Christmas In The King's Bed (Mills & Boon Modern) (Royal Christmas Weddings, Book 1)
Page 1
His royal bride of convenience:
Unwrapped and undone!
Orion is determined to rule his once-dissolute kingdom with integrity and respect. That means honoring his betrothal to Lady Calista Skyros, a woman whose father deals in scandal—and who threatens his unwavering self-control...
Calista knows her royal marriage was brokered by blackmail, but she has her own reasons for accepting Orion’s hand. Yet her husband shocks her with his demand for complete honesty. And as her first Christmas as queen approaches, her unstoppable desire for the king becomes her most dangerous truth of all!
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award–nominated author CAITLIN CREWS loves writing romance. She teaches her favourite romance novels in creative writing classes at places like UCLA Extension’s prestigious Writers’ Programme, where she finally gets to utilise the MA and PhD in English Literature she received from the University of York in England. She currently lives in the Pacific Northwest, with her very own hero and too many pets. Visit her at caitlincrews.com.
Also by Caitlin Crews
My Bought Virgin Wife
Unwrapping the Innocent’s Secret
Secrets of His Forbidden Cinderella
The Italian’s Pregnant Cinderella
Once Upon a Temptation collection
Claimed in the Italian’s Castle
Stolen Brides collection
The Bride’s Baby of Shame
The Combe Family Scandals miniseries
The Italian’s Twin Consequences
Untamed Billionaire’s Innocent Bride
His Two Royal Secrets
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
Christmas in the King’s Bed
Caitlin Crews
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09858-8
CHRISTMAS IN THE KING’S BED
© 2020 Caitlin Crews
Published in Great Britain 2020
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Extract
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
“YOUR BETROTHED IS waiting for you, sire,” came the diffident voice of King Orion’s personal steward from behind him. “In your private salon, as requested.”
Orion murmured his thanks, but didn’t turn around. He kept his brooding gaze on his beloved country, laid out before him in the November sun. This view from the heights of the palace took in the largest town on the main island that made up the kingdom of Idylla, a sweep of stark-white buildings with the blue Aegean beyond. He had always loved this view. In the long, dark days of his father’s tumultuous, dissolute reign—meaning, the whole of Orion’s life until a few months ago—he had often stood here. He had gazed out on the splendor of the tiny kingdom that had endured so many wars, regime changes, and horrors in its time, yet still stood.
He had told himself that Idylla would survive his father, too.
And he had spent long hours imagining what he would do differently when it was his turn to rule. How best he could honor and serve his people, who deserved so much better than what they’d had in King Max.
Orion had vowed he would do whatever it took to erase his people’s memories of his father’s excesses and scandals. Whatever it took to restore peace and serenity to the island kingdom.
But now the time had come to do just that.
And he did not want any part of it.
“‘Your betrothed,’” echoed his brother, Prince Griffin, in the lazily sardonic tone that matched the way he lounged in his preferred armchair, there before the fireplace that took up the better part of one wall. “You do know that you’re the king now, Orion—don’t you? I was there when they put the crown on your head.”
“Do you mean when you swore an oath of fealty to me?” Orion asked mildly, without turning around. “Feel free to enact it.”
“Yes, yes, my entire life is an act of homage to my liege,” Griffin murmured in the same tone. He paused a moment. “You could also choose not to be betrothed. Then make it law. Again—you are the king. You can do as you like. I would have thought that was the main benefit of the whole thing.”
Orion could do just that. Of course he could. But there were factors at play that Griffin didn’t know about and, more important, Orion had given his word. Their father had gone back on his word habitually. Constantly. King Max’s word had been meaningless.
Orion had no intention of being anything like his father.
“If I did such a thing I would be no better than him,” he said quietly, to the only other person alive who knew how seriously he took these things.
“You were born better than him,” Griffin retorted, a familiar harshness in his voice that always acco
mpanied any discussion of their late, unlamented father.
