The Rebel King

‘Charlie…’

He turned on his heel to see his sister’s cheeks holding the dreaded greenish hue. ‘Lia?’ He ran to her and knelt at her chair, checking her pulse automatically. ‘What did you say to her?’

Damianakis licked his lips, distinctly nervous. ‘You didn’t hear me?’

‘Would I need to ask if I had?’ He heard the lash of impatient anger in his tone, felt Lia’s hand press his, and tightened his lips. How many times did he have to shoot the messenger because he couldn’t keep his temper under check? ‘This isn’t your fault. Just tell me what upset Lia.’

Damianakis shifted in his seat. ‘I said you need to prepare yourselves. The ambassador thought it best that I tell you here, in a quiet environment.’ As if gathering his courage, he looked up at Charlie. ‘His Majesty, King Angelis, has arranged royal marriages for you both, to take place as soon as possible.’

Orakidis City, Hellenia The next morning

The beautiful old black Rolls pulled up outside the front of the sprawling, four-winged mansion that was the royal family’s summer palace, where the king was keeping residence until the main palace was fully repaired from a fire attack a few years before.

There were too many repairs still yet to make to the nation’s towns, cities and homes for the royal family to think of repairing a palace as a priority.

Jazmine’s heart beat hard as she stood beside Max at the foot of the stairs, four feet behind the king, as adherence to royal protocol demanded. As Princess Royal and the Grand Duke of Falcandis, they held positions the world would envy; yet here they were again, the king’s dolls to rearrange as he wished. Old friends, they’d been engaged to each other until a month ago; now they were both engaged to strangers.

Was this a case of a magnificent escape for them, or being tossed from the king’s frying pan into his fire?

‘Courage,’ the Grand Duke murmured in her ear.

She stiffened. A princess to the core, she’d had correct deportment and proper distance drilled into her since birth. ‘This is my duty. I don’t need courage to face what I can’t change.’

His deep, smooth voice was rich with amusement. ‘You’re right—resignation would be more useful in our case.’ He waited, but she didn’t answer. ‘Talk to me, Jazmine. Surely, as the most recent object of your duty, I can intrude on your pride and share our changed circumstances with someone who understands?’

She felt a tinge of heat touch her cheeks. Her grandfather, the king, had dissolved their engagement when the news of Prince Kyriacou’s existence had been confirmed. His press secretary had hinted that childhood friendship made the engagement awkward: a truth His Majesty used when he found it convenient.

Jazmine smiled up at the fair, handsome face, so like his English mother. She’d been so embarrassed by her grandfather’s dictum, she hadn’t been able to look at him until now. ‘You’re right, Max. Thank you.’

‘Here come our respective futures,’ he murmured, smiling at her with the sibling-like affection they’d shared since she was thirteen. ‘Our third or fourth cousins, or something. Almost not related at all, apart from the name.’

Thank goodness, Jazmine almost said aloud. She’d found the thought of marrying any relative revolting, but, with Prince Kyriacou’s grandfather marrying an Italian count’s grandchild, and his father marrying a Greek woman—a real commoner!—the lines had blurred. Jazmine’s mother had been of the Spanish nobility—more line-blurring still. The more the better, in her opinion.

She started as the trumpets of Grandfather’s private band blared the national anthem of Hellenia—In Our Courage We Stand—in acknowledgement of royalty’s arrival. It was odd, considering that no one else was there but family and royal staff.

A young woman emerged first, wearing the tailored skirt and silk blouse Jazmine had chosen. This was Giulia, no doubt.

No doubt at all, from the moment she looked up. Though she resembled her Italian grandmother, Giulia was a complete Marandis. She had willowy curves, thick dark curls tumbling down her back, the heavy-lashed, slumberous eyes, the deliciously curved top lip. On the Marandis women, it looked like a hidden smile waiting to burst out, a wonderful secret they wouldn’t tell. Tall and graceful and golden-skinned, Giulia was beautiful in the quiet, understated, Marandis way.

Then her brother emerged from the car, and Jazmine heard the death knell of her plans before she’d even been introduced to the prince.

Oh, he was handsome—dark, lean and oozed hot sensuality. But he was no story-book prince come to win the princess’s heart, and—her heart sank— she doubted he ever would be.

