Marrying Her Royal Enemy (4 page)

“It’s remained untouched since my mother died. My father refused to make changes. I agree, though, it needs massive renovations. It’s hardly the kind of place I want to bring our children up.”

There it was again.
Children. An heir.
She wished they could just forget about it for a while.

“What was it like?” she asked to distract herself. “Growing up here?”

“Lonely,” he said matter-of-factly. “Cold. I’ve been told the life went out of the castle when my mother died. Some say that’s when it left my father, too, and he became the dictator that he was.”

“He loved her a great deal?”

“Too much, by all accounts.”

Beauty and the Beast.
She tipped her head to the side. “Was he really the man he was portrayed as?”

“A tyrant, you mean?” His mouth twisted. “It depended on which iteration of him you encountered. He was charming, charismatic and warm when he wanted to be, self-centered, compassionless and sadistic during his dark moods. A chameleon. A compulsive liar—to himself and others.”

Sadistic.
Thee mou.
A chill went through her. “And to you, his son, what was he like?”

“I was his protégé from age five on. It was about learning the role, following in his footsteps. It was never a father-and-son relationship.”

And what about the childhood, the
innocence
, he should have been allowed? She recalled a photo she’d seen in one of the hallways of the castle of Kostas and his father inspecting a military guard when the prince must have been just five or six, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people. He had looked so lost...so bewildered.

The only man who could stand alone in the middle of a crowd.
Kostas had been built that way,
conditioned
to stand alone, created by a man notorious for his lack of humanity. Her chest tightened. “Did he discipline you?”

“Beat me, you mean? Yes. It was part of his modus operandi. Fear and intimidation—the devices he used to control everyone around him. Sometimes it was physical, sometimes mental. He was a master at both.”

“Please tell me you had someone, a grandmother, a
godmother
, someone you could go to?”

“My
yaya
. My grandmother on my father’s side, Queen Cliantha. She died when I was twelve. But by then I was in school. It was an escape for me, a break from the brainwashing, the conditioning. I was lucky my father felt it necessary to present a civilized front to the world.”

It may have been a break from the conditioning, but Kostas hadn’t made many friends in school. By Athamos’s account, he had always been the loner in the British boarding school they’d attended, the aloof presence that had been hard to get close to even though the Constantinides boys had tried to befriend him, having their own painful knowledge of a larger-than-life father.

Where had he drawn his strength? His belief in his vision? From some unshakable core inside of him?

She sank her teeth into her lip. “What happened when you developed a mind of your own? When it became apparent your philosophies differed from your father’s?”

“I tried to keep them inside in the beginning. My grandmother said it was better that way. But eventually, as I gained in confidence, as I acquired external validation of my ideas, they came out. I was considered a threat then. A competitor. Anyone who questioned my father’s practices was, and was suitably disposed of, but I, of course, posed the biggest threat of all—the blood heir who wanted a different way for his country. I wasn’t so easy to contain.”

“How could you coexist like that?”

“Uneasily. I made it clear to my father I would bide my time until it was my turn. In the meantime, I did the official engagements he couldn’t manage, presented a civilized facade to the world, attempted to keep the internal workings of the country moving while he obsessed about taking Akathinia. But with the onset of his dementia, with his increasingly erratic behavior, it became harder and harder to talk sense into him—to stand back and do nothing.”

Given how passionate Kostas had always been about his beliefs, it must have been crippling for him. A gnawing feeling took root in her stomach. A feeling that she had been vastly unfair. “Things escalated before you left.”

“Yes. There were those who wanted my father replaced, those who supported me and my democratic ideas and those who fought any decentralization of power that would strip them of theirs. It was a...tenuous situation threatening to implode at any minute.”

With him squarely in the middle of it—loathe to turn on his own flesh and blood no matter how wrong his father’s actions. Surrounded on all sides. The man in the middle of the storm.

The uneasy sensation in her gut intensified. She lifted her gaze to his. “Was that why you raced Athamos that night? Because you were frustrated? Because you weren’t in your right head?

“It was...complicated.”

Clearly, from the myriad of emotions consuming those dark eyes of his. The pieces of what had happened the night she’d lost her brother started to come together, beyond what Kostas had told her. She didn’t like the doubt that invaded her head as they did. The gray zone it put her in with the man she needed to have zero feelings for.

