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said, taking another step back.
    Zale kept walking toward her, tension radiating from him in waves. “Neither do I.” His tone was clipped, hard. “Explain to me why you’ve canceled the meeting.”
    She bumped up against the delicate coffee table between the pink silk sofa and armchairs and had no more room to run. “I woke up with a headache and it’s just gotten worse.”
    “I’m sure you could suffer through for a thirty-minute signing.”
    “But I can’t. The pain’s so bad I can’t even read right now.” “I’ll read it to you, then.”
    His sarcasm stung. Why was he being awful? Was it necessary to be rude? Necessary to be so inflexible? “I’m sure we can reschedule—”
    “No.”
    “And why not?” she demanded, just as curtly.
    He tipped his head, studying her, his short crisp hair dark, but definitely not black, just as his eyes were neither brown nor gold but a shade somewhere in between. This morning he wore a black suit with a white dress shirt open at the collar. His throat was the same bronze tone as his face. She could almost see him in the sun, his lean, chiseled features glazed by light.
    Gladiator. Warrior.
    King.
    “Because,” he said slowly, clearly, “the lawyers are here, the paperwork is ready and the agreement is to be signed now.” “Even if I don’t feel well?”
    His features tightened, his mouth compressing. “I should have known the games weren’t over.”
    Her hands knotted. “I’m not playing games—”
    “What do you want now? How do you intend to up the stakes? Are you holding out for ten million for each child?
    What is it this time?” “That’s insane!”
    “It is, isn’t it? But that’s how you play, Emmeline—”
    “No. You couldn’t be more wrong. I’m not changing anything or asking for anything other than a postponement so I can take some medicine and lie down and try to feel better.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I told you. I have a headache.”
    “Is that so?” His deep voice mocked her even as his gaze examined her, slowly scrutinizing her appearance from the top of her head down to her toes.
    Hannah could see herself in his eyes—her perfectly coiffed French twist, the rich plum of her dress and the expensive designershoes. She’d dressed smartly, elegantly, knowing that when she left the palace this morning she needed to look every inch the royal princess.
    “Yes,” she answered, lifting her chin, staring him in the eye, daring him to call her a liar. She’d been raised by a tough man. Her father didn’t tolerate fools, either, but her father had also taught her that men were to be gentlemen. Men were to treat women properly—which meant with kindness and respect. And Zale Patek was definitely not treating her with respect right now. “But if you don’t believe me, would you like to call a doctor? Have him examine me? Would that reassure you, Your Majesty?”
    “That’s not necessary,” he said stiffly.
    “But I think it is. Clearly you doubt my sincerity. You’ve questioned my integrity—”
    “I haven’t.”
    “You have. You’ve been rude. Why? For what? A prenup?”
    Heat flared in his amber eyes, making them gold. “Your father was the one that wanted the contract. It was drawn up at his insistence and at great expense, so don’t put that one on me.”
    Hannah blanched. The contract had been Emmeline’s father’s idea? What kind of father was this King William of Brabant? He certainly didn’t sound supportive or loving.
    “Everyone is here because of you,” Zale added tersely. “Five lawyers, Emmeline. Two of whom flew in from your country, and one from overseas, and now I am to tell them to go to their rooms and twiddle their thumbs until the morning?”
    He had a point. But what was she to do? Sign as Emmeline? Impossible. “Yes,” she said firmly. “That’s exactly what you do when your future queen is ill and unable to make the meeting.”
    Zale drew a slow breath. He exhaled. A small muscle pulled