Because King Max had not simply been a bad monarch, though he was that. In spades. He had been a far worse father than he’d been a king, and a terrible husband to their mother to boot.
But this was not the time to compare scars.
The future Orion had promised his people was here. He was that future. And he had no intention of breaking his promises. His earliest memories were of the vows his father had broken, one after the next, as if it was a game to him. He had betrayed his family and his country with the same carelessness. Orion would do neither.
No matter how little he liked what he needed to do next.
When he’d been sixteen, he had made a vow to the pack of reporters who had followed him about, clamoring for the crown prince’s take on his father’s every scandal. He had told them with all the ringing intensity of youth that he would live a blameless, honorable, scandal-free life.
Orion had gone to extraordinary lengths to keep that promise.
He saw no reason to stop now.
“Then I will leave you to your martyrdom,” his younger brother said. “I know how you love it.”
Orion turned, then. Griffin grinned at him, then rose—as wholly unrepentant as ever. He stretched like a cat instead of a prince, because he had always taken great pleasure in flaunting his physicality at every turn.
The spare could do as he liked. The heir, on the other hand, had always to think first of the kingdom.
Their father had apparently missed that lesson, but Orion had stamped it deep into his bones.
“Duty comes for us all, brother,” he said lightly.
Or lightly for him, in any case.
“I haven’t forgotten what I promised you,” Griffin replied. “Even though, obviously, you could wave your autocratic pinkie and save us both from our fates.” He let out a long, delighted laugh when Orion only frowned at him. “Please spare me another lecture on what we owe our subjects. Or your subjects, more like. I’ve heard it all before. I, too, will commit myself to blamelessness. Soon.”
“It becomes no less true in the retelling,” Orion said with what he hoped was quiet dignity. Instead of what he actually felt. That being the lowering realization that if he could, he would shirk this betrothal in a heartbeat, no matter what destruction that might cause. He would wave the royal pinkie—
But he did not break vows. To himself, to others, or to his people.
That had to be the beginning and the end of it, or who was he?
Griffin rolled his eyes at his older brother and king as if he could read Orion’s mind. He likely could. He lifted a hand, then prowled his way out of Orion’s private office. No doubt off to despoil virgins, carouse, and enjoy the last days of the scandalous reputation he’d built for himself as possibly the most unrepentant playboy in the history of Europe.
Orion stood where he was, a muscle in his jaw flexing with a tension and fury he couldn’t control.
You are controlling it, he told himself stoutly. Because, unlike your father, you are always in control. Always.
And always, always would be. That was one more promise he’d made himself.
He blew out a breath, there where even Griffin couldn’t see him.
And then there was nothing for it. Putting off his unpleasant duty wasn’t going to make it any better. It wasn’t going to save him from the unwelcome task he had no choice but to perform.
Like everything else in his life, he was simply going to have to do what must be done, no matter what.
His personal feelings were irrelevant and always had been.
He had learned that beyond any reasonable doubt when, at seventeen, he’d been the one to discover his mother, the queen, after she’d taken her own life. And when his father had proved unequal to the task of handling her funeral—preferring to decamp to the Caribbean with a brace of starlets on each arm—Orion had stepped in to handle it.
Not because he’d wanted to handle it. He’d been seventeen. Still considered a child by some. But despite his feelings and his youth, he’d handled it because it needed to be handled.
As the years passed, his father had increased his vile behavior, made ever more unhinged demands, and had shirked more and more of his royal duties. Orion had stepped in and shouldered the load, each and every time.
He’d been doing the lion’s share of the monarch’s actual work for a decade, but always with the knowledge that at any moment, on the slightest whim, his father could and likely would sweep in and undo all his work.
Today was an example of the old king’s machinations from beyond the grave, in point of fact, and it was the same as it ever had been. As if he was still alive to ruin lives. Orion would have to do what needed doing, not because he wanted to do it. But because it was for the good of Idylla.