Thick curls cropped short, dark eyes and the regal nose. Yes, Kyriacou was as much a Marandis as his sister, but on him it didn’t achieve elegance. In the charcoal Savile Row suit supplied for him on the jet, with the white shirt and sky-blue tie, he didn’t look suave, he looked turbulent. Every inch of him was lean and muscled, big and fit— ‘buff’, her friends from Oxford would have said. She might have said it herself, if she wasn’t a princess.

And, if he weren’t a Crown Prince, she’d call him hostile.

He looked as regal as a lion, ready to attack, as frighteningly compelling as a wind-tossed storm cloud about to unleash a torrent.

Yes, that was it exactly. God help her, she was engaged to a wild beast set to pounce. And the windstorm was about to break right over her head.

Well, she was used to flying in storms, and flying blind. Five years ago she’d been a minor royal, then after the civil war had ended, she’d become Princess Royal. She’d become the unwanted, ‘couldn’ t-inherit’ female heiress two years before. She’d been engaged to Max until a month ago; now she was engaged to this stranger.

If she’d had a choice, she’d still have taken this fate for the sake of her country and her people. She’d make this man want to marry her, unless she wanted to create an opportunity for Markus Orakis to seize the throne.

Hellenia had seen enough of coups, civil war and murder to last ten generations. She’d do whatever it took to end the bloodshed, to help this country heal from its scars—and she’d cope with this Marandis the same way she coped with her grandfather, the king.

Keep your dignity. Don’t let him walk all over you. When you give in, do so with grace. You are a princess, no man’s doormat.

If only it didn’t sound like a fairy tale in her own mind. No matter how much she wanted to be her own woman, she, like Max—like the new Marandis brother and sister—was a servant to the crown, here to bend to the will of king and country. If Kyriacou and Giulia Marandis didn’t understand that, they soon would.

The new Crown Prince and Princess Royal walked through the line of saluting king’s guards, and beneath the meet-and-kiss flags showing the royal scarlet-and-gold over deep turquoise that was the symbol of Hellenia, and the Marandis banner: the soaring royal eagle over verdant hills and valleys. A massive bouquet of white roses was thrust in Giulia’s arms: the flower of peace.

Grandfather stepped forward, every inch the regal ruler. He extended his hand towards the brother first—the expected way in this male-dominated society. ‘Welcome to Hellenia, Kyriacou,’ he said, using the traditional first-person version of the name Kyriacou, making it more personal, intimate. ‘And to you, Giulia.’ With an attention to detail he’d never lost, the king pronounced her name with beautiful precision: Yoo-lya. He smiled warmly. ‘Welcome to our family, and to your new home.’

Neither responded for a few moments. Though she smiled, Giulia’s face held a look of bewildered wonder at the change in her status. Kyriacou held his sister’s arm in obvious protectiveness. He didn’t move to take the king’s hand, or bow in response to the traditional but sincere welcome.

‘My name, sire,’ he said clearly, ‘is Charlie.’

CHAPTER TWO

STUNNED silence reigned at the flagrant breach in royal protocol.

Breach? It was more like an abyss. Nobody spoke to King Angelis like that, or refused his hand. Hadn’t Eleni taught them the correct mode of address while on the jet? Jazmine had sent her own personal assistant to Australia for that sole purpose.

Giulia stepped forward with a gentle smile, placing her hand in Grandfather’s. ‘Thank you, your Majesty.’ She dipped into a deep curtsey. ‘Forgive us. We’re still confused by the changes in our lives, and tired from the long flight.’ She lifted her lovely face, smiling. ‘We’re not used to this level of fuss attached to our arriving anywhere.’

Jazmine relaxed. At that moment, she knew she’d like Giulia. She was a peacemaker who knew how to keep her dignity and courage.

It was a good thing. Marandis women needed to be strong to survive.

Seeming mollified, Grandfather smiled again. ‘Well, at least you listened to the procedures for royal protocol on the flight.’ The look he slanted at Giulia’s brother was frost itself. Pure snow.

‘Pardon me for being underwhelmed by thirty-six hours spent in lawyers’ offices, limousines, consulates and jets. We were forced to leave our home and life without warning, pushed into limos and jets without consent, told we had to obey the will of a king we knew nothing about. We’ve been bowed and scraped to wherever we go, “Your Highnessed” to death, had “this is a royal secret” slammed into us every thirty seconds. If I was given any choice in any part of the past thirty-six hours, I might have chosen to listen,’ Kyriacou—Charlie—snapped. ‘I’m not a puppet whose strings you can pull, and it would be good for you if you remembered that…Your Majesty.’

