Theseus Discovers His Heir

He inclined his head and straightened. ‘I shall leave you to it. I’ll be back later if you find you have any questions for me.’

She forced a smile in acknowledgement, but the second she was alone she dropped her head onto the desk and closed her eyes.

Barely five minutes in his company and now not a single part of her felt right, as if being with him had caused her entire body to turn itself inside out.

She would have to find a way to manage it.

With grim determination she forced her attention to the piles of research papers before her.

The work Fiona had done on the biography had made for compelling reading.

King Astraeus had led a fascinating life, one filled with glory and honour. While many men of his nation had fought for the allies in the war—his brother among them—the then Prince Astraeus had led the defence of his own island. When a battalion of naval ships had approached the island with the intention to occupy it, Astraeus had led the counterattack. The fleet had been obliterated before it had reached the shore.

No other enemy ship had attempted to land on Agon since.

That would have been impressive on its own, but only the day before Astraeus had been given the news that his only brother had been killed in action.

This was Jo’s son’s heritage—a family that led from the front and who were all prepared to put their lives on the line to defend their home and their people.

A powerful family. And in it fitted Theseus—the father of her son.

The chapter Fiona had finished just before being taken ill detailed the death of Astraeus’s only son and daughter-in-law in a tragic car crash twenty-six years ago. Theseus’s parents. He’d been nine years old. So very young.

Her heart cracked a little to imagine what he must have gone through.

But that had been a long time ago, she reminded herself. Theseus the child had no bearing on Theseus the adult. She could not allow sympathy to lower her guard. Until she knew the real Theseus she couldn’t afford to lower it for one second.

* * *

Theseus put his phone down. He could hear the soft rustle of papers being turned in the adjoining office.

When Fiona had worked on the biography he’d hardly been aware of her. Other than the times when she would ask him questions, she might not have existed. Fiona using that office hadn’t interrupted the flow of his own work.

As the financial figurehead of the Kalliakis Investment Company, and with his newer role of overseeing the palace accounts, which his grandfather had finally agreed to a year ago, he had plenty to keep his brain occupied.

In his childhood he’d dreamed of being an astronaut, of flying through the universe exploring new planets and solar systems. Astronauts had to be good with numbers, and he’d practised his arithmetic with a zeal that had astounded his tutor.

He could still remember one of the rare occasions when his father had come into Theseus’s bedroom, mere months before he’d died. He’d looked at the star charts and pictures of rockets that had filled the walls and told him to rid his mind of such nonsense. A Kalliakis prince could never be an astronaut.

Even now Theseus would stare up at the night sky and be filled with longing.

He could have done it. He had the talent and the enthusiasm. He was fit, healthy and active.

But it could never be.

Now he used his talents, if not his enthusiasm, for financial reports. At least when he was going through the accounts he didn’t have to put on a face and make small talk; didn’t have to remember he was an ambassador for his family and his island.

So he kept himself busy. Too much time on his hands left his mind free to wander, to dream, to imagine what if...?

Today, though, the woman next door with hair like autumn leaves kept intruding. And she hadn’t made so much as a peep of noise.

He couldn’t get over how damned sexy she’d become. Even now, wearing nothing but charcoal three-quarter-length leggings, and a plain long-sleeved tunic-style black top that made her hair appear even more vibrant, she exuded a beguiling allure.

It had been a long time since he’d experienced such a primitive reaction to a woman.

Five years, to be exact.

His return to Agon from his sabbatical had been a turning point for him. Battling grief for his grandmother and ugly home truths from his grandfather, he’d known it was time to stop fighting. He would never be free. Sitting on the summit of Aconcagua in Argentina, the highest point in the Southern Hemisphere, was the closest he would ever get to the stars.

It had been time to accept his destiny.

He had decided he would curb his pleasure-seeking and throw himself into palace life. His grandfather had already been an old man. Helios had taken on many of his duties. It had been time for Theseus to take his share of them and relieve the burden.

