The Most Powerful Of Kings (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Royal House of Axios, Book 2)

by Jackie Ashenden

  It was a good thing she stopped herself. Touching him would have been a bad idea.

  ‘Oh?’ There was concern in her voice now, too. ‘What happened?’

  And, looking into her steady grey eyes, he felt the strangest urge fill him, almost as if he wanted to tell her.

  To tell her about how, when he was seven, he and his mother had been carjacked on the way back to the palace from a function. How their enemies had been expecting the king to be riding with them and were disappointed, demanding to know where he was. And how his mother had refused to give away her husband’s location and so they’d hurt her. And because he’d loved her and because he was desperate to save her, Adonis had told them what she wouldn’t. She’d tried to grab one of their guns after that, to stop them, but they shot her.

  About how his father’s bodyguards had managed to hold off the resulting attack, though Xenophon had been injured. And how afterwards his father had told him that her death was his fault, that if Adonis had only been strong in the face of her pain, the palace guards might have been able to rescue them and her death might have been avoided.

  ‘Choose,’ his father had said after her funeral. ‘You must choose, Adonis. The throne must come before everything. Even before your own mother. You can be my son or you can be my heir, but you cannot be both.’

  He had chosen the throne, of course he had. His younger brother had been too little to take over and Adonis had always been the responsible one. And once his mother had gone, he’d only had his father left.

  Yes, he could tell her that.

  Or he could tell her how Xenophon had been extra-vigilant after his mother had died, making it his mission to ‘harden up’ his oldest son. He’d given Adonis a puppy and then, when the dog had grown, had given Adonis a gun and told him to kill it.

  Adonis hadn’t been able to. He’d been twelve and furious, weeping with rage at himself and his inability to do what his father had asked and shoot his beloved pet. He’d tried, but his heart had got in the way. Again, he’d been weak. In the end he’d had to give the dog to someone else—his father would only have killed the animal himself if Adonis hadn’t got rid of it—and hoped that that would be enough for his father.

  It wasn’t enough. Xenophon had punished him, told him that the lessons in detachment would continue until Adonis learned how to put his feelings completely to the side, because their enemies would show no mercy and so neither could Xenophon.

  Or he could tell her about how Xenophon had kidnapped Xerxes, hiding his own identity to test Xerxes’s strength and will, torturing him in a cell beneath the palace. He’d ensured that Adonis had been present behind a locked door, with instructions that he absolutely must not interfere. Adonis had had to sit there, listening to his brother’s cries, knowing that the moment he tried to get to Xerxes, Xenophon would only redouble his efforts. The only way to end Xerxes’s suffering was to do what his father wanted, to lock those feelings away, to endure.

  So he had. He’d turned his heart into a block of ice, into stone. A dead hearth in which nothing burned. It had been hard, because his emotions had always been fierce, raw things and he’d found it difficult to contain them.

  But he’d had to. For his mother’s sake. For his brother’s. For his country’s.

  Yes, he could tell her all those things. But he wouldn’t. They weren’t her burdens to bear; they were his.

  ‘No,’ he repeated, icily. ‘I’m afraid that’s none of your business, little nun.’

  That expression was in her eyes again, the one that made his chest hurt. And it made him angry for no good reason. Her hand was rising again and he knew she’d forget herself this time, and that couldn’t happen.

  ‘Anna.’ He kept his voice hard. ‘Don’t forget where we are.’

  She took a small, audible breath, her half-lifted hand dropping again. But the expression in her eyes didn’t change. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Her voice sounded small and he had the impression that she wasn’t apologising for forgetting herself, but for something else. Something deeper. It made him want to ask what she meant, but already he’d stood here too long. Already he’d spent too much time with her, especially when he had dozens of other people he had to talk to before the night was out.

  ‘Is that all?’ he asked without inflection. ‘Forgive me, I have many other commitments tonight.’

  It was a dismissal and he made sure it sounded like one, and he could see a bolt of hurt dart through her eyes. He didn’t like it, but there wasn’t any other way to handle this. Besides, she was the one who’d cornered him, not the other way around.

  He waited for her to curtsey and leave, but it took her a moment to realise that was what he was expecting. Finally she did, and dutifully sank down. Yet as she was rising he caught the sudden drain of colour in her pretty pink cheeks. And he saw her sway. And when her hand came out as if to grab hold of something he was there.

  And when she fell he caught her, holding her close as she fainted away in his arms.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ANNA CAME SLOWLY back to consciousness to the sound of a man talking quietly. He had a very deep voice that she found inexplicably soothing, and so she didn’t open her eyes immediately. She was lying on something hard and yet incredibly warm, that deep, gravelly voice was all around her, and she didn’t want to move. She felt safe and protected in a way she hadn’t for years, if ever, and, since she was tired, more tired than she’d ever felt in her life, she saw no reason to open her eyes.

  His voice continued and she drifted for a moment, content to be exactly where she was. Then he stopped talking and silence enveloped her. It was so warm and she was being held, and she didn’t want to wake up, so she didn’t, drifting back into unconsciousness for a little while longer.

