Pretender to the Throne Read online

  “Where’s Patrice?” she asked.

  “Downstairs having a coffee. I told her this would be between me and my fiancée.” He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him and her heart collided with her breastbone.

  “It doesn’t sound like she’s busy. Perhaps you’d like to trade places with her.”

  “No,” he said.

  “You work too hard,” she said, no conviction in her voice.

  “Now, agape mou, you and I both know that’s not true.” He sat down on her bed, the grin on his face wicked, and she felt her entire body tighten like a spool of wire.

  That endearment. He’d called her that during their first engagement, too. My love. He hadn’t meant it then and she was sure he didn’t mean it now.

  “So what...I’m supposed to put on a fashion show for you?”

  “If you wish.”

  “Some might call it a freak show.”

  He stood quickly, the motion fluid, shocking. “Let us get one thing straight here and now,” he said. “I will not stand for the press speaking of you in any terms that are not flattering. I will not hear it from you, either.”

  “Why should you care?” she asked. “It’s true enough. I’m more sideshow than beauty pageant and we both know that.”

  “I damn well do not,” he growled, advancing on her. “Is that truly what you think?”

  “Can you tell me I’m beautiful?”

  The fire in his eyes cooled. “No,” he said, his voice hushed now, an extinguished flame. “Can you tell me I’m good?”

  “No.” She ached now. His denial like salt on a wound, but then, what would it have mattered if he would have said yes? It wouldn’t have. It would have been a lie all the same and they both would have known it.

  “You are, though,” he said. “Good, that is. And isn’t that the better thing to be?”

  “When a camera is pointed at me I think I would prefer the beauty.”

  “When trials come, it would be better to be you, trust me. Now—” he handed her the garment bag “—it is time for us to preview your dress.”

  She held the bag to her chest and walked into the bathroom. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was good. Wasn’t the sort of woman to drive a man to passion, but she was good. She turned that over in her mind as she put on the dress, too distracted, too numb to pay much attention to it.

  The trouble was, with Xander, she didn’t feel particularly good. He made her feel edgy. Angry. Hot and unpredictable. With him around she did things like accept marriage proposals and demand he sleep only with her.

  Which meant he would be sleeping with her.

  Her hands shook as she did up the zipper at the back of the dress. She’d sort of bet on dying a virgin. She wasn’t thrilled with it, really, but she hadn’t seen another way.

  The idea of being with him... She wanted him. No point in denying it. She just wished she was certain he wanted her.

  She opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the bedroom. She caught sight of herself in the reflection of the mirror just behind the bed, behind Xander, and froze for a moment. The dress was...well, it was much more revealing than anything she’d worn in ages. And more sophisticated than the saucy dresses she’d chosen as a teenage girl.

  It was black, with a neckline that plunged down to the middle of her chest. “I would need duct tape,” she said, looking at her breasts, which were attempting to make an escape. The chiffon fabric skimmed her curves and fell to the floor in a ripple, flowing as she moved. It was nearly demure, understated. If not for that neckline.

  She looked to Xander and realized that his focus was also on her breasts, not that she should be terribly surprised. Because he was a man. Still, she was surprised because he was a man who was looking at her. And she was even more surprised because far from being offended, it made her feel warm and a little bit excited.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I like it,” he said, his voice rough.

  “It’s...not anything like what I would normally wear.”

  “No, and that’s a good thing. You aren’t wearing one of those flowered monstrosities to our engagement party.”

  “But...people will look at me.”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice rough. “I imagine they will.”

  “I don’t want them to look at me,” she said.

  “But they will, agape. You’re to be the princess, one day their queen. You were a woman they all cared about, a woman they adored, back when you were first engaged to be married to me. Their eyes will be on you no matter what you wear. Better that when they look they see a woman with confidence.”

  “But I don’t think I have any,” she said.

  He moved to her. “You should.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are the woman most deserving of the crown. You should hold your head high if only for that reason.”

  He lifted his hand and reached behind her, taking hold of the pins in her hair and releasing the hair from its bun, letting it fall around her face in soft waves. He had touched her hair before, and it had been an oddly sensual experience. His touch, combined with the intense expression on his face, was taking things somewhere beyond sensual now.

  He was making her knees kind of weak. Making it hard to breathe.

  But he didn’t even think she was beautiful.

  “We should practice,” he said.

  “Practice what?”

  “They’ll expect us to dance.”

  “Will they?”

  “Yes. See? All eyes on us, no matter what you wear. And we need to put up a good front. Because salacious details about my past keep ending up on the front page.”

  “What now?” she asked.

  “‘How Many Lovers for the Dishonorable Heir?’”

  “Oh, my.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “And...how many?” she asked.

  “Not answering. And I don’t know.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, well. I’m not exactly proud of my behavior. But I am good at dancing.”

  “This is all so... Oh.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his body. Then he took her hand in his, rough and hot, not an aristocrat’s hands. But then, he hadn’t been living an aristocrat’s life.

