heir. But he hadn’t.
    This is real, she told herself again.
    “You can do this,” she said. “You’ve been preparing for years. You’re ready.”
    “Yes, Kiara. I’m ready,” he said quietly, his eyes again too dark, his mouth too grim.
    Something gripped her then, some kind of terror, but she shoved it aside, annoyed with herself. Again. Was she really so self-involved? She could only stare up at him as he ran a hand over the back of her head, smoothing down her wet hair, gently tipping her head back to gaze at him more fully.
    Azrin’s mouth curved slightly then, though it was in no way a smile, the way she wanted it to be. His gaze seared into hers, and she was afraid, suddenly, of the things he might see there.

    things he might see there.
    “But are you?” he asked.

CHAPTER THREE
    IT WAS a question her own mother echoed a week later when Kiara was back at the winery, trying to handle her responsibilities in one part of her life so she could go to Khatan and do her duty in the other part.
    She’d assured Azrin she was ready and willing to do it. Eager, even. She’d been so earnest she’d nearly convinced herself.
    Nearly.
    “Are you honestly prepared to be a queen, Kiara?” her mother asked coolly, as if she’d looked inside and managed to articulate all the dark and unpleasant things Kiara was pretending she didn’t feel. “This isn’t a game, you know. Khatan’s monarchy is not ornamental.” Kiara forced herself to silently count to ten, sitting there in her mother’s pretty office with the breathtaking view out across the Frederick vineyards, green and healthy-looking in the afternoon light—not that she could concentrate on that now, though the view usually calmed her down. She had to keep herself from succumbing to the temper she knew her mother would view as a weakness. And, worse, as a confirmation.
    Besides, she was all too aware that the temper was just a camouflage for the guilt that lay beneath. A lifetime of guilt, because she knew she was the reason her mother had dedicated her life to this place, these vineyards, after Kiara’s father had died. Without Kiara, who knew what Diana might have done with her life?
    Was it any wonder that Kiara was in no rush to have any babies herself?
    One, two, three …
    She eyed her mother across the wide expanse of Diana’s always-neat desk, seeing far too much of herself in the older woman. As ever. It was like looking into some version of her future, much as she preferred to deny it to herself. The same narrow shoulders and long-legged frame.