Arabessa was suffering. Just as he was. You fool! he wanted to cry. It did not have to be this way. But it was. She had refused him, broken him, and still he wanted to rush to her, pull her from the stage and stay her pain. Zimri wanted to wrap her in his arms and demand she forget reason and duty and his promises made to dead parents. They needed to be together. But only her king and father could demand anything of Arabessa Bassette. Duty. Arabessa’s guiding compass. One that was apparently failing her now.
