"Why would you let her go?"
His father’s voice sliced through the stifling silence.
Asher didn’t look up. His fingers traced the rim of his mother’s favorite porcelain cup.
"She’s perfect to be your wife," his father pressed, his voice slick with the kind of calculated persuasion that had built empires and destroyed lives.
"Irony suits you, Father," Asher sneered, finally lifting his gaze.
"Or have you forgotten how you and Mother once called her a lowlife? A distraction?"
"The situation has changed," his father snapped, leaning forward. "She’s a princess now. A kingdom. The Arabian Sea itself at her back. And you’d spit on that kind of power?"
Asher let out a mirthless chuckle, the sound cold and jagged against the polished marble floors. "Ah, power. Your favorite currency. Tell