He had been determined to prove to his grandfather that the Kalliakis name did mean something to him and had spent the years since his sabbatical doing exactly that—throwing himself into palace life and royal duties. In that time his appetite for sex had diminished to nothing, which suited him perfectly. Women who would usually turn his head had elicited minimal reaction. Neither his heart not his libido had been in it.

Now, for the first time in years, he felt the thrill of the chase coiling in his veins and cursed that such feelings should be unleashed.

Jo might be walking temptation, but there was no place in his life for desire. His next relationship would be with the woman he made his wife, even if he did intend on putting off the moment for as long as he could.

He stepped away from his desk and crossed the threshold into the adjoining office.

‘How are you getting on?’

She didn’t respond.

He was about to repeat his question but then saw she had earphones in.

She must have sensed his presence, for she turned her head and pulled them out.

‘I will be leaving the palace shortly. Is there anything you need to talk to me about?’

‘Not yet. I’m still going through the research papers and making notes on anything I feel could be relevant. As so many aspects are connected I think it will be best if we sit down and discuss it all when I’m done.’

‘Will that not eat into your writing time?’

‘It will make it easier—it means it will be solid in my head and I’ll be in a position to work through it all without having to stop and interrupt you every five minutes. I’ll probably still have further questions, but they will be far fewer this way.’

‘I’m hosting a function for a delegation of French businessmen today, and I have a dinner at the US Embassy to attend this evening, but I can clear most of my diary for the next few days so I’ll be available when you’re ready.’

‘That would be good, thank you,’ she answered with a brief smile, her brilliant blue-grey eyes meeting his. She looked away, casting her gaze to her desk, then back up to him. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’ So long as it wasn’t about Illya. He refused to give headspace to memories from that time.

‘Your grandfather’s ill, isn’t he?’

‘How do you know that?’ he asked, taken aback.

No one outside of the family circle and some select palace staff were supposed to know of his grandfather’s cancer—which naturally meant the whole palace knew. However, Theseus knew none of them would discuss it with anyone on the outside. Working in the Agon Royal Palace was considered an honour. To share confidential matters would be deemed treasonous.

‘The publishing deadline was brought forward by three months and it was a tight enough deadline to begin with.’ She shrugged, as if ashamed of her conclusion.

But it was the right conclusion.

It had occurred to Theseus, when the Jubilee Gala plans were first being discussed, that his grandfather had never seen his legacy in print. Usually Agon biographies were written after the reigning monarch had abdicated, then another would be written upon their death. As his grandfather had never abdicated that first book had never been written. He’d spent fifty years on the throne—the longest reign in three hundred years.

Suddenly he’d stumbled upon a tangible way to prove to his grandfather that he was proud of his heritage, proud to be a Kalliakis and, more than any of that, proud to call Astraeus his grandfather.

The more he’d immersed himself in his grandfather’s life, the greater his pride had become. Astraeus Kalliakis was a true king. A man of honour. A man Theseus knew he should have emulated, not turned his back on for all those years.

This biography would be his personal tribute to him.

But then fate had stepped in. No sooner had he finished his research, and Fiona had flown over to the island to start writing it, than his grandfather had been given his diagnosis and everything had been brought forward by three months.

The Gala, the biography...everything was being rushed. Because now there lay the real danger that his grandfather wouldn’t live long enough to see any of it.

The day drew nearer when he would have to say goodbye for the last time to the man who had raised him from the age of nine.

Theos, he would give his soul for a miracle.

* * *

Jo watched Theseus carefully. For a man usually so full of vitality he had a sudden stillness about him that she found unnerving.

Then his lips curved into a pensive smile and he nodded. ‘Your intuition is right. My grandfather has cancer.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘He’s eighty-seven,’ he said philosophically, but his eyes had dimmed.