  “Do you know how to dance still, or is that forbidden for a novice?” he asked, leading her into the first step of a slow dance to no music.

  “I’m out of practice,” she said, trying hard not to lose her breath. He was so warm and hard, and she was pressed up against him.

  And in that moment she realized just how very much she wanted him. A deep, burning ache that spread from her core and ignited in the rest of her body. Such a strange thing. Lust was one of the little luxuries that had to be put away for the kind of life she’d been trying to lead, but she was all but bathing in it now.

  She was so aware of his hand on her waist, his fingers entwined with hers. With each breath he took and how it made his chest rise to meet her breasts, how it made her nipples feel tight. Made her feel desperate for more. More of his touch. More of him.

  “So am I,” he said.

  “You don’t seem like it.”

  “Well, there isn’t much in the way of formal ballroom dancing in the casinos I frequent.”

  “Is that all you’ve done since you left?”

  “Basically. I live in the casinos, literally. I don’t own a home. There’s never been any point.”

  “You make money gambling?”

  He lifted a shoulder and kept dancing. “I have a gift.”

  “You’re a card counter, aren’t you?”

  “Not on purpose. But if I happen to be a bit more observant than the average person, is it my f
ault?”

  “You really are a bad man.”

  He chuckled, slow and deep, the sound rumbling through him, and her, sending shock waves of sensation through her body. “And I don’t even work at it. It just comes naturally. How about you?” he asked.

  “How about me what?”

  “Do you have to work at being good?”

  She blinked. “Um...I don’t know really. In some ways, no. But then, what I do...I don’t do it because it’s good. I do it because I don’t have anything else to do. Because...maybe because it’s easy to be good if you don’t want much of anything. I could never have gone to hide out at a casino, for example, because I had no desire to be around anyone. I couldn’t go sleep my way through Europe like you because I didn’t want anyone to see me, much less sleep with me. And I could hardly go get drunk because you aren’t supposed to mix alcohol and pain pills,” she said, dryly. “All things considered, I don’t know that I get any brownie points for good behavior.”

  “You haven’t seemed particularly saintly since I’ve seen you, I’ll tell you that in all honesty.” His fingers moved down on her waist, just an inch or so, but enough to edge into somewhat erotic territory. At least, erotic for a woman who hadn’t had a kiss in...ever, and was due. Past due.

  “Maybe it’s because I...I feel like I’m waking up.” It was the strangest thing, but as she spoke the words she knew that was the best way to describe it. It was like she’d been sleeping. All those years after the attack, and then at the convent, it had been like hovering between reality and a dream. There was a cushion there, between her and life, and she had needed it.

  Now, though, her eyes were wide open, and everything was clear. Frightening. And amazing.

  “I thought women needed to be kissed awake,” he said, lowering his head, his mouth a whisper away from hers.

  “Sleeping Beauty maybe,” she said. “But we both know that I’m not—”

  He silenced her with the firm pressure of his lips on hers. She was almost too shocked to register the feeling of the kiss. She felt it deeper than she’d imagined she would. Felt it in the pit of her stomach just as strongly as she felt it against her lips.

  It was brief, and it was very nearly chaste, but it tilted her world on its axis completely. And he had no idea, she was sure of that. Because for him, it was just another kiss. But for her it was the first.

  “How was that?” he asked.

  “I...” She pulled away from him. “I don’t think that had anything to do with dancing.”

  “It had to do with us, as a couple, making our debut at the engagement party, where we’ll be dancing. It was a natural extension.”

  Yes, a natural extension for him, but not for her.

  “Well, there’s no need for any of that until after...until...”

  “You aren’t part of a convent anymore,” he said, “you’re a woman.”

  “I’ve been a woman the entire time, thank you. It didn’t change when I went to the convent, it didn’t change when I left. It didn’t change just because you decided to kiss me. Our marriage is based on necessity, not on passion, so let’s not pretend.”

  “Who said I was pretending?”

  “Right, Xander, I’m sure you were overwhelmed by lust when you told me that I wasn’t beautiful only twenty minutes ago.”

  “There is something else,” he said, his voice tight, strange. “Something...”

  She shook her head. “Just don’t lie to me.”

  “This,” he said, looking down, “it doesn’t lie. I would put your hand on me but I think that would be a step too far.”

  “Put my hand on...” Her stomach tightened painfully and she looked down, her eyes following the line his gaze had. “Oh.”

  “I thought it might be off-limits.”

  “Yes,” she said, her throat dry. “It is. Definitely in the post-marriage vow zone. Anything below the belt.”

  “You look much more intrigued than you do offended.”

  “Do I? That’s just the shock talking. Well, not talking, forming my facial expressions for me. I’m terribly shocked.”

  “I look forward to shocking you a bit more after our marriage vows then.”