  When she came to again, strong arms were still around her, and she was still warm, though a fresh breeze was playing around her ankles and moving over her face. There was movement too, as if she was being carried somewhere. She didn’t like it, so she turned her face into the hard warmth she was being held against, and determinedly kept her eyes closed.

  Some more time passed, and then a very loud noise rattled through her head, and it sounded so much like a helicopter starting up that she cracked open her eyes just to check.

  And then she blinked.

  Because it was true. She was being held tightly in someone’s lap and she was in a helicopter. A helicopter that was rising up into the night sky and soaring like a bird over the mountains, the lights of Itheus and the palace disappearing beneath it.

  Itheus...the palace...

  The king....

  The breath rushed into her lungs, memory swamping her.

  Of walking into the glittering crowds to find him, and then spotting him on his own at last, so tall and broad in black evening clothes, his position only given away by the aura of power that surrounded him. That and the discreet crowned lion fashioned in gold that was pinned to his lapel.

  He’d let her approach, watching her with those icy blue eyes, and she could feel something intense and strong pull inside her, something she’d been ignoring for weeks. And she’d known in that instant that it wasn’t just for Ione’s sake that she’d been trying to get a meeting with him. It was for herself as well.

  Because it wasn’t until he was right in front of her, the sheer magnetism of his presence drawing her, tugging at her, that she’d realised how much she’d been longing to see him again. Just once. Just to be near him.

  That longing had gripped her so hard she’d had to clasp her hands together to stop them from reaching for him. And it had taken everything she had not to ask him for another night. Or even five minutes and only to talk. But she had her pride and he’d been very clear, and besides, it was Ione that mattered, not herself.

  But it had been obvious that he neither wanted her, nor had the time to give his daughter.
>
  ‘Happiness is irrelevant. A ruler doesn’t need to be happy in order to rule...’

  He’d said that before mentioning his own unhappy childhood, and her heart had twisted. And, given that bleak statement, she might have called her mission a failure.

  Yet when she’d asked him to tell her about what had made that childhood so unhappy, she’d had the impression that he’d wanted to. Something had flickered deep in his eyes, a momentary glimpse of something more human. Something that had looked like pain.

  And that sense had assailed her once again, of his isolation. His loneliness. The mountain who had no one.

  It had made her heart twist in helpless sympathy.

  And she’d been desperate to know more. But then he’d dismissed her and the nausea she’d been fighting all day had turned over inside her and blackness had crawled along the edges of her vision. And then...nothing.

  Until she’d come to in someone’s arms.

  You know whose arms.

  She moved, her heartbeat racing, but a warm hand rested lightly on her head and a deep rumble of sound vibrated against her ear. The noise of the rotors prevented her from hearing what it was that he said, but his touch calmed her almost instantly.

  Of course it was him. His distinctive scent was around her, his heat soaking through the material of her gown, the steady, strong beat of his heart against her ear.

  She had no idea where she was going or why, but somehow that didn’t matter. And she wasn’t afraid. The king might be ice-cold, but he’d never hurt her.

  Anna relaxed against him and closed her eyes. She didn’t sleep, only let herself enjoy this endless moment, with the noise of the helicopter flying through the night somewhere mysterious, held in the strong arms of a king.

  But it ended far too soon.

  Anna’s eyes opened as the helicopter landed, the rotors slowing, and then cold air was washing around her, bringing the scent of the sea, and she was being carried in darkness along a lighted path.

  ‘I can walk,’ she protested, her voice sounding husky. She could hear waves crashing against a distant shore and smell salt in the air.

  ‘No,’ the king said. And, since there was no loosening of his hold on her and because she was actually quite happy where she was, she didn’t fight him.

  She did allow herself to look up though. The lights of the path illuminated his harsh, handsome features. They were set in hard lines, brutal as stone and just as unyielding, and she felt, for the first time, a little quiver of fear.

  Whatever had happened and wherever they were, it was because of something serious.

  Yet his hold was gentle, and he carried her effortlessly, and, even though there was that fear there, she kept herself relaxed.

  The path wound its way through a rocky garden to a small house constructed of white stone with lots of windows. It was lit with hidden lighting, making the place glow like alabaster, warm and inviting.

  So. Definitely not a prison, then. Not that she’d done anything wrong, but being transported in the dead of night was always a worry.

  A woman opened the double front doors as they approached, potted olive trees standing on either side, and then they were in a pretty tiled entranceway with plain whitewashed walls.

  The king said something Anna didn’t catch to the woman and then she stepped outside, shutting the doors behind her. Anna found herself carried down a short, wide hallway and through into a lounge area.

  Again, the floor was tiled, the walls whitewashed. Big windows faced the darkness, while luxurious low couches and chairs carved from heavy dark wood and covered in plain white linen were arranged around them. Thick cushions in jewel tones brought colour to the room, while on the floor was a cheerful rag-rolled rug in what looked like bright silks. The king walked to the couch and gently deposited her on it, but he didn’t sit. He only stood there, looking down at her, tall and forbidding in his black evening clothes, the golden lion pin gleaming on his breast.

