Diana stood in the center of the room with her chin raised, but inside, her heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe.
“I love him,” she said again.
The king’s fingers tightened around the carved arms of his throne.
“You love dirt,” he said coldly. “You love poverty. You love a man who bends his back in another man’s field and sells bush meat by the roadside.”
Diana’s eyes filled with tears, but she did not step back.e had sent her overseas to study, dressed her in silk, raised her above every woman in the kingdom. She had returned educated, beautiful, admired, and ready—at least in his mind—to marry a prince, a millionaire, or the heir of a powerful family.
But instead, she had given her heart to a farmer.
A poor farmer.
A man with cracked hands, torn sandals, and a sick mother waiting for medicine in a hut that leaked when it rained.
“You will never see him again,” King Jifawan said.
Diana’s lips parted. “Father—”
“His name is Muniaka,” she said. “And his heart is worth more than every jewel in this palace.”
A gasp moved through the room.
The king rose.
For twenty-five years, Diana had been his pride, his treasure, his future. H