Confused
was not how she needed to enter this evening.

Kostas straightened away from the dresser. “I should get dressed.” He handed her the sheaf of papers he was holding. “The final guest list. You should look it over.”

She curled her fingers around the papers, glad for something to do rather than
feel
things for this man she shouldn’t be feeling. “Anyone interesting coming out to play?”

“General Houlis and his two key lieutenants. You will stay away from them.”

“Why?”

“Because they are dangerous men. You may think you are a dragon slayer, Stella, and no doubt you are, but this side of things you will not involve yourself in. Devote yourself to getting to know the people I’ve highlighted. They are key social, business and political figures who will be valuable to you.”

She nodded. She would do that
and
get to know General Houlis, Kostas’s biggest foe, because he would be her enemy, too.

Kostas headed for the door. Halfway there, he turned. “What are you wearing, by the way?”

“That will be a surprise.”

His mouth tipped up at one corner. “I’m quite sure there will be enough of those tonight, but have it your way.”

He left. Page returned to finish her hair. Stella immersed herself in the guest list, going over each key name and title, committing them to memory. Thank goodness hers was photographic.

When she’d made it to the
L
’s, her eyes widened.
Cassandra Liatos is attending?
The guest of Captain Mena, one of General Houlis’s disciples, according to the list.

The woman Athamos had lost his life over. The woman her fiancé had most likely bedded.

Her pulse picked up into a steady thrum, blood pounding in her ears.
An unimportant detail Kostas had forgotten to mention?

CHAPTER FOUR

“W
E
ARE
LATE
, Your Highness.”

Kostas was well aware of that fact as he waited for Stella in the foyer of the castle, the arrival of their first guests imminent. The crowds, he had been told, were in the tens of thousands in the courtyard, all of them waiting for a glimpse of their king and future queen.

The global media was also impatiently waiting for them, three rows deep behind the red stanchions, cameras at the ready. The need to greet both the people and the media before their guests began arriving weighed heavily on his mind, along with the speech he was about to give, perhaps the most important of his career. He did not have time for a recalcitrant princess making yet another expression of protest.

A flash of blue caught his eye on the stairwell. As if her ears were burning, his future queen appeared. The hem of her ankle-length sapphire-blue gown in her hand, she made her way carefully down the steps. The look of focus on her face, the determined tilt of her chin, the fire that blazed in her electric-blue eyes, stopped his breath in his chest. She was out to conquer. He could read it in every stubborn line of her body...in the sheer force of will she was projecting. He’d never seen anything sexier in his life.

He drew in a deep breath so he could enjoy,
absorb
the rest of the picture, for she was something to see. The gown that perfectly matched her incredible eyes wrapped itself around her slender curves in a seductive embrace that begged a man to do the same. Her hair, caught up in curls atop her head, revealed the long, slender sweep of her neck, the diamonds that glittered at her ears and throat reflecting the incandescent glow that blazed from inside of her, reaching out and wrapping itself around him.

Not for the first time in his life he found himself consumed by her.
Intrigued
by her. When Stella was in a room, everything else paled in comparison.

She stopped on the last step, eyes on his. Those sapphire-blue orbs widened imperceptivity as he made no effort to hide the effect she had on him—the way she owned him in that moment. The air between them was charged, heated. He left it like that, waiting to see what she would do. Mouth tightening, she lowered her chin, adopting that cool, blasé look he was beginning to recognize was her first line of defense.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said crisply. “My hair was not right.”

He studied the perfect curls. “There isn’t a hair out of place.”

“Now.” She glanced toward the antique glass doors that led to the entrance of the castle. “There are thousands out there. I saw them from my window.”

“Tens of thousands. And we are late. Are you ready?”

She nodded. He offered her his hand to help her down the last step. She took it, the fission of energy that passed between them as he wrapped his fingers around hers a living, breathing entity. Stella stared down at their clasped hands, then looked straight ahead as they walked to the doors.

He brought his mouth to her ear. “You look astonishingly beautiful. But where is the
back
of your dress?”

Her lips curved. “I thought we needed to shake things up a bit.”

That she would do so had never been in question.