More silence, as everyone held their collective breath, waiting for the king’s reply. If Jazmine didn’t have self-discipline, she’d have closed her eyes. The new Crown Prince of Hellenia was a moron, unable to follow simple instructions or to know one always respected royalty.

Grandfather’s eyes narrowed. ‘You will learn differently, Kyriacou. My word is law in Hellenia. I can force you to return to your obscure life without the benefit of your great-grandfather’s fortune. Don’t embarrass me publicly, boy, or you’ll regret it.’

‘With respect, Your Majesty, bring it on,’ Charlie returned without a blink, or lowering his voice. ‘I was enjoying my life until yesterday. Obscurity and the single life suit me right down to the ground. Maybe you should find a new heir, Your Majesty, because I’m nobody’s idea of a duke, let alone a prince—and bringing me here is the furthest you’ll manipulate me.’

It took all Jazmine’s self-will not to gasp. Instead of being intimidated, the new heir met ice with fire—and a tiny part of her, the rebel she’d submerged years ago, wanted to cheer him on.

Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as she’d feared. And maybe there were possibilities in this. If he could stand up against the old autocrat and hold his own, he could be perfect for her purpose. If she could bring him to see what he could accomplish for Hellenia…

Her brain began buzzing with plans.

A royal staffer stepped into the breach, performing his assigned duty with no sign of discomfort. Every inch the Oxford-trained gentleman. ‘Your Royal Highnesses, may I introduce you to Jazmine, the Princess Royal, and Maximilian, the Grand Duke of Falcandis?’

Perfectly done. His name was not to be mentioned until the important personages were introduced. Diplomats and royal staffers knew how to blend in.

‘Your Highness.’ Giulia dipped into another curtsey. ‘Your Grace.’

Max smiled but remained silent, waiting for the first in precedence to speak.

Jazmine smiled with genuine pleasure at Giulia. ‘Please don’t curtsey to me. And call me Jazmine.’ She kissed Giulia’s cheek with warm welcome.

Giulia smiled back. ‘My father was an only child, and my mother’s relatives were all still in Greece, so I’ve never had a cousin, Jazmine, but I’ve always wanted one. My brother tends to be a bit overprotective.’ Those glorious eyes twinkled at her brother, who merely grinned. ‘My friends call me Lia.’

It seemed their lives were more alike than Jazmine had anticipated. She too had grown up with her relatives far away; she too had lost her mother at a young age, and had longed for a friend, a confidante, who belonged in her life. ‘Perhaps we should be thinking of each other as sisters, Lia.’

‘I’d like that.’ Lia’s face lit, as if Jazmine had offered her a fortune.

Without warning, her throat thickened. How long had it been since she’d had a simple offer of friendship from a person she could trust? But, much as she wanted to explore a friendship with Lia, her duty wasn’t complete.

With some trepidation she turned to Charlie, allowing none of her concerns to show in her face or voice. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather not think of you as a cousin, Charlie.’ She held out her hand to him. ‘I don’t think it would bode well for the future.’

To her surprise the new prince took the extended hand, and grinned as he shook it. He drawled in a mock-Southern accent, ‘Smacks too much of hillbilly movies and all them there in-breeders?’

Caught out, she did laugh this time. ‘Well, we’re only third cousins.’

Suddenly Jazmine needed a long, cool glass of water. Her mouth and throat had dried, watching that dark, dangerous face soften with the sexy Marandis smile. His voice was rough with the Australian twang, deep and intensely masculine. Suddenly it made the cultured accents of the men she knew sound, well, namby-pamby. And she was having the strangest reaction to the feel of his hand in hers.

For the first time in years, her self-control vanished and she had not the slightest idea what to do or say.

‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered softly as he pretended to kiss her cheek. ‘This isn’t your fault. I’ll find a way out of this crazy situation.’

She blinked, stared, opened her mouth and closed it. Where had her famous self-composure disappeared to when she needed it?

