MAID FOR A PRINCE: (Book 1) (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way) (6 page)

Darius bolted off—long strides up the hillside, strong arms pumping. Helene grabbed that armful of flowers and her shell then hurried after him.

He was right. She was no match for his speed. He got so far ahead she actually lost sight of him. Out of breath, with a trail of flowers scattered behind her, she jogged around a bend—and there he was, chest heaving, a big cheeky grin on his face.

Then he set off again.

By the time Helene stumbled in through the villa’s doorway, she’d lost all the flowers. Darius stood there panting, his eyes filled with intent. He closed the distance separating them, his mouth covered hers and their bodies—breathless and hungry—roped together.

Sometime later, in her bedroom, naked and tangled up in the sheets, Darius pushed up on his elbow and searched Helene’s eyes. Smiling softly, she looked as sated as he felt.

Not possible.

She stole a loving kiss and lingered close to say, “I have a feeling the dishes won’t get done today.”

His fingers curved around her cheek. “Who cares about dishes?”

“I’m supposed to.”

“Not anymore.”

“We can’t spend all day in bed. I mean…can we?”

Darius only kissed her again.

Rolling onto his side, he kept her close while his hands wove across her arm and back. But she was responding the way she had earlier. She seemed…hesitant. Then Darius kicked himself. He was an idiot. He was pushing too hard, too fast and all at once.

But then she literally stiffened.

Drawing away, he searched her eyes. Had he hurt her? “Helene, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Except…” She winced. “You don’t feel even a bit bad about this?”

Seriously? “How could this possibly feel bad?” When her gaze dropped away, he made himself clear. “Helene, I don’t regret this.”

She looked up again and then over his shoulder. To the safe?

He wanted to laugh. “Don’t tell me you feel like we have company?” The figurine?

“It’s dumb, I know. But you spend so much time in here with her alone. Just then, when I thought about it…” She gave an awkward shrug. “I felt like I was intruding somehow.”

When he chuckled, her smile crimped to one side, but her gaze shifted again to that safe. He looked over, too.

“Would it help if I brought her out?” he asked. “You could see that she hasn’t come to life. That she isn’t jealous.”

“That’s got to be against tradition.”

“We’re not exactly going by the book here.”

“And that doesn’t make you nervous?”

He gently twined strands of flaxen hair around a finger. “Having you here with me like this doesn’t make me feel nervous at all. It feels good.”

It felt…right. 

Before he could think about that too much, he eased away. He’d show her the figurine one more time. But he’d clean up first.

After Darius had disappeared into the attached bathroom, Helene studied the safe again. She did feel a little strange knowing the figurine was waiting quietly behind that thick steel door. Not because she felt any ancient mystical powers wafting around the room—what had happened between herself and Darius had happened naturally. No otherworldly powers involved. Although…

She could admit that every moment she’d spent in his arms had seemed totally magical. They’d made love—unbelievable superlative love—and it wasn’t over yet.

With a towel wrapped around his hips, Darius walked back into the room. His smile was gone. His complexion looked almost chalky. He sat on the edge of the mattress and took her hand in his while she pulled herself up.

“Something’s wrong,” she said.
Very, very wrong
.

“Probably nothing.” He gave a thin smile. “We’d have to be pretty unlucky.” His gaze lowered before his shoulders straightened and jaw tipped up. “The condom leaked. Must have had a split…a hole.”

Helene’s mouth dropped open and her heart hit the floor.

Earlier, when they’d reached his bedroom and there was no going back, she was relieved to know he had protection on hand because she didn’t. She wasn’t using any kind of contraception. She didn’t have a boyfriend back home. She hadn’t intended on falling into bed with anyone while she was away.

What good were intentions now?

She must have gone pale, looked ill, because he strode over and sat on the bed beside her. “It’s okay. I don’t want you to worry.”

“Uh, too late.”

“I had to say something.”

She swallowed deeply, got her whirling thoughts together and nodded. “Of course you did.”

He pressed a kiss to her furrowed brow. “Some couples try for years to…well, to…”

“Get pregnant?”

Certainly, in some cases, creating a baby wasn’t an easy matter. Plenty of couples used IVF. Others didn’t become parents no matter how long they tried.

But every high school student knew―sex ed was clear. It only took one time. And
this
particular time, she and Darius had a genuine fertility figurine sitting in the corner of the room.