‘That doesn’t make it any easier.’ Jo had only known one of her grandparents: her paternal grandfather. She’d never seen much of him when she’d been growing up but she remembered how she’d always looked forward to his visits. When Granddad Bill came over her mother would bake even more cakes than usual and her father would drag himself out of the study where he spent his days drinking cheap whisky.

His death had saddened her but the distance between their lives had meant it had caused a dull ache rather than an acute pain.

It would be a thousand times harder for Theseus. The King was like a father to him.

He must be going through hell.

She remembered his despondency five years ago, when he’d learned his grandmother was dying. Whatever regrets Jo might have over that night, she would never regret being there for him.

Who amongst this palace of courtiers did he turn to for solace now? Who wrapped their arms around his neck and stroked his hair? Who tried to absorb his pain and give him comfort?

Because surely—surely—his pain that night had been real. Even if everything else had been a lie, that had been true.

Somewhere beneath the brooding façade Theseus was in agony. She would bet every penny she owned on it.

He tugged at his shirt collar as if it constricted him. ‘The hardest thing to understand is why he didn’t say anything sooner. He’s known for a number of years that something was wrong but didn’t say a word until the pain became intolerable. If he’d spoken sooner they might have been able to cure him, but...’ He shrugged and closed his eyes. ‘He left it too late. He’s riddled with it.’

‘Is he having any treatment?’

‘Against the doctor’s advice, yes.’

‘They don’t think it’s a good idea?’

‘His age and frailty are factors against it, but my grandfather is a stubborn old man who has never had to bow to the opinions of those he disagrees with—he is a king. He wants to live long enough to celebrate his jubilee and see Helios married. He has tasked the doctors with making that happen.’

Silence hung, forming a strangely intimate atmosphere that was broken by a knock on the door.

Theseus’s eyes held hers for a beat longer before he called out, ‘Come,’ and a courtier entered with news that the delegation he was expecting had arrived.

Excusing himself, he disappeared, leaving Jo with nothing but her own confused thoughts for company.

She doubled over and laid her cheek on the desk, gazing at the closed door with unfocused eyes, trying to control the savage beat of her heart.

The King—her son’s great-grandfather—was dying.

It brought it home as nothing else had that this family, however great and powerful they might be, were Toby’s kin.

She gripped her head, felt a cramping pain catching in her belly. Her emotions were riding an unpredictable roller coaster. She might as well be blindfolded for all she knew of what the immediate future would bring.

But her conscience spoke loud and clear. Toby would start school in five months and the innocence with which he looked at the world would change. He knew he had a daddy who lived in Greece, but so far that was the extent of his knowledge and his curiosity. Soon the notion of a father wouldn’t be some abstract thing but something concrete that all the other kids had and he would want too.

And didn’t Theseus deserve to know that he was a father and be given the choice to be in Toby’s life?

If only she had a crystal ball.

But no matter how much guilt she carried she could not forget that her overriding priority was her son. She would do anything to keep him safe, and if that meant keeping Theseus in the dark until she was certain his knowing could bring no harm to Toby, then that was what she must do.

* * *

Dictaphone and notepad in hand, Jo slipped through the archway into Theseus’s office. After almost two days of going through the research papers she was ready for him.

He was on the phone. His desk—which, like her own, curved to cover two walls but was twice the size—was heaped with neat piles of files and folders. His three desktop computers were all switched on.

He nodded briefly in acknowledgement and raised a hand to indicate that he wouldn’t be long.

While he continued his conversation she felt his eyes follow her as she stepped over to the window.

She loved gazing out over the palace grounds. No matter which window she looked out from the vista was always spectacular, with sprawling gardens that ran as far as the eye could see, lush with colourful spring flowers and verdant lawn, and the palace maze rising high in the distance.

When she looked back he was unabashedly studying her.

Prickles of self-consciousness swept through her. Flustered, she smoothed her sweater down over her stomach and forced her gaze back outside, scolding herself for reading anything into his contemplative study of her. Her thin cream sweater and faded blue jeans were hardly the height of fashion.