Max’s smile told Jazmine he’d seen her reaction to the new prince. Taking the focus from her, he moved forward to meet the new arrivals, shaking hands with the right degree of friendly welcome.

‘We will take tea.’ The king turned towards the stately sandstone house—the Marandis summer palace since the eighteenth century—before anyone else could speak.

The smile vanished from Charlie’s face. He nodded, as if his permission had been sought, and turned to walk with Lia into the house.

Despite his being a firefighter, obviously taking orders wasn’t something he enjoyed, though he seemed to know to choose his fights and bide his time.

Though that meant more work whipping him into shape, the complex nature of the new prince seemed to fit into her very personal agenda for the future of Hellenia. A modern hero with rebellious tendencies— as shown by his rescue of the children in Australia—and knowing when to keep silent, was exactly what her people needed.

She turned to follow her grandfather, taking Max’s arm. Then she remembered, and turned to Charlie to walk inside first. He was Crown Prince now, and above her in station.

He took his sister’s arm and stood, waiting. ‘I was brought up to allow ladies—and princesses— to go first.’

The words told her more than she wanted to know. He had no intention of accepting the title, or becoming a part of the royal family. He wanted to return to Australia as soon as possible. He’d soon learn it wouldn’t happen. Royal families didn’t belong to themselves, or have the luxury of independence.

As Max took her arm, he whispered, ‘I suspect life is about to get interesting. Our new prince is a firecracker. Good luck with that.’

She stifled a laugh. ‘I suspect you’re thanking the gods for your changes, now you’ve seen Lia.’

‘She certainly is lovely,’ he murmured, ‘And smooths over the waves. Good manners and well brought-up. Just what every man wants in a wife.’

Jazmine caught the irony in his tone. If Max resented being a slave to royal duty, he hadn’t shown any sign of it in the past few months—but then, how could he until now?

‘If the sister was well brought-up, what happened to the brother?’ she whispered.

‘By all accounts, his grandfather never bowed to the will of the crown,’ Max replied, just as softly. But as they passed through the grand double doors to the ballroom-sized chamber known as the tea room, she saw Charlie stiffen.

Max ushered her into the room. ‘Well, you can’t fault his hearing. You might want to keep any future liaisons—’

‘I’m not biting.’ She smiled sweetly at him. A prince in waiting and a gentleman to the core, Max had always enjoyed putting the cat among the pigeons.

Max grinned. ‘You can’t blame me for trying. It doesn’t appear as if my future bride has the Marandis fighting spirit your future king has in spades. I fear she’ll make me a poor opponent.’

Jazmine shook her head. Having read the investigative reports into the brother and sister, she doubted Lia lacked anything, including spirit. Her story of anorexia survival proved that, but Max would have to find out in his own time and way.

Grandfather waved them all into chairs facing him. By the way he drew himself up and refused to sit, he was about to hold court, as he called it.

She called it laying down the law.

‘Tea,’ he ordered a servant, who bowed and disappeared. The room emptied.

To Jazmine’s surprise, Charlie took a seat beside her. He was glancing from her to Giulia—who sat on Jazmine’s other side—but his expression didn’t change. He still looked grim and protective.

‘We will have no public displays in future of family discord, Kyriacou.’

Grandfather never descended to such terms as ‘do you hear me?’ As king, he could enforce his word with the full force of the law, even in the twenty-first century. He believed the Hellenican people liked it that way.

Jazmine had other ideas, but they’d remain her own until she was queen. If she became queen. She kept her gaze on the man who held her entire future in his hands.

Charlie was sprawled in his chair, watching her grandfather with polite interest, as if the king was an unusual exhibit at the zoo. ‘It’s been a long time since anyone defied you, I’d guess, Your Majesty.’

Grandfather put a hand on the back of the carved-oak chair. His brows lifted a touch. ‘Certainly.’

Charlie said politely, but with finality, ‘Well, here’s the lowdown on family discord, sire. I’m not your family. I met you five minutes ago. I am an Australian citizen—’

The king’s smile stopped him mid-sentence.

‘Actually, Kyriacou, you are a Hellenican citizen,’ Grandfather stated with well-bred relish. ‘You are a descendant of the royal family. You have been Hellenican, subject to its laws and regulations, from the moment you stepped into the consulate in Canberra.’

The silence was absolute. Even the servants didn’t breathe.

