Promoted to His Princess Page 13

  The white cotton dress with the straps that tied at her shoulders was his favourite, mainly because it was so easy to take off, and so she put that one on then padded down the hallway, hungry and wondering where he was.

  They’d fallen into an easy rhythm over the past couple of days, one that consisted mainly of sex and food, followed by lazy conversation, sleep and then maybe a dip in the pool or a visit to the beach at the foot of the cliffs beneath the house, and a swim in the sea.

  Calista forgot about her control. Forgot about her armour. She loved that he flirted with her, making her laugh with his outrageousness, and then demanded that he teach her to flirt with him. She ended up being a natural and every time she made the gold in his eyes gleam and his beautiful mouth curve, it felt like a victory.

  But she was still missing one thing.

  She’d hoped that by forcing herself to tell him about her mother, he’d reciprocate with something about himself. To talk about the significance of the scars on his body and why he hadn’t wanted her to touch him, but he didn’t. He didn’t mention them again.

  Yet the more days that passed, the more desperate she was to know. That it was a painful topic, she understood, and she didn’t want to cause him pain. But talking about her mother with him and having his fierce protectiveness turned towards her had felt like balm to an aching wound. She hadn’t had someone care about her feelings, about how she’d been hurt, for a long time.

  And now she wanted to do the same for him. To be the balm to whatever wound had hurt him. Of course, she shouldn’t be wanting that, because that was getting emotional and emotions weren’t supposed to be part of what they had together.

  But that didn’t stop her wanting it.

  Voices drifted down the hall and she followed the sounds to the living room, pausing in the doorway as she discovered a restless Xerxes, pacing up and down in front of the windows, glaring at a tablet that had been propped up on the coffee table.

  On the screen, the king’s massive, powerful frame was stretched out behind a desk as he signed a stack of official-looking papers. It looked a little strange. Adonis Nikolaides, the Lion of Axios, was a man built for the battlefield, not the boardroom.

  ‘I don’t know why you simply assumed I would lie for you, Xerxes,’ Adonis was saying, not looking at the camera, signing the paper in front of him and then putting it to one side before picking up another and scanning it quickly. ‘She’s already pregnant, and besides, a love affair between an infamous playboy and a palace guard is the stuff of fairy tales. No one will ever believe it, especially not given your reputation.’

  Xerxes had his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. ‘If the press release comes from you, Adonis, people will believe it.’

  His brother looked up from the stack of papers, his blue eyes glacial. ‘Are you giving orders to your king?’

  Adonis’ deep voice was mild, but Xerxes clearly wasn’t deceived. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘I’m giving orders to my stubborn-as-hell, hidebound brother.’

  ‘A king does not condone a lie,’ Adonis said implacably.

  ‘A king can bend the rules however he likes,’ Xerxes shot back. ‘I won’t have any hint of improper behaviour attached to Calista’s name, are we clear?’

  Her heart gave a little kick against her breastbone, though she wasn’t sure why, when he was defending his reputation as well as hers. Then again, the way he’d said it made it sound as if he cared about how it would affect her, too.

  Did you really expect him not to?

  Maybe not. He’d been nothing but wonderful to her the last couple of days.

  ‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before you took her to bed,’ Adonis was saying, glancing back down at his papers and pulling another one towards him.

  There was a pause as Xerxes came to a stop, glaring hard at the tablet. ‘Are we going to go there, then? Are you going to tell me that I owe you my life? Remind me of the promise I made to you when I returned? The promise I broke? Are you going to make me beg for it, brother?’ His eyes glittered with a very real anger. ‘Because I have to tell you, I’ve been there, done that, and for your sake, already.’

  Some kind of fierce expression flickered across Adonis’ granite features, but it was gone so fast Calista wasn’t sure if it had been there at all. ‘You know I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m not our father, Xerxes.’

  ‘But the throne is more important than anything else, am I right?’