The flash of exploding camera bulbs was blinding as they stepped out onto the portico of the castle, a roar going up in the crowd that filled the courtyard. The electric excitement, the sense of anticipation that blanketed the night, sent a chill up his spine; brought his heart to a stuttering halt. The crowds assembled for his father had been coordinated, manufactured photo ops meant to send a message to the world of the power of his rule—the people paying lip service to the dictator for fear of reprisal should they not.

This
was spontaneous. No one had been forced to come and yet...they had. Packed into the courtyard, the crowd spilled out onto the avenue beyond, confirming the rise in his approval ratings since the announcement of the coming elections and the news of his engagement to Stella. Proof that hope had taken root in his country.

A piece of him he had kept buried for months,
years
, a part of him that had survived the darkness, the self-doubt his father had instilled in him with every derisory remark about the fallibility of democracy, about his own inadequacies, throbbed in his chest. It was, he realized, his own hope. Somehow it had survived the hell he had endured.

If he continued to earn the people’s trust, he could rebuild this nation. He could make everything that had been wrong
right
.

Stella squeezed his hand. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped dead in his tracks. Looking down at her, their eyes held for a long, emotion-filled moment.
Go on
, hers seemed to say.
Seize the moment.

They stepped forward and smiled and waved to the throng. The press was hungry for them, too. They gave them a photo before they took their place at the top of the stairs beside the Constantinides family as the first limousine rolled up.

A fully recovered, if fragile-looking, King Gregorios stood by Queen Amara, flanked by Nikandros, his wife, Sofía, Aleksandra and her husband, Aristos. That he was alone, yet again, struck him at the same moment as Stella’s presence at his side filled that space inside of him. She was the strongest woman he knew.

Confident and utterly at ease, she greeted every guest with the perfect poise he had known she possessed, but it was her ability to connect with each one of the arrivals that blew him away. She found something in each brief greeting to make every encounter memorable, transforming like the chameleon she was—but it was always genuine. The skill was born of her royal heritage, yes, but it went deeper than that—to who she was, how she
cared
.

By the time they’d made their way through the first three flights of royalty, politicians and Carnelian high society deemed important enough for a personal greeting, he had had more than enough.

He pressed a hand to his fiancée’s sexy bare back as the PR person gave the contingent the cue to go in.

Stella glanced at the crowd, who were still waving and calling their names. “We can’t leave them like this.”

“We need to. The agenda is tight.”

She turned a vibrant blue beam of stubborn defiance on him. “If you want to
win
the people, Kostas, you have to
know
the people.” And with that, she picked up her skirt and made her way toward the stairs.

He cursed under his breath and started after her. His bodyguard stepped forward. “You can’t go into that crowd, Your Highness. You know the—”

“Threat,” he said grimly. He was well aware he was a target for assassins. That there were many who would like to see him dead. But his future queen had now cleared the stairs and was accepting flowers from a young girl, the stubborn curve of her back
daring
him to follow.

He did. This time it was his bodyguard who cursed, rifled off a series of instructions to his security team, then followed him into the crowd. Stella gave him a sweet-as-pie smile as he made his way to her side, curving an arm around her waist. “This is Berdina from the west coast. Your father once shook her hand.”

He shook Berdina’s hand. Then the hand of the elderly lady beside her that Stella had just finished hugging.
Hugging.
They worked their way through the front row, comprised of everything from those elderly ladies to children wishing to greet the royals to people anxious to confirm change was coming.

A man whose lined face had seen a great deal of life stepped forward and clasped his hands. “Will the elections really happen? We have waited so long for this.”

“Yes,” Kostas told him, “you have my word.”

“But will they
mean
anything?” the man asked, doubt in his eyes.

“They will not be shadow appointments,” he promised him. “The people will have real power. We are going to change this nation together.”

By the time they were called back to the stairs by his frantic PR person, his throat felt as if it was lined with glass. He wrapped a firm hand around Stella’s waist and directed her toward the stairs.

She aimed a satisfied look at him. “Glad you did it?”

“Yes,” he said. “My security, however, is not.”

“Why? Our bodyguards were with us.”

“I am an assassination target, Stella.”

Her mouth fell open. Staring at him, she missed her step and would have fallen had he not snared an arm around her waist and hauled her into him.

“Assassination target,” she gasped. “Oh, my God, I didn’t—”

“Think,” he said, finishing her thought. “You were too busy making a point.”

Her face went bright red.