‘What can I help you with?’ he asked once he’d finished his call.

‘I’m ready with my questions for you.’

‘Ask away.’

‘It’ll probably take a couple of hours to go through them all,’ she warned him, conscious of how busy he must be.

‘My diary is clear. I’m at your disposal. Please, take a seat.’ He pointed to the armchair in the corner of his office and put his computers into sleep mode.

Sinking into the armchair’s cosy softness, she resisted the urge to tuck her feet under her bottom.

‘Before we discuss anything, I want to say how sorry I was to read about your parents’ accident.’

Their tragic car crash had changed the course of Agon’s history. It was something Jo knew would reverberate through the rest of her work, and as much as she would have liked to steer away from it, knowing that to talk about it would bring back painful memories for him, it wasn’t something she could avoid.

His gaze held hers before he brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

‘See,’ he said quietly, emotion swirling in his brown eyes, ‘I didn’t lie to you about everything.’

She didn’t answer, keeping her gaze on his and then wrenching her eyes away to look at her notebook, trying to keep her thoughts coherent.

When they’d sat in his cabin on Illya he’d swigged at his bottle of gin and told her how much his grandmother meant to him, that she’d been the one to whom he’d turned after the death of his parents. Jo’s heart had broken when she’d known he would be returning home to say his final goodbye.

‘Did you know when you left Illya that that would be it for Theo Patakis?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘And are you happy with your real life or were you happier as Theo?’

His demeanour didn’t change but his eyes became steely. ‘I don’t think these questions have any relevance to my grandfather’s biography.’

‘I know.’

‘I am a prince of Agon. My duty is to my family and my island.’

‘But does it make you happy?’ she persisted.

‘Happiness is not quantifiable,’ he answered shortly, looking away to press a button on one of the four landline telephones on his desk. ‘I’ll order refreshments.’

With the thread of their conversation dismissed, Jo pulled out a small table tucked next to her so it sat between them, and put her Dictaphone on it.

‘Do you mind if I record our conversation rather than take notes?’ she asked once he’d ordered coffee and cake.

‘If that’s what works for you, then by all means.’

She pressed ‘record’ and glanced again at her notes.

‘Am I right in thinking your grandfather would have abdicated when your father reached the age of forty?’

‘That is correct. Agon monarchs traditionally step down when their heir turns forty. When my parents died Helios became heir.’

‘And Helios was ten at the time?’

‘Yes.’

‘So any thoughts of abdication and retirement had to be put to one side?’

‘My father was an only child. My grandfather’s only sibling died fighting in the war, so there was no one suitable to act as regent until Helios came of age.’

‘What plans did your grandfather have for his retirement?’

A shadow crossed his face, lines forming on his forehead. ‘He was going to take a back seat for my grandmother.’

‘She was a violinist?’

‘Yes. When they married she was already world-famous. My grandfather’s coronation limited the scope of when and where she could perform, so she concentrated on composing music rather than performing, which was her first love.’

‘So that was their plan? For her to start performing again?’

‘She still performed, but only a couple of times a year at carefully arranged events. His abdication would have freed her and enabled her to tour the world—something my grandfather was fully behind. He was looking forward to travelling with her.’

‘He’d travelled much of the world as a monarch,’ she pointed out.

‘Travelling as monarch is different. He was an ambassador for our island.’ He smiled grimly. ‘When a member of my family travels on royal business he has a retinue of staff and an itinerary that leaves no room for spontaneity. Every minute is accounted for.’

Jo tried to imagine the Theo she’d met five years ago, the carefree adrenaline addict with the infectious smile and an impulsive zest for life, living under such restrictions.

An image flashed into her mind of a fully mature lion trapped in a small cage.

‘Is that why your grandfather agreed you could take a sabbatical from your duties at the palace and travel the world?’

‘It wasn’t a question of agreement,’ he replied shortly.