After a minute that seemed to take an hour, the king went on. ‘My word is law in Hellenia. You will do as I tell you, and leave only when I allow it.’ He smiled at Charlie in barely restrained triumph.

Giulia’s face was pale as she turned towards her brother. Max lifted his brows.

Jazmine felt herself gulping on air. Whatever Charlie said or did, unless it was capitulation or an abject apology, would only throw a landmine into Grandfather’s proud, stubborn face—and, on five minutes’ acquaintance, she felt sure ‘capitulation’ and ‘apology’ were words as foreign to the prince’s nature as they were to the king’s.

After an interminable minute, Charlie answered without the expected fire. ‘Without prior knowledge of Hellenican law, we’ve been subjected to false imprisonment, which is subject to international law under the terms of the Geneva Convention.’ He smiled back at Grandfather, whose lined, regal face whitened. ‘You made a mistake in underestimating me, Your Majesty. I will not be forcibly detained here. Nor will I allow you to force my sister or me to accept the positions. We are not political prisoners. If you make us such, I’m sure the world media would love to know about it.’

War declared—and it was about to be accepted. Before she knew it, Jazmine was on her feet, looking down at Charlie. ‘May I speak with you, please, Your Highness?’

Arrested by her intervention into the hostilities, Charlie turned and looked at her. A brow lifted as he searched her eyes. Jazmine’s panic grew as he seemed to be looking past her projected calm. Seeing more than she wanted him to.

‘Of course, Your Highness. I’m at your service.’ Just as slow, seeming almost insolent, he rose from the chair, stood and held an arm out to her as he’d seen Max do.

He was a quick learner when he wanted to be…but the challenge in his eyes told her the changes would come only in his time and way.

This man definitely had hidden depths—and, as he’d said to Grandfather, it was a mistake to underestimate him.

‘Do the goons get in line every time you move?’ he said in a conversational tone as they headed to a parlour, and four Secret Service people followed at a discreet distance.

‘Actually, two of them are yours. They’re here to protect you.’ Resisting the urge to pull her arm from his—the Secret Service would report the disharmony to Grandfather—she checked his reaction.

Bad mistake. The brows were up over laughing, derisive eyes. ‘Protect me? A little, five-foot-four Miss Perfect is going to take me down? I need help handling you?’

She nodded at their combined minders to step outside, then closed the parlour door behind them. ‘I’m five-foot three,’ she retorted, intensely aware of keeping her dignity. ‘And, though we both know it isn’t me you need protection from, I have a green belt in karate.’ She could also fly a jet and combat swim: they were basic requirements for the royal heirs of Hellenia.

She wondered if that would pique his interest; he was a man of action after all. How would he take it if he knew that both she and Max, whom he saw as pampered royals, could do all he did and then some?

Charlie grinned. ‘Are you going to bring me to the mat? Want to know how many ways I could take you down, princess?’

She shook herself. This half-sexual banter put her in a ridiculous situation; it was beneath her. ‘We’ve just come out of ten years of civil war. There were ten million people in Hellenia fifteen years ago. We’re down to eight million. Lord Orakis tends to eliminate competition in violent ways, and you and I both stand in his way. The king doubled the protection of all the royal family three years ago.’ After the palace attack. And she intended to change the over-the-top protection levels, too, if—when—she became queen. He had to listen to her. He had to.

Charlie’s brows lifted again, and she guessed he was digesting another facet to his unwanted elevation in status.

She sat down. ‘We should get comfortable. There are things you need to know.’

‘Shake out the list, it’s miles long.’ His tone was as dry as new wine as he sat opposite her. It seemed he was a man who liked his personal distance. ‘We might need to ask the goons to bring in dinner and breakfast while they’re out there doing nothing.’

The words made her hesitate; he was already on edge, and obviously didn’t want to belong here. She abandoned her original, perhaps too harsh, words. ‘Life is very different here—’

He laughed, hard-edged. Words couldn’t adequately describe the wealth of half-repressed emotions it held.

Trying again, she forced herself to hold to her resolve. He’d been here less than an hour and he’d been threatened, had been given veiled bribes, and told he had no rights. A man like Charlie was bound to react badly to that. ‘No doubt you’ve been brought up very differently to those of us within the royal family, but you’re no longer in Australia.’