Why shouldn’t she run? She could leave with Rhystan and never look back. But what if Markham was telling the truth and he was already gone? Her heart battled with her head, reason warring with impossible dreams. But in the end, Sarani knew she couldn’t abandon her people, not when she had any shred of power left in her. She had a voice and she would use it, even if her new husband tried to muzzle her.

Quelling her protesting heart, she reached for a piece of parchment and a quill before hesitating. It was not the done thing for an unmarried lady to write to a gentleman, but Sarani couldn’t bear the thought of Rhystan not knowing why she hadn’t come, if he did show up to the inn. She had to explain why she’d broken her promise to meet him. Perhaps it was in the face of her own sorrow or perhaps it was because, deep down, she felt like she’d wronged him somehow. But he had to know the truth, even if he’d already been sent away for good. Her message might never reach him, but she had to try.

She asked her houseboy Tej to deliver the note in secret to Sanjay at the Flying Elephant, in the event that it would get to Rhystan. It was short and precise, conveying nothing of her inner heartbreak.

Commander Huntley,

I am to marry an earl, a peer of the realm, at my father’s behest. Please understand that this is my duty. I wish you peace upon your return to your home. Be happy, Rhystan.

Sincerely, Sarani Rao, Princess of Joor

She agonized about how to sign it. Yours had come to mind. But she wasn’t his. She didn’t even belong to herself.

She belonged to Joor.

Four

Hullo, Rhystan.

Two whispered words that felt like lead ballast and shot him five years into the past reverberated in his whisky-soaked head. The melodious hum of her voice prickling over his skin hadn’t changed. Nor had its effect on him, clearly. Her jasmine-scented skin was pure opium, threatening to suck him down into its dark, sultry depths. Rhystan knew where that road led—he’d been there, and it had nearly destroyed him. He fought the pull with everything in him.

What the devil is the bloody Princess of Joor doing here?

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here,” she said. Dimly, he debated whether he’d bellowed the question. He lifted an eyebrow in expectant silence, and she ducked beneath his arm to put some space between them. “I’m Lady Lockhart, you see.”

He blinked, turning. “Lady who?”

“Lockhart. My manservant came to see you yesterday. About passage to England?”

Fighting past the fog in his brain, Rhystan recalled the boy who had offered him money. He distinctly recalled telling both Thornton and the servant no in no uncertain terms.