  ‘More important than what you want?’ Adonis said. ‘Yes.’

  There was a pause.

  Xerxes said nothing, gazing at the tablet, his jaw tight, his figure tense.

  ‘She matters to you, doesn’t she?’ Adonis was looking directly at the camera now and Calista’s gut lurched. She shouldn’t be here, eavesdropping like a spy. This was a private conversation and she didn’t need to hear it.

  You want to, though.

  No, of course she didn’t. Yet she didn’t move.

  ‘Will you help her?’ Xerxes demanded, not answering the question. ‘She’ll be a royal princess, after all, so keeping her pregnancy out of the news until we’re married will be in your interests as well.’

  Adonis was silent. Then abruptly he looked away, back to his stack of papers. ‘You’re causing a scandal, Xerxes. But I suppose that’s nothing new. Very well. You can have your story of some kind of ridiculous love affair, and I’ll back you up. I’ll give you my approval to marry her.’ He picked up another piece of paper. ‘But if you’re unfaithful to her, if you create another scandal for me to deal with, then make no mistake, I’ll strip you of your titles and banish you a second time. Is that understood?’

  Calista took a breath at the ice in the king’s voice. There was no give in it, none whatsoever.

  ‘Yes,’ Xerxes bit out. ‘Your Majesty.’ Then he reached forward, touching the screen of the tablet, and Adonis disappeared.

  He straightened, his back to Calista, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans once more. ‘You saw all of that, I take it?’

  Shock coursed down Calista’s spine. He’d known she was there all along.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She pushed herself away from the doorframe. ‘I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.’

  Xerxes turned slowly to face her.

  His gaze was dark and absolutely unreadable, and he didn’t smile, the warm, easy lover of the past few days vanishing. He was so tense, she wanted to go to him and put her hands on his shoulders and massage it away.

  Yet some instinct told her that he wouldn’t welcome it, so she stayed where she was.

  ‘What’s the issue?’ she asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

  ‘He’s very concerned with appearances and didn’t want to condone the story I gave him about us having a love affair.’

  ‘Oh,’ she murmured, not sure what else to say.

  ‘He thinks no one will believe it.’ Bitterness had crept into his voice. ‘Apparently the idea that I might genuinely care about someone is utterly preposterous.’

  She scanned his face, noting the anger glittering still in his eyes. ‘And do you care?’

  His gaze focused on her, his expression sharp and edged. Then he turned away, striding over to the windows and pausing in front of them, looking out over the sea beyond. ‘No, of course I don’t. Why would you think otherwise?’

  But that bitterness in his voice gleamed bright as a blade and she knew suddenly what it meant.

  He’d been so fierce when she’d told him about her parents, his gaze so concerned... Of course he cared.

  She crossed the space between them, stopping behind him, staring at his strong, powerful back. There was so much tension in his posture. Was it just his brother’s refusal to lie? Or was it something else? Something to do with their father?

  A sudden memory of the ferocity in his eyes as she’d touched
that scar on his stomach flashed before her. He hadn’t stopped her since, but she hadn’t asked about it since.

  It had something to do with that, she was sure.

  ‘Why are you so angry with him?’ she asked into the silence of the room, the urge to touch him, give him some comfort, almost overwhelming.

  Xerxes gave a short laugh. ‘Who? My brother? It’s not him I’m angry with.’

  ‘Then who? Your father?’

  He turned his head to the side, his perfect profile hard. ‘If you want me to give you something, you’d better get naked first.’

  Calista didn’t move because she knew him better now and she knew when she’d touched a nerve. ‘Don’t snap at me,’ she said softly. ‘Not when it’s not me you’re angry with. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? I already gave you something, remember? But you never reciprocated.’

  For a second he remained silent, then he turned suddenly, the gold bright in his eyes. But it wasn’t warm. It was icy, hard. Frozen.

  Threat radiated from him, danger charging the air around them, but she’d never been afraid of him before and she wasn’t now. He was the tiger forced into a corner, left with nowhere to go but to attack.