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here,’ he said at last. ‘Anna, why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?’

  Anna blinked, not understanding. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You fainted in my arms. I had my own personal doctor attend you and he was able to run a number of blood tests. This included a pregnancy test to eliminate the possibility.’ The king’s face remained hard as granite. ‘It was not eliminated and is no longer a possibility. It is a reality.’

  She opened her mouth but nothing came out. A cold feeling moved through her, starting at her extremities, making her fingers and toes go numb. Shock. But then, she could only be shocked if it was true, surely. And it couldn’t be true. This was all a terrible joke that he was playing on her...

  But his hard expression didn’t change and his beautiful mouth looked as far from smiling as it ever had.

  It’s not a joke.

  The tiredness that had been dogging her, the nausea that had come and gone, making her feel so awful...

  Her lips were now numb and she couldn’t feel her hands either, or her feet. ‘But we used protection,’ she said faintly.

  ‘Protection that apparently failed.’ His gaze was so sharp it felt as if it could cut. ‘You didn’t know?’

  Anna shook her head. The possibility had never occurred to her, not once. And now... ‘I can’t be.’ Her voice sounded strange and distant. ‘My vows... Oh...’ Her heart was beating far too fast and she couldn’t breathe. All she could think about was the Reverend Mother and what she’d say, and this last, perhaps greatest mistake. There would be no place in the convent for her now...

  Helpless tears filled her eyes, loss gripping her. The convent had been the only home she’d ever known, the nuns the only people who’d ever wanted her, and she’d tried so hard to be good. To be the kind of nun they wanted her to be. But there was no hope of that now.

  Pull yourself together. This isn’t about you.

  Anna swallowed and found she’d put a hand on her stomach, as if to protect the tiny germ of life inside her from her own thoughts. And underneath the shock and the numbness was a small thread of wonder with strands of steely determination woven through it.

  She’d been abandoned as a baby; her mother hadn’t wanted her then and she hadn’t wanted her years later, either. But Anna wouldn’t make the same decisions her mother had. Her child would be wanted. Her child would be loved.

  She looked up to find the king very close, having taken a couple of steps towards her, obviously to provide some support. But already the shock and self-pitying thoughts that had assailed her were fading away, crushed by the growing strength of her determination.

  Anna pushed herself to her feet and met his blue gaze, watching in some satisfaction as surprise rippled across his roughly handsome features. ‘I don’t care what you say.’ Her voice this time was heavy with certainty and almost as hard as his. ‘I’m keeping this baby. And I will never get rid of it. This baby is mine.’

  A deep blue glow sparked in his gaze. ‘I haven’t said anything, and if you think I’m going to order you to get rid of it, then you’re sadly mistaken. This baby is mine also and of course you will be keeping it.’

  Somewhere inside her something instinctive and old as time warmed in approval and satisfaction, but she ignored it. A wave of emotion was building in her, part shock, part anger, part joy and a few other things that she couldn’t untangle. It made her heart race. The numbness had receded and so had the light-headedness and nausea, leaving behind it nothing but flames. She was on fire, burning up with reaction and nowhere to direct it.

  Nowhere but at him.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ she shot back heedlessly. ‘When you don’t have time for the child you already have?’

  The blue spark in his eyes became a flame, joining the ones already burning inside her, the intense tangle of emotion coalescing into something mu
ch hotter and much more definite.

  He was so close and his scent was around her, his big, hard body right in front of her. And she could feel the heat of him, the fire that burned inside of him despite his icy exterior. The same fire that burned inside of her, and suddenly she was hungry. It had been weeks since she’d touched him, weeks since she’d been anywhere near him, and it felt like too much. She was so lonely and here he was, his heat burning away the dark.

  The baby wasn’t real, not in this moment, and the future impossible to contemplate, but he was real and he was hot. He was strong and powerful, and he filled up her entire world.

  She lifted her hands to touch him but he caught her wrists, his fingers like manacles of fire on her delicate skin, his strength overwhelming.

  ‘Adonis.’ His name came out, part prayer, part plea, part command.

  And the blue flame in his eyes leapt high.

  ‘Please,’ she said.

  His fingers tightened, and that was the only warning she got as he lowered his head and took her mouth.

  There was no thought, only action. Only the fierceness of the anger he couldn’t control, no matter how hard he tried, and it came thick and hot, leaping high as she challenged him, flinging a truth at him that he didn’t want to hear. And then when her silver gaze had caught fire, that anger had exploded into a deep and instinctive desire.

  He didn’t know what had changed, whether it was simply their chemistry reacting in proximity to one another, needing only a spark to ignite it, weeks of denial turning into wildfire, or whether it was something deeper.

  Something to do with her carrying his child and the decision he’d made as he held her in his arms on the flight through the darkness to his island, his mind already sorting through possibilities and plans after the doctor’s shock revelation. He could have laid her on the seat next to him, but the strong sense of possessiveness that had gripped him on hearing the news, the same possessiveness he’d felt the night he’d first taken her, wouldn’t leave him. This time he didn’t resist it and kept hold of her instead.