Helene tugged the sheet out from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her. She needed space. She thought Darius might feel the same way.

“I might go pick some fruit for lunch,” she said.

He looked as preoccupied as she felt. It took a moment for him to smile and nod. “I’ll be out soon.”

She wandered through to the main room and scooped up the clothes she and Darius had tossed aside on their impatient way to his bedroom. In her quarters, she crossed to an arched window that overlooked the sea and, hugging the clothes, tried to think rationally.

She and Darius Vasily had made love. Protection had malfunctioned. So…what if the unthinkable happened? What if she were pregnant? Were cells already splitting and multiplying inside of her?

If she had conceived, obviously she would let nature take its course. She was all for women’s rights and understood personal choice, special circumstances. But for her, that wasn’t an option. Just like she could never think about giving a baby up for adoption.

Turning around, feeling exhausted, she heard something drop on the floor. Something small and hard. She looked down and saw the cockleshell she’d stuffed in her short’s back pocket skidding under an ornately carved wardrobe. She crossed over, knelt down, and swept an arm underneath to sweep it back out.

No luck.

Setting her cheek on the floor, she peered between the wardrobe’s clawed feet. The shell sat well back against the wall. Lying flat, she stuck her arm under again and reached as far as she could.  Her fingers grazed the shell’s cool smooth surface but the wardrobe was so deep, she couldn’t grab it. She tried to reach further and then, gritting her teeth, snatched. Her knuckles hit the wardrobe’s timber base. It fell on top of her arm—or at least part of it did.

As she slid her arm out, the base stayed behind, but a stray sheet of paper came out. One side was covered in writing—sentences penned in English. Rolling onto her back, Helene held the paper above her head and read the first line.

The world had gone mad.

She studied the edges of the yellowed page. It smelled old, too. She swept her hand under the wardrobe again and carefully extracted more sheets. Assembling them in some order, she moved to the window-seat and began to read.

Darius sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tight as he stared at the safe and thought over the steps—or missteps—that had led to this point.

While he respected the importance of tradition and valued the legacy handed down, his more educated side said that a block of stone—no matter how revered—could not influence whether sex between two people would bear fruit, so to speak. As much as he wished the condom had done its job, he’d been truthful with Helene. He didn’t regret a second of their time together. He wanted to be with her again.

No point dwelling on maybes.

He showered, dressed, and then ventured out to the kitchen. Helene was putting the final touches to a lunch platter. In her sleeveless shirt and shorts, she sent over a smile, but he caught a glint of wariness in her eyes. She grabbed two plates while he joined her behind the counter. He wasn’t hungry but to lighten the mood he put up a good front.

“I’m starved.”

“Boys like their food.”

He collected the platter. “When I was very young I liked to hang out in the kitchen. One of the cooks would let me watch her bake and help a little.”

“Bet she dished out a few treats along the way.” 

“My father was determined I should know about duty. Who I was and what was expected of me. But around that cook, I was just a kid who liked to lick the spoon. I’m sure she baked far more cakes than we needed.”

He followed Helene down the hall and out onto the balcony, smiling at a flashback—a man laughing as they kicked a ball.

“My uncle liked to indulge me, too,” he said.

“The uncle who abdicated?”

“He was a kind man. Patient.” There was a time Darius had wanted to grow up to be just like Uncle Galen. He’d been way less strict than his dad. “I loved Galen. So did my father. But when he renounced the throne, he was banished. No member of the family was permitted contact. I haven’t seen him since.”

“All because he fell in love with a woman who’d been married before?”

She set down the plates while he centered the platter. “People can be protective of their royals. There were rumors that she’d seduced my uncle in order to drain funds from our modest coffers to funnel to her ex-husband in Germany.”

“Like you said. Rumors.”

“Right. There’s no proof. But things got hairy.” Downright dangerous, in fact. “My uncle chose his personal life over his sovereign duty. It was up to my father to hold it all together.”

After they sat down, he poured the wine.

“I was in his office when he got word that a mob with guns had formed downtown.” Darius remembered that day vividly. The uncertainty. The fear. “My mother was out at the time. She got caught up in the crush. A special guard unit got her back safely. But after that, my father always made sure we understood. Never underestimate whispers that can turn into cries.”

“Wait. Your uncle had left. Your father had stepped up to help. Why would anyone want to hurt your family?”