  “Don’t make it a joke, please,” she said, suddenly feeling like she needed to lie down. Or dissolve into a gigantic puddle of wimpy girl tears. “I know you’re experienced and cavalier and having pity sex with an ugly girl is just a witty anecdote waiting to happen for you. But this isn’t funny to me. It’s my life. And I’m the one who stands to be hurt the most by this. I’m the one...”

  “You’re the one who called yourself my punishment, Layna. I have said nothing cruel to you on that score. I don’t look at you and think that you’re ugly—neither do I feel like I’m doing you any great favors by marrying you and sharing your bed. In truth, you may find that you are more unhappy with the demanded fidelity than I am.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because it will ensure that I’m around more, and you may tire of me quickly. You have this idea that I’m somehow more desirable stock because I’m not scarred. Let me assure you that while I may be physically undamaged, you are not by any stretch getting the better end of this deal. I am selfish, I have spent the majority of the past few years battling demons and addictions, and doing neither very well at all. You may think that what I’m giving you is pity sex, but don’t for one moment think that I don’t realize what I have on my hands is a pity marriage.”

  She blinked back tears, his words settling over her like a heavy cloak, making it hard to breathe. “I don’t pity you. I don’t approve of you. I’m not sure that I like you, but I don’t pity you. This is...a marriage of no one’s convenience. What we do, we do for our country. And...I do it for children. Because I do want them. And I had thought that wasn’t possible for me, so to have the chance...I do want it. Power is something I don’t crave anymore, status is almost my enemy because it means I’ll be under scrutiny.”

  “A marriage born of a sense of national duty and disdain then,” he said, dryly. “You flatter me.”

  “I would imagine you’ve been flattered enough in your life that you don’t require much from me.”

  “I’m sure my ego can weather it.”

  “I’m not sure mine will survive any of this.”

  “It will,” he said, his tone certain, authoritative. And in that moment, she saw a hint of the king he would be. So strange, because she knew the boy he’d been. Cocky and obnoxious in so many ways, but handsome as sin and just as tempting. She’d barely gotten to know the man he was now, wounded, damaged and self-deprecating. As much as the boy had loved himself, she had a feeling the man hated himself just as much.

  But for one second, all of that fell away. And she saw nothing more than confidence. Nothing more than a smooth, unswerving focus.

  “This is why I’m marrying you,” she said, her voice hushed now. “Because I believe that, no matter where you’ve been in the past, your future is tied to Kyonos. That with you we will rise or fall, and if we fall it will be because the people can’t get past what has been done. You leaving...”

  “Me killing the queen,” he said.

  “You didn’t kill her,” she said. “You were driving, but it was an accident. It was...”

  “People think it, Layna. Just as the man who threw acid on you, trying to get to your father blamed him for his troubles.”

  “Then this is why,” she said, suddenly feeling the need to close the gap between them. To make contact. “This is why I’m marrying you. Because if I can help in any way, if I can heal some of the wounds from that time, I will do it. Because you are the future here, Xander.”

  He frowned and lifted his other hand, touched her damaged cheek with his thumb. “It is a shame that time won’t heal your wounds.”

  “It is.
”

  “Sometimes I think it won’t heal mine, either.” He released his hold on her and turned and walked out of her room, leaving her standing there in an evening gown, in the middle of the day, more confused than she’d ever been in her life.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HELL. XANDER HAD forgotten how much he hated these kinds of events.

  The engagement celebration was small compared to some of the parties thrown at the Kyonosian palace, due to the short notice and out of respect for the king’s health.

  Xander’s recently noisy conscience pricked him. He should go and see the king. It was a hard thing to do. The last time he’d stood before the old man, his father said in no uncertain terms that he blamed Xander for the queen’s death.

  And because he hadn’t been wrong, Xander had finally done what Stavros, and the man who believed he was Xander’s father, had wanted. He left.

  Because it had been easier for everyone. And it had been easy, most especially, for him.

  He wasn’t truly the heir after all.

  You can’t tell him, Xander. You have to be king. You are my firstborn son and the right should be yours, regardless of the mistakes I’ve made.

  Xander shut out the sound of his mother’s pleading voice. He hated reliving that conversation. Mainly because it was the last one they’d ever had. It had changed everything.

  He straightened and looked across the room at Layna. She looked...well, she did look beautiful in her way.

  She was wearing makeup. He’d brought in a team to help her get ready. He wondered if she’d ever bothered to put makeup on her face, or if it had been too discouraging. There was no hiding the fact that the skin was damaged on one side. It looked...aged with makeup on, rather than just scarred.

  But her eyes were highlighted to perfection, and they glowed with golden warmth, her lips painted a deep rose. And that dress. That dress that made his body tighten. That made him want...

  He wanted her, and that was the most surprising thing about this arrangement. He hadn’t expected to want her. He’d had an endless array of models, mainstream actresses and actresses who did the kinds of movies that rarely had scenes outside the bedroom. Women who were perfectly beautiful, either by birth or with the aid of a surgeon’s knife.