When Theseus had decided to leave he’d discussed it with his grandfather as a matter of courtesy. He’d wanted his blessing but it hadn’t been imperative. He would have gone anyway. He’d graduated from Sandhurst and, loving military life, had stayed on in the army for a few more years. But then he’d turned twenty-eight and his family’s eyes had turned to him. He’d been expected to take his place in the palace, as a good prince was supposed to do...

It had felt as if a hook had been placed around his neck, tightening as the day had loomed ever closer.

He’d known that once he was in the palace permanently, any hope of freedom would be gone for ever. His childhood dream of becoming an astronaut had long been buried, but that yearning for freedom, the wish to see new horizons and control his own destiny without thinking of the impact on the palace, had still been so vivid he’d been able to taste it on his tongue.

He’d thought of his parents, dead at an age not much older than he was now, their lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye. Would they have lived that final day in the same way if they’d known it would be their last?

And so he’d made up his mind to leave before protocol engulfed him and to live his life as if each day really was his last.

He’d become Theo Patakis: the man he might have been if fate hadn’t made him a prince.

CHAPTER FOUR

A STRANGE DISQUIET slipped through him. Theseus shrugged it off, and was thankful when a maid came into the office with their refreshments, placing a tray down on the table where Jo had put her Dictaphone.

He saw her gaze flitter to the karidopita, a walnut and spice cake.

‘Have a slice.’ He lifted the plate for her.

‘No, thank you.’ While she poured the coffee her gaze lingered on the cake.

‘Are you sure?’

She pulled a face. ‘I put on weight just looking at it.’

‘One slice won’t hurt.’

‘If I have one slice I’ll want the rest of it, and before we know it I’ll be running to the kitchen and holding the chef to ransom until he’s made me a fresh one.’ She said it with laughter in her voice, but there was no disguising the longing on her face.

He was about to encourage her again—to his mind a little bit of everything never hurt anyone—when he remembered her as she’d been on Illya. She still had her luscious curves now, but there was no denying that she’d lost weight—perhaps a couple of stone if he were any judge. It seemed her weight loss was an ongoing battle.

Moving the plate to his desk and out of her eyeline, he settled back in his chair, cradling his coffee cup in his hands.

He didn’t miss the quick smile of gratitude she threw his way. It was a smile that made his stomach pull and a wave of something he couldn’t distinguish race through him.

‘We were discussing my grandfather’s plans for abdication,’ he prompted her, keen to steer them back to their conversation and focus his mind on the job at hand rather than on her.

She threw him another grateful smile and leaned forward to press ‘record’ on her Dictaphone again. The movement pulled her sweater down enough to give him the tiniest glimpse of her milky cleavage.

A stab of lust pierced him. Thoughts he’d done his damnedest to keep at bay pushed through.

She had skin like satin. Breasts that...

With resolve like steel he pushed the unbidden memory away.

He was not that man who put his own pleasure above everything else any more.

Holding on to his steely resolve and keeping his head together, he answered her many questions, one leading directly to another, all the while stopping his thoughts from straying any further into forbidden territory.

It was a hard thing to do when the mouth posing the questions was so sinfully kissable.

* * *

By the time she’d asked her last question Jo’s lower back ached from sitting in the same position for so long—three hours, according to her watch. She got up to stretch her legs and went to stand at the window.

Discussing his grandfather’s life had felt strangely intimate and she was relieved that it was over. The way Theseus had stared at her throughout...

His dark eyes had never left her face. And she hadn’t been able to wrench her gaze from his.

‘There’s a load of schoolchildren in your garden,’ she said, saying the first thing that popped into her mind as she tried desperately to break through the weird atmosphere that had shrunk the spacious office into a tight, claustrophobic room.

‘They’ll be here for the tour,’ he murmured, coming to stand by her side. ‘The palace museum and grounds only open at weekends in the off season, but we arrange private midweek tours for schools and other groups. From the first of May until the first of September the grounds, museum and some parts of the palace are open every day. You can’t walk anywhere without tripping over a tourist.’