“There was an element that saw my uncle’s mistake as a way to end Vasily rule forever.”

She seemed to think that over. “I guess there aren’t too many absolute monarchies left.”

He rubbed an ear. “I’m partial to them myself.”

She leaned across to pop a blueberry into his mouth. “And you’ll make one very cute king. Word on the main island is you’re pretty special.” When he put his head down and gave a modest laugh, she laughed too. “You don’t believe me?” 

“I’m just thinking about my sister. In her eyes, I’m a tyrant.”

“Teenage years are hard. And your sister’s lost both her parents. When my father passed away, I remember thinking that suddenly no one seemed to understand me. My mother was always nitpicking, always demanding that I listen. She didn’t understand that I deserved respect, too.”

“I don’t try to take my parents place where Tahlia is concerned. I only want her to finish her education before getting sidetracked, thinking about boys.”

“Um, sorry to tell you, but all teenage girls stress over make-up, clothes, hair, and boys—not necessarily in that order. How old is she exactly?”

“Just turned eighteen.”

“At that age, you want to stretch your wings, be your own person, to feel as if you can make your own decisions.”

He placed food on a plate and passed it over. “She likes a boy. A member of my staff.”

“Likes?”

“She says
loves
.” Grunting, he filled his own plate. “Tahlia’s naïve. Little more than a child.”

“That’s something my mother would say.”

“A person needs more than butterflies chasing around in their stomachs to make a relationship work.”

“My parents married at a young age and they were happy.” She shrugged. “Maybe your sister truly is in love.”

“Young love comes and goes. An education lasts a lifetime.”

She sat back. “Oh, dear.”

He frowned. “Oh dear what?”

“Haven’t you read Romeo and Juliet? The more you try to keep star-crossed lovers apart, the more they’ll fight to stay together.”

He set his jaw. “Tahlia will go to university in England.”

“Right. She’ll be safe from boys there.”

“I don’t want her to make a mistake.”

“Like your uncle made a mistake all those years ago?”

Darius’s gaze sharpened. He knew what Helene really wanted to say.

Like we made a mistake today
.

“Where’s your uncle now?” she asked.

“Living in the States.”

“Happily married?”

“I believe so.”

“Three cheers for love.”

“Not when it costs a man his kingdom.”

“I’m sure your uncle is happy with the kingdom he resides in now.”

He drummed a set of fingertips on the table. This woman was like a dog with a bone.

“We have three days left here,” he said. “Let’s pretend politics and family don’t exist.”

A teasing smile eased across her face. “So you’re just a regular guy taking some time off from the beat.”

“Just a regular guy.”

She raised her glass. “Well, here’s to boring obscurity.”

But as they drank, for the first time in his life Darius truly wondered how it would feel to lead an ordinary existence, to set sail on an adventure as Helene had done—as his uncle had done, too—and have no real plans for ever coming back.

Thankfully Helene changed the subject.

“Darius, your mother liked to read,” Helene said, digging into her meal. “Did she like to write, too?”

“You mean like a journal?”

“Or her own stories.”

“Not that I recall.”

Helene nibbled thoughtfully on some cheese then changed the subject again. “I might go down to the stables later and try to clean up the rest of that paint.”

He grinned.
Wait a minute
. “Why did you want to know whether my mother wrote?”

“No reason.”

He reached over and caught her hand. “Try again.”

“Well, this morning, after I left you, I kind of broke something. Actually, I think it was already broken. Or maybe it was a hidden lid. Like a trap door in reverse.”

He inwardly groaned.
Again?
“Something’s broken?”

“The bottom of the wardrobe in my room. That shell I brought back rolled underneath, and when I tried to rake it out…” She pushed to her feet. “I’ll show you?”

She led him through into her quarters and crossed to the window seat. Offering over a few sheets of yellowed paper, she sat down.

“Darius, read this.”

ᵿᵿᵿᵿᵿ

The world had gone mad. Leandros slapped away hot ash that drifted from a ring of burning pyres then grabbed a man rushing past. Ahmet was a well-respected merchant who dealt in fine cloth. Today his gaze was wild and, his garments were stained with soot and blood. Fisting his hands into the older man’s shirtfront, Leandros spoke fervently to his eyes.

“How long have they been gathered?”

“Since the early hours.” Ahmet growled, a sound drenched in venom and disgust. “Our king has disgraced his ancestors. He will bring misery upon us all. None here will sit on their hands while he flouts our laws to satisfy the whims of his whore.”

