Pretender to the Throne Page 3

  All of her belongings fit into one suitcase. When you didn’t need hair products, makeup, or anything beyond bare essentials to wear, life was pretty simple. And portable, it turned out.

  She shifted, standing in the doorway, looking at Xander, who had his focus on the view of the sea. “I suppose you have an ostentatious car ready to whisk us back to civilization?”

  Xander turned and smiled, his eyes assessing. She didn’t like that. Didn’t like how hard he looked at her. She preferred very much to be invisible.

  “Naturally,” he said. “It’s essentially an eight-cylinder phallus.”

  “Compensation for your shortcomings?”

  The words escaped her lips before she even processed them. They were a stranger’s words. A stranger’s voice. One from the past.

  So weird. Being with him resurrected more than just memories, it seemed to bring out old tendencies. In her life at the convent, sarcasm and smart replies were not well-received. But when she’d been one of the many socialites buzzing around Xander, wanting to catch his attention, when she’d moved in such a sparkling and sometimes cutthroat circle, it had been the best way to communicate.

  They had all been like that. Pretending to be so bored by their surroundings, showing their cool with cutting remarks and brittle laughter. It struck her then that Xander had changed, too. He hadn’t joined a convent, but he lacked the air of the smug aristocrat he used to carry himself with.

  He still had that lazy smile, that wicked mouth. But beneath the glitter in his eyes, she sensed something deeper now. Something dark. Something that made her stomach clench and her heart pound.

  “I apologize,” she said. “That was neither gracious nor appropriate. I’m ready to go.”

  He shrugged and took her suitcase from her, starting to walk across the expanse of green. She followed him, over the hill and to the lot where a red sports car was parked.

  “I’m a cliché,” he said. “The playboy prince. It would be embarrassing if it weren’t so much fun.”

  “There’s more to life than fun.”

  “But fun is a part of it,” he countered.

  “Certainly.”

  He deposited her suitcase in the trunk of the car. “I think you might have forgotten the fun part,” he said.

  “You have that covered for the both of us, I think.” She moved her hand in a wide sweep, like she was presenting the car on a game show.

  He smiled. “You have no idea.”

  For some reason that smile, that statement, made her stomach tight. “I imagine I don’t.”

  “Why don’t you get in the car and we can continue this while we head back down to Thysius?”

  She hadn’t been to the capitol in a couple of years, and just the thought of it filled her with dread. “What exactly are we doing?”

  “Get in the car.”

  Fear wrapped its fingers around her throat, the desire to turn and run almost overwhelming. But she didn’t. “Not yet. Where are we staying? What are we going to do?”

  “The palace,” he said. “You’re familiar with it.”

  “Yes.” Much too familiar. There was a time when it would have been her home. When she would have been the queen. Memories that seemed like they belonged in another life were crowding in, trying to remind her of all the things she’d tried so hard to let go of.

  “The press will think it’s all sensational.” He opened his door and got inside and she stood outside, looking at her warped reflection in the slightly rounded window.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” She pulled the car door open and got inside, closing it behind her.

  The leather interior smelled new. And an awful lot like money. Such a strange contrast to the old stone walls of the convent. When he turned the key and the engine roared to life she couldn’t help but think it was a very strange contrast. The pristine newness. The noise. So different than the ancient quiet she’d lived in for so long.

  “This is the story that I need. You and me, collaborating on bringing the country into a new era.”

  “Why do I feel a bit like you just told me together we will rule the galaxy as father and son....”

  “Are you saying I’m asking you to join the Dark Side?”

  “I feel like it.”

  “Seems a strange reference for a nun.”

  “I’m not a nun, actually. Not yet. I’m a novice.” And she had been for a near record amount of time. Speaking of movies, her life was becoming a bit “How do you solve a problem like Maria.”

  “And I do watch movies,” she said. “There isn’t a lot that happens up here, and we aren’t all serious all the time.”

  He pulled out of the parking area and onto the road. And she wasn’t “here” anymore, either. She was leaving. Heading into the world. Away from the convent, away from the village. Into the city. Toward people. And the press.

  Panic clawed at her, a desperate beast trying to escape. But she held it in. Did she pray for serenity or was this part of her test? To do what she didn’t want, for it to be hard. To have to persevere.

  Suddenly, she just felt angry. She hadn’t asked for any of this. Not for Xander to come back, not to have to be in the public eye again.

  She hadn’t asked to be attacked. To have her life stolen from her. And hadn’t she taken it and turned it into something worthy? Why was she having to do this now?

  Fear was doing its best to take her over completely. And its best was far too good for her taste. The farther she got from her home, the closer they drew to the capitol city, the more it grew.

  She was shaking. A tremor that seemed to start from the inside and built outward until her teeth were chattering. She tightened her hands into fists, trying to will it to stop. But she didn’t have the strength.

  They took so much. He took so much. Don’t let them have anything else.

  That voice. That strong, quiet voice inside of her made the shaking stop. Because it was right. Too much of her pain belonged to Xander, to the people of Kyonos, and she wouldn’t give them one bit more.