“I know you’re living to be a thorn in my side at the moment,” he said as he directed her up the stairs and into the castle, “but could I please ask that you think before you act, particularly where protocol is concerned?”

* * *

Thee mou.
Stella’s head spun, blood pounding in her veins, as she matched Kostas’s long strides through the doors of the castle and down the stone hallway toward the ballroom. She had not considered such a horrific thing and yet she should have. Kostas had detailed his enemies to her, outlined their hostility toward his rule. It only made sense he would be a target.

But
assassins
? Fear coated her mouth, gritty and dark. What she had been
trying
to do was shake Kostas out of that aloofness he protected himself with in a crowd. The stiff formality he had clearly learned from his father. She had felt his tension as soon as they’d emerged outside, and yet the emotion emanating from him had been anything but removed. He had been caught off guard by the people’s response to him. By the joy they had displayed. Moved by it. He just didn’t know how to show it.

“Lypamai,”
she murmured as they halted in front of the massive, gold-plated doors to the ballroom.
I’m sorry.

Kostas looked down at her. “How about a little less wave-making and a little more obedience?”

Her jaw dropped. “As if I—”

He pressed a finger to her mouth, a brilliant smile lighting up his somber face. “I was just getting you going... You will need your fire in there tonight,
yineka mou
.”

Her mouth burned where he touched her, the casual endearment throwing her completely off balance. She didn’t want to feel this pulsing, inescapable connection to him that had burned between them ever since she’d walked down those stairs tonight. Ever since she’d first laid eyes on him.

As if he didn’t look spectacular enough in full military dress, the severe black uniform adorned with gold buttons and a red sash playing up his hawk-like, brutal good looks. It made him appear larger than life—the weakness she’d always had for him.

She lowered her chin, the infinitesimal movement making him drop his fingers away from her mouth. “No need to worry about me. I’ve got this.”

“That is the one thing I do not doubt.”

A booming voice announced their arrival to the buzzing ballroom. She took Kostas’s arm as they made their way through the crowd of almost five hundred guests toward the front of the room, where Nik stood waiting. The cacophony of sound as the guests applauded echoed off the hundreds of stained-glass windows that lined the room, highlighted to dramatic effect by the golden-hued arches that framed them.

The dark, seductive ambience lent by the stunning purple, gold and orange light from the glass windows highlighted by a dozen antique candelabra chandeliers scattered throughout the room seemed to set the tone for the evening as she and Kostas took their place beside Nik on a low balcony. Goose bumps unearthed themselves on her skin as she took in the packed ballroom, a glittering, privileged crowd who would decide the king’s fate.
Her fate
, she corrected herself, for it was hers now, too.

Silence fell as Kostas greeted their guests. If he was aloof in a crowd, he was compelling as an orator, his even, measured tone underpinned by the passion he held for his vision of a new Carnelia founded on the self-determination of its people and the modernization of his country to bring it into an “enlightened” age. If he knew he was making enemies with some even as he attempted to build trust with others, he was undeterred. He was daring his people to accept his challenge, daring them to dream of a brighter future.

“I’m ready to sign up,” she murmured under her breath as he finished and stepped back beside her to allow Nik to take center stage.

He bent his head, his breath a warm caress at her ear. “
Efharisto.
Perhaps in time you will be ready to sign on to...
other
pieces of our partnership as things become illuminated.”

She lifted her chin, cheeks burning. “In your dreams, Kostas.”

“You already are, Stella.”

She kept her gaze averted from his, looked at the crowd as Nik began speaking, refusing to engage. Except every part of her body
was
engaging with that seductive comment that had her excruciatingly aware of him long after Nik had delivered an eloquent speech of peace and friendship, and they had stepped off the balcony to mingle with their guests. It was not helped by the firm hand Kostas kept at her bare back, his big paw burning into her skin.

She hadn’t thought about that aspect of the dress when she’d chosen it and really should have, because it made it difficult to concentrate on the important introductions being made with his splayed fingers declaring an ownership over her. A reminder of how strong and overwhelmingly male he was.

Firming her jaw, she forced herself to focus, attaching faces to the names Kostas had given her, familiarizing herself with each and every one of the VIPs as they engaged in polite, easy bites of small talk. She was laying the groundwork for relationships she would later build on, some of which would be a challenge she discovered because Carnelia seemed to be as closed an inner circle as Akathinia was. But others were open and curious, welcoming.