  ‘Is that so?’ He laughed, the sound cold. ‘Give me one reason why I should.’

  She stared back, not giving ground. ‘Because you promised.’

  He cursed, low and filthy. ‘What do you want to know? The details of my capture? How I put that pill in my mouth every day but couldn’t make myself swallow it? How I justified my own cowardice by thinking that perhaps my father wouldn’t want me to die? That he would come for me? Or perhaps you want something else?’ He stepped back from her and suddenly pulled his T-shirt up and off in one fluid movement, baring his magnificent chest. He flung the T-shirt onto the floor, fury suddenly stark on his face. ‘Perhaps you want to know about the interrogation games my father played. How one day, when I was thirteen, a man in a mask kidnapped me from my room. He blindfolded me, took me to a stone cell and tied me to a chair. Shone a light in my eyes. Told me that I had to give him the palace layout, details of guard movements, everything, or he would hurt me. I held out against the knife.’ His hand dropped to the slashes across his stomach. ‘I held out against the burns.’ His fingers brushed some shiny round scars. ‘He broke my finger and I held out against that, too. But then he told me he had Adonis in the next room and that if I didn’t tell him everything, he would kill him. I didn’t believe him, but then he played me the sound of Adonis shouting for help on his phone. So...’ Xerxes was breathing fast, his chest rising and falling as if he were running a race. ‘I told him. I told him everything.’

  The look on Xerxes’ face drove all the air from her lungs. She couldn’t breathe.

  ‘But that wasn’t the worst part,’ he went on, his voice vibrating with rage. ‘The worst part was after, when I’d given up everything, when I thought I’d killed my family, destroyed my country, the man pulled his mask off and it turned out to be my father. None of it was real. It was a test. And I failed it.’ His mouth twisted. ‘He made no bones about how disappointed he was in me. He’d seen me being friends with the daughter of one of the palace staff and thought I needed a lesson in detachment. He expected me to fail it and I did. Because I was weak. I’d let my love for my brother overrule my love for my country. And I would have to prove myself to him if I wanted to claim my title of Defender of the Throne, because a defender was supposed to protect the throne, not betray it.’

  Calista’s heart squeezed in her chest at the anguish and rage in his eyes, sympathy for him hitting her unexpectedly hard. As a soldier, torture was something that was always a possibility. But not for a teenager. And to be tortured by his own father, a parent who was supposed to protect him...

  That was nothing short of a betrayal.

  And you know what that feels like.

  ‘He threatened your brother,’ she said fiercely. ‘How were you to know it wasn’t real?’

  ‘That was the whole point, though.’ His voice was harsh. ‘I was supposed to think it was real. And I was supposed to hold out. It was a test of my strength and I failed it.’

  ‘You were thirteen!’ She took a step towards him, her own anger rising, but not at him. At the man who’d hurt him. Who’d given him a test as a teenage boy that even a battle-hardened soldier would have trouble passing. ‘How can you blame yourself for that?’

  ‘Easily.’ There was contempt on his face, but it was clear it was aimed at himself. ‘I broke again in the desert. I should have taken that pill and I didn’t. I lived when I should have had the guts to die.’

  ‘Xerxes,’ she said hoarsely. ‘You did it—’

  ‘I did it to prove a point. To prove to my father that I wasn’t weak, that I was stronger than he thought I was. That my rightful place was beside my brother.’ The fury in his eyes abruptly drained away. ‘But all I proved was how flawed I was. How I let my emotions get in the way of my country’s security.’

  She knew how that felt. Hadn’t she felt it herself? The desire to prove that she was strong, that she could be what her father wanted her to be. That she wasn’t the foolish girl who’d betrayed her mother. That she was loyal.

  Yes, she knew. And she knew, too, the pain of failing. Of not being strong enough, no matter how hard she tried.

  Her heart twisted and she wanted to touch him, but he’d turned away.