Ahmed spat at the dirt, shook himself free, and continued up Sangros Hill while pockets of chanting beat at the air like a drum.

Nearby a young boy wept for his mama. Scooping up the child, shielding his tear-stained face from the ash, Leandros set his jaw and pushed on. Behind soaring walls and ornate gates, a regiment of the royal guard stood erect with white-gloved hands poised on sabres and their expressions set beneath military cap. More guards sat mounted on horses that snorted, shied, and danced around.

Jostling and shoving, Leandros craned to see more over the palace’s turrets. Finger by finger, panic closed around his throat and squeezed. Where was the rest of the guard? Mutinied? Or perhaps inside the palace itself, a final bastion protecting lives they’d pledged to honor and defend.

Greeks were superstitious. Their nature was to watch for signs to appease the gods—to sacrifice. In Tierenias, female sexuality in its purest form was revered but not when the power was abused.

“There’s my boy!”

A woman who took in laundry for a wage broke through the rabble and swept her child from Leandros’s arms.

“Take him home,” he shouted over the din. “It isn’t safe.”

“And who is safe in times such as these? We mustn’t cower. We must right the wrong, and quickly.”

The boy pleaded, “Mama, please, home.”

But the woman only glared at Leandros through wings of frazzled hair and eyes dark with hate. “Spain was first, then Russia and Turkey. Now it is our king’s turn to fall.”

Although many believed the baby to be the fruit of another man’s loins, their king had nonetheless married and accepted his bride’s child as his own. Coffers had been stripped to fund the marriage ceremony’s gold-plated carriage as well as a ring studded with priceless jewels. Like ripples from a stone dropped mid-stream, rumors had spread, every minute growing louder. It was written that should a Tierenias king marry outside of appropriate pedigree, consequences would befall his house as well as the people of this Aegean twin-island state. There had not been the plagues or endless famine of which the laws spoke, but last week some unknown beast had slaughtered a flock of goats. Four days ago, three male infants had died of no apparent cause.

Now as that woman and her child disappeared into the crowd, Leandros scanned the expressions of his friends, people he’d known all his life. With news of more global conflict adding fuel to this unrest, panic as well as indignation lined every face.

Who had not lost in the Great War or in those wide-spread massacres in Asia Minor? And yet as the calls for blood rose louder, Leandros could think of only one life that mattered now—one soul with midnight hair and adoring crystalline eyes whom he cared for more than his own life.

Over past months they’d met beneath the shroud of late evening to talk, to kiss, to pet. Three nights ago, they’d dropped their clothes upon the pebbles and had run into the waters of a secluded bay. Beneath the claw of a shiny new moon, they’d swirled in the cool, locked in each other’s arms as they’d whispered and laughed and all the while touched. When he’d bounced her up, her legs had latched around his back and, sighing, she’d pressed in dangerously close.

By some miracle she remained a virgin still, although soon, Leandros vowed, he would have her, and for the rest of their lives. But not until he’d taken her far from here. Not until she was safe.

Nearby, a youth—the fisherman Paulo’s son—shouted, “Look! On the balcony.”

Leandros’s gaze flew up. High on a platform where kings addressed their subjects in times of celebration as well as despair, a shadowy figure opened the doors. Caught on the same sea breeze that fanned those pyre flames, sheer curtains billowed out and a woman appeared. She wore a simple white gown. A light veil covered her head. Desperate to see—hard bars eating into his temples, his cheeks—Leandros clung to the gate while a thudding pulse echoed in his ears.

The air was hazy. She was far away. He couldn’t be sure. Was it her?

Remembering the burning kisses and promises they’d shared, Leandros cursed himself a thousand ways. When he’d left to visit a neighboring island this morning, he ought to have taken her. They should have escaped together and—to hell with her royal duty—never come back. The woman seemed to float to the balcony’s farthest point before bowing her head, asking the mass to quiet down. When only the hiss and crackle from the pyres could be heard, the woman raised her arms to the churning smoke-filled sky.

She held that pose for a long tense moment until the crowd breathed as one and Leandros’s splintered nerves began to break. When he couldn’t stand another second, when he was compelled to scale this gate and act, the woman removed her veil. Before he could catch the face, know for sure, she sent up a keening prayer then, toppling forward, threw herself off.