  She would help. Help restore the nation, get it all back on track, get Xander into a good position. But she wouldn’t give of herself. Her actions, her presence, yes. But nothing of her.

  “It isn’t just you,” he said, his voice rough.

  “What?”

  “You aren’t the only one who will be judged.”

  He was so in tune with her train of thought that she was almost afraid she’d voiced her fears out loud. “Maybe not. But I’m the only one of us who didn’t earn the judgment.”

  It was true, even if it was unkind. So, okay, maybe she wasn’t holding back all of herself from Xander. She was letting him have some of her anger.

  He laughed and the car engine roared louder, the cypress trees outside the window turning into an indistinct blur of green as he accelerated. “Very true. I did earn mine. And I had a hell of a lot of fun doing it.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  XANDER FELT LIKE he sometimes did after a night of heavy drinking. His head hurt. His stomach was unsettled. And memories pushed at the edges of his mind, threatening to crowd into the forefront.

  Yes, it was just like the aftermath of being drunk. Or being hungover was a bit like coming home.

  He paused the car at the gate. Stavros didn’t know he was coming. It had been a phone call he hadn’t been certain he could make. Stavros might bring up the option of hurling himself into the sea again and he might end up taking him up on it. Instead of returning to this.

  He picked his phone up and dialed Stavros’s number.

  “Are you at the palace?” Xander asked when he heard an answer on the other end.

  “I am not.” Stavros’s response was measured.

  “Where are you then?”

&
nbsp; “Vacation. My wife wanted to go to Greece and my children are enjoying a slight change of pace. Palace life is quite boring to them, I fear.”

  “I do remember the drudgery,” he said, looking up at the turrets, bright white against a sun-bleached sky.

  And he was walking back into it. Back into the past. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

  He wanted to run again in that moment. Because he could remember what had pushed him to it now, all too easily.

  Blood. Death. Blame.

  So much easier to run. To wrap himself in life’s pleasures and ignore the pain.

  “I can’t imagine anything ever felt like drudgery to you. You never took it seriously enough.”

  “Maybe not then. But I’m here now. Oh, yes, I’ve decided to come back and assume the throne, I don’t believe I mentioned that.”

  There was a long pause. He looked across the car at Layna, who was sitting there looking straight ahead, as though she was pretending she couldn’t hear.

  “I’m glad,” Stavros said, at last, and Xander believed him. “But if this is a game to you, then I suggest you take your ass back to wherever you came from. It’s been my life’s work to bring Kyonos back from the brink, and I’ll not have you destroy it.”

  “Don’t worry, Stavros, I’ve only ever been interested in destroying myself.”

  “And yet, somehow, you seem to destroy others in the process.”

  Xander looked at Layna and felt an uncomfortable pang in his gut. “Not this time,” he said. “Now, call and have them admit me, please.”

  “You’ll find your quarters just as you left them.”

  He laughed. “I hope there’s still porn under the mattress.”

  * * *

  There was. Though it was hideously dated and nowhere near as scandalous as he’d imagined it to be when he was a young man only just starting down the path of debauchery.

  The head of palace hospitality had ushered Layna to her room, and his father’s advisor had walked him to his own quarters. The man, as old as the king, was blustering, shocked and trying to get answers from Xander who was, unfortunately for him, not in the mood to answer questions.

  Instead he shut the man out, shut the door and looked around. That was when he found the magazines, just as he left them. They used to thrill him. He remembered it well. Now they just left him with this vague feeling of the stale familiar.

  But then, life in general didn’t thrill him much at this point. He’d seen too much. Done too much. He was less a carefree playboy than he was a jaded one. It was hard to show shock or emotion when one barely felt it anymore.

  The glittering mystery had worn off life. Torn away the day his mother died. Forcing him to look at every ugly thing hidden behind the facade. And so he’d walked further into that part of life. The underbelly. Into all the things people wanted to revel in, but could never bring themselves to discard their morals—or their image—in order to do so.

  But he’d done it. Morals didn’t mean a thing to him. Neither did his image.

  It was too hard to go on living in a beautiful farce when you knew that was all it was. So he never bothered. He was honest about what he wanted. He took what he wanted. As did those around him. Whether it was gambling, drugs or sex, it was done with a transparency, an unapologetic middle finger at life.

  He’d found a strange relief in it. In being around all that sin in the open. Because it was the secrets, the pretense of civility, he couldn’t handle.

  And now he was back in the palace. Center stage for the show. Back in chains. Pretending to be someone he was never born to be.

  He threw the magazines down onto the bed and looked around. He’d expected a few more ghosts. Or something. But he felt the same as he had before returning home.

  Shame and regret were his second skin. They existed with him, over him. And so he’d spent his life reveling in the most shameful things imaginable. He would feel it either way. At least if he sought it out, it was his choice. Not something forced upon him by life.

  Like standing beneath water that was too hot. Until you were scalded to the point where you didn’t feel it anymore.