  ‘I did it again that night with you,’ he said, his voice distant.

  She caught her breath, not expecting that. Not expecting the bolt of hurt that came with it either. ‘Do you regret it?’ she asked, unable to help it even though she knew she shouldn’t, because it would reveal far too much.

  He didn’t move for a second, not looking at her. Then he glanced back and this time the gold in his eyes burned hot. ‘No.’ He looked down at her stomach for a beat. ‘You and our child are my second chance.’

  That’s all you are? His second chance?

  The thought was barbed and oddly painful. Which was strange, because since when did she want to be more than that to him? Since when did she want to be anything at all to him?

  Since the night he set you free. You want to be his sunshine the way you could never be your mother’s.

  No. She didn’t. She would enjoy his company, enjoy spending time with him, but nothing more. Even the sympathy and hurt for him, the anger she felt on his behalf for what his father had done to him, all the strangely intense emotions currently tying knots in her chest, shouldn’t be there.

  She had to pull back. Had to wall herself off, find her armour again. Emotions hurt, they destroyed. They made her weak and she couldn’t be weak.

  But she didn’t want to leave him with nothing, so she came closer, reaching out to touch him, to offer him what she could, because he’d done the same for her down by the pool that day.

  Her fingers brushed over the scar of the knife, the scar his father had put on him, and she looked up into his eyes. ‘You held out,’ she said with quiet ferocity. ‘You held out as long as you could against superior forces and you were thirteen. Yes, you broke, but you didn’t give up. You kept on fighting. Even in the desert, when you were captured, you didn’t give up.’ She touched another scar, one of the burns. ‘Don’t be ashamed of these. These are marks of strength, Xerxes. Taking that pill would have safeguarded the secrets of the country, too, it’s true, but in a way, it’s also an escape, don’t you think?’ She moved her hand, brushing another scar. ‘A way out. You could have left it all behind for everyone else to deal with. But you didn’t. You stayed. And when you left Axios, it was because you were banished, not because you ran away.’

  ‘Calista—’

  ‘You came back again, too, didn’t you? Your brother called you home and you answered. You didn’t have to; you could have stayed in Europe. Who would blame you after what your father did to you? But you d
idn’t. You came back to a country that condemned you, to make it right. To claim your rightful place at your brother’s side. And that’s not weakness, Xerxes. That’s strength.’ She stared at him, willing him to see the conviction in her eyes, not sure why this mattered to her so very much, only that it did. ‘That’s endurance.’ Her hand lifted to his heart and she placed her palm over it. ‘I don’t see a coward when I look at you. I see a hero.’

  * * *

  She stood in the sunlight coming through the windows, the white fabric of her dress highlighting the deep gold of her skin. Her hair tumbled down her back, shining, all the colours deep chestnut, caramel, gold and gilt and every other colour in between.

  She looked like a woman, but the expression on her face as she looked at him was that of a warrior, a soldier. Direct and fierce, and full of pride.

  A hero, she’d said. And when she looked at him that way, he almost felt like one. Could almost believe he wasn’t flawed, that he hadn’t let anger and bitterness eat away at him, corroding him like rust in an iron bar.

  ‘Do you really believe that?’ He tried to make it sound as if he didn’t care either way, but he knew he’d failed.

  He wanted her to believe it. He was desperate for her to believe it, because if she did, then perhaps there was some hope for him after all.

  Strange to think about hope. He hadn’t ever thought about it before, had never even noticed the lack. But he did now...oh, he did now.

  Her fingers were light on his skin, gentle, and her touch hurt for some reason, but he didn’t push her away.

  ‘Yes.’ Conviction shone in her eyes. ‘I do.’

  The anger inside him, the bitter self-loathing, melted away like snow under spring sunshine.

  She saw strength in him. She saw a hero. How could he not believe her? If she thought he was one, then perhaps it was true. Perhaps there was indeed hope.