He pushed away from the window and headed for his door, automatically checking his appearance in one of the mirrors as he passed. Not because he was vain, but because he was the crown. And in contrast to his father’s visible, heedless decline, he wished to look above reproach—and as much like the official photographs of himself—as possible.
Because that helped his people feel secure.
Everything Orion did was to make Idylla better. To convince his people that all was well, that he could be trusted, that the years of shame and scandal were behind them all. Part of that was presenting them with an image of a king they could believe in.
One that was as opposite his father’s slovenly appearance in his last years as possible.
Orion looked presentable enough, and left his office, moving swiftly now that he’d stopped stalling the inevitable.
He might not wish to be betrothed, but he was. And that meant he was getting married, because a broken betrothal was a broken promise—a scandal in the making—and he would allow neither.
No matter what happened.
The palace corridor outside his office was quieter than it had been while his father was alive, when Orion’s staff had always rushed to and fro, always in one crisis or another as they’d all done their best to anticipate and/or manage the king’s mercurial decisions. Becoming king had actually eased Orion’s duties in many ways, because he no longer had to spend 89 percent of his time conjuring up ways to handle the fallout of each and every one of King Max’s contradictory decrees.
Competent, reserved, and sane. Those were Orion’s goals as king.
Idylla had been the world’s punch line for far too long. It ended now.
His betrothed might not know it yet, she might have her own agenda, for all he knew—but despite who she was and what she represented, she would fall in line with the goals of his new regime.
One way or the other.
Or she would pay the price.
He headed toward his private salon, nodding at courtiers and staff as he went. No one approached him, which told him he probably ought to do something about his expression.
But he didn’t.
Because he was not his brother, who could produce a smile from the ether on command, then wield it like a weapon. Orion had not spent years perfecting a smile, thank you, when he’d had a kingdom to run and a rogue monarch to manage. His face did what it would.
He opened the door to his private salon briskly, prepared to lay out his plans and his expectations—
But the room was empty.
Orion blinked. He prided himself on being approachable, and no particular stickler for courtly etiquette, but he was still the king. Even as the crown prince, there was only one person who had ever dared keep him waiting—and his father was dead.
This was not an auspicious beginning to matrimonial life.
A moment later he realized the French doors that opened out onto one of the balconies was ajar. He frowned, because this was not part of his plan. Moreover, he would have laid odds—not that h
e ever gambled the way his father had—that his betrothed would have been eager for this meeting he’d been putting off for the better part of two years. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d stood just inside the door, waving one of her father’s tabloids in his face while crowing about her victory and his capitulation.
He’d expected as much, in fact.
And perhaps that wasn’t fair, he thought, because he prided himself on fairness, too. Or tried. The truth was, he knew very little about Lady Calista Skyros, the woman he was meant to marry. Because no matter what he liked to thunder at his brother, he too had been holding out hope that he wouldn’t have to do this.
Lady Calista was the eldest daughter of perhaps the single most vile citizen of the kingdom of Idylla, now the old king was dead. Aristotle Skyros had been born into Idyllian nobility, had ponced about in between various universities—getting sent down from each in turn—and had blown through his own fortune by the age of twenty-three. Luckily for him, his appalled father had died shortly thereafter, with no choice but to leave his considerable estate in his disappointing son’s hands. According to the many interviews he gave on his favorite topic—himself—Aristotle had disliked the seven months of so-called destitution he’d experienced and had thus vowed to do better with his second fortune.
Annoyingly, he had. He now owned a sprawling media empire, almost entirely made up of the kind of tabloid filth that made anyone who looked at it dirty. And those who were featured against their will in his snide, insinuating columns and slickly produced shows could never make themselves clean again.
As Orion knew personally.
When his father had announced, three years ago, that he had arranged Orion’s eventual marriage, Orion had not bothered to argue about it. There was no point fighting his father, especially not when the old king was deep in his cups, which was where he’d preferred to live. Orion had assumed that if he waited it out, his father would reverse himself. Possibly within the hour—another thing that happened with alarming regularity.