  In truth, it had worked to a degree.

  But only to a degree.

  He pushed his hands through his hair and turned toward where his suitcases had been put. He would need ties, he supposed. He didn’t wear ties. One of the things he’d cast off when he’d left Kyonos.

  For now, he just had his suits and shirts he wore open-collared, but it would have to do. Just the thought of ties made it feel hard to breathe. Or maybe it was the palace in general.

  Her pulled open the door to his room and stalked down the corridor, not sure where he was going. He grabbed the passing housekeeper. “Where is Layna?”

  “Oh!” She looked completely shocked. “Your Highness...”

  “Xander,” he said. He had no patience for station and title. “Which room is she in?”

  “Ms. Xenakos is in the east wing, in the Cream Suite.”

  “Great.” He started in that direction. Because there was nothing else to do. There was no one else in the palace he wanted to talk to.

  He wasn’t certain why that was. He should seek out his father’s major domo. He should go and see his father, who was in the hospital. He should call his sister.

  He didn’t do any of those things. He just walked through the expansive corridors, past openmouthed palace staff, and toward the Cream Suite. He got lost. Twice. It was an embarrassment, but he just kept going until he got his bearings again.

  Then he pushed open the heavy wooden doors without knocking, and saw Layna, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her face snapped up, and again, he was shocked by her appearance.

  It hit him like a slug to the gut. She had been so beautiful. So many beautiful things had been destroyed in that time. Either by his actions, or his very birth. The fault was bred into him, in many ways.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m here to speak to you. And to...escort you to dinner.”

  It had been a long time since he’d escorted a woman to dinner. Usually he had sex with them, then they ordered room service and ate it naked. Although, on a good night, he kicked the woman out quickly, then ate room service by himself.

  She blinked. “Escort me to dinner? Where?”

  “Here will do. The staff has been alerted to my presence, and I have no doubt they’re eager to welcome me back with my favorite food,” he said, his tone dry. “Or at the very least they won’t let me starve.”

  “I don’t suppose the heir is of much use to anyone if he’s starved to death. I also don’t suppose he’s much use to anyone if he’s absent and drunk.”

  “No, it doesn’t seem that I’ve done any good during my time away,” he said, his voice tight. “But I’m not sure what I could have done here, either. I was not the king then. I am not now. I’m simply in line.”

  “But you left us,” she said, a note in her voice, so sad, so fierce, he felt it in his bones.

  “I left you,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Did I break your heart, Layna?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Not in the way you mean. I didn’t love you, Xander. I was infatuated, surely, but we didn’t truly know each other. You were very handsome, and I can’t deny being drawn to you. I’m a bit of a magpie for shiny things, you know.”

  “I was shiny?”

  “Yes. The shiniest prize out there.”

  “Not sure how I feel about that.”

  “You’ll live.” She looked down. “I loved the idea of being queen. I was raised for it, after all.”

  “Yes, you were.” He didn’t have to say that he hadn’t been in love with her. That much had been obvious by his actions. When he’d left Kyonos he’d har
dly spared a thought for what it would mean to Layna. He hadn’t been able to spare a thought for anything but his own pain.

  “But I thought I would find someone else. Maybe Stavros.”

  “You wanted to marry Stavros?”

  She shrugged. “I would have. But then... Then the attack happened and I didn’t especially want to see anyone much less marry anyone.”

  “So you joined a convent? Seems extreme.”

  “No. I spent years struggling with depression, actually, but thank you for your rather blithe commentary on my pain.”

  That shocked him into silence, which was a rare and difficult thing. He didn’t shock easily. Or, as a rule, at all.

  “When did you join?”

  “Ten years ago. I was tired of muddling through. And I saw a chance to make myself useful. I couldn’t fit back into the life I had been in, so it was time to make a new one.”

  “And you’ve been happy?”

  “Content.”

  “Not happy?”

  “Happiness is a temporary thing, Xander. Fleeting. An emotion like any other. I would rather exist in contentment.”

  He laughed. “Funny. I don’t think I’ve been happy. Not content, either. I like to chase intense bursts of euphoria.”

  “And have you managed to catch them?” she asked, her voice tight.

  “Yeah,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the doorjamb, “I have. But let me tell you, the highs might be high...the comedowns are a bitch.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I strive for a more simple and useful existence.”

  “Do you want to dress for dinner?”

  She looked down at the simple, shapeless dress she was wearing. It was blue and flowered, the sweater she had over it navy and button-down, hanging open and concealing her curves entirely, whatever those curves might look like. “What’s wrong with this?”

  “Really?”

  “I’m not exactly given to materialism these days, and unless you were dead set on looking at my figure,” she said dryly, as though it were the most ridiculous thing on the planet, “I fail to see why you should be disappointed. I’m clean, my clothing is serviceable. I don’t know what more you could possibly need from me. If I am to be an accessory in your attempt at being seen by your people as palatable, then I’m sure my more conservative style could be to your advantage.”