by Isla Olsen
The King and Jai
Royal & Reckless #1
Isla Olsen
Moonwalker Press
Contents
Stay in Touch
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Stay in Touch
Also by Isla Olsen
Copyright 2020 Isla Olsen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in an article or book review.
All people, events and places featured in this book are products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious context. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover Copyright 2020 Vivian Monir VM Designs
Created with Vellum
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About This Book
JAI
For the record, sleeping with my boss was not part of the plan when I started this new job. A job I desperately need to get my parents off my back about my chosen career path.
But the second I catch sight of Lukas Romansky in the flesh, I know I’m in trouble. The guy is pure sex wrapped in a three-piece suit, and not even his stuffy attitude or the way he seems to despise me on sight is enough to stifle my attraction.
But I’m here to work, not to hook up. It doesn’t matter how sexy Lukas is, or how sweet he is with his children—sleeping with the boss is never a good idea.
Oh, and did I mention my boss also happens to be the king?
Yes, King Lukas III of Korova, the man voted World’s Sexiest Head of State three years in a row. Hooking up with him wouldn’t just be a bad idea, it would be an international scandal.
So believe me when I say I didn’t come to Korova with the intention of seducing the king. But sometimes things just happen. And is it my fault I’m impossible to resist?
1
JAI
“Nervous flyer, hon?”
“Huh?” I blink a couple of times at the elderly woman seated next to me, and it’s not until she cants her head toward my hands that I realize I’m tapping them against my knees in a jittery rhythm. I make myself pause the movement and clasp my hands together in my lap instead. “Not particularly,” I tell her. “I guess I’m just a little nervous about where I’m headed.”
“Oh? And where’s that?”
It’s not an unreasonable question. I booked this flight last minute, so the only one I could get was with a connection via London.
“Have you heard of Korova? It’s in Eastern Europe.”
Her mouth turns down into a thoughtful frown as she tries to place the name. “Is that in Ukraine? I’ve heard of Ukraine.”
I just barely manage not to roll my eyes. Everyone’s heard of Ukraine. “Um, no, it’s right next to it, though. It’s a tiny little country squeezed between Ukraine and Belarus.”
“And you’re worried the Russians are going to blow it up?”
I blink at her several times. “Um, no, not particularly. I’m starting a new job there.”
And it has to go well… This is pretty much my last opportunity to prove to my parents I haven’t just wasted the last six years—not to mention all the money they spent on tuition—pursuing a career path they deem to be completely useless and fanciful. It’s also the only chance I’m going to get to earn enough to pay for my PhD without resorting to the unappealing option of crippling student loans. Lord knows my folks aren’t going to spend another dime, even if they can more than easily afford it.
I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket and dig it out to check the message.
Owen Kelly: Okay you were right. Blake and I worked things out
I smile at the message, glad to know my buddy’s finally come to his senses and that he’s allowing himself to be happy with the man he loves.
Me: Of course I was right. I’m brilliant
I quickly type out the reply and power down my phone, because I can see the flight attendant wandering up the aisle doing a final check before take off.
I’d assumed the conversation with the woman next to me had ended, but I probably should have known better. I’d put her at about seventy, and she reminds me a lot of Betty White in that movie with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds. Fluffy blonde hair, a sparkling smile and a sweet, friendly voice that makes the idea of simply putting earphones in and ignoring her seem cruel.
“What’s the job?” she asks.
I have to think for a moment, before remembering I’d told her I’m going to Korova for a new job. “I’m going to be a tutor for a family there.”
“Oh, that sounds interesting.” She pats the arm of the woman who’s already asleep in the seat next to her. “My wife and I are off to England to see all the castles. I want to see where the queen lives, and where they filmed Downton Abbey. And Alma wants to visit all the famous battle sites.”
“Sounds like a great holiday,” I say with a smile.
Fortunately, Betty White’s doppelganger—whose name I learned later is Marty—didn’t keep me talking the entire flight to London, and I was able to get a couple hours’ sleep. Which turns out to be a good thing, because I had no such luck on either of my connecting flights, so by the time I land at Vlalens International Airport, Korova, I am utterly exhausted.
After clearing immigration and collecting my luggage, I head through the door into the arrivals area of the small airport. When I accepted this job, I was told someone would be waiting for me when I arrived to drive me to the house where I’ll be working as a live-in tutor, and, sure enough, there’s a smartly dressed middle-aged man holding up a sign that reads WINTERS. He’s easy to spot because there are literally no other drivers waiting to meet the small cluster of people emerging into the arrivals area.
“I’m Jai Winters,” I say as I approach him.
He glances at me for a moment, his eyes scanning up and down, before asking, “Can I see some ID, please, sir?”
“Uh…sure.” I show him my passport, which he seems to find acceptable because he gives a curt nod before grabbing the handle of my suitcase and motioning for me to follow him to the exit.
He leads me to a sleek black sedan, and as I relax back on the buttery leather seats, watching out the window as we leave the airport behind, I can’t help wondering about the family I’ll be working for. All I know is that they’re an old aristocratic family and they have two children who need schooling in French, German and history. I’m not entirely sure why they’ve hired me and not someone with an actual teaching qualification, but I’m not about to turn my nose up at a paying job. Especially not one in a country I’ve been dreaming about visiting for years.
Still watching out the window, I notice we’re approaching the cobbled streets and red-roofed buildings of Vlalens’s Old Town. I’m excited to see i
t, but that’s offset by my confusion, because as far as I know, all the main aristocratic estates are further out, away from the center of town.
I don’t say anything, though, figuring the driver knows where he’s going. And when he drives through the front gates of a building I recognize in an instant, my jaw practically drops into my lap. This cannot be right. No way have I been hired to work in the royal palace.
When the driver pulls up and my door is opened by a waiting servant, I get out of the car, a little unsteady on my feet with my mind still in a complete daze.
I glance around for my suitcase, but the man who opened the car door for me merely smiles and gestures for me to step inside the palace. “This way please, Mr. Winters. Your luggage will be taken to your suite for you.”
My suite?
I step inside and am promptly met by a pint-sized woman who, despite her small stature, looks stern enough to command an army. She’s probably about my mom’s age, and is wearing a tailored pantsuit I’m sure my mother would find just darling. Her iron gray hair hangs in straight curtains just past her chin, and her lips are painted with bright red lipstick.
“I am Veronika Zareva, Crown Secretary,” she says with a slight Korovan accent, extending her hand for me to shake. “We spoke on the phone.”
I nod and take her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry, I’m a little surprised. When you said I’d be working for an aristocratic family, this wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“There were security protocols to maintain,” she explains. “I hope you are not disappointed?”
I let out a breath of wry laughter. “No, definitely not. Just a little dazed.”
“Come with me. I’ll show you to your suite and explain more about your role.”
I keep pace alongside Veronika as she strides briskly through the halls of the palace. My eyes don’t really know where to look, but I decide to just listen to Veronika for now and get my bearings later.
“As we’ve already discussed, you’ll be tutoring the prince and princess in French, German and history—”
“Won’t the prince be going away to school soon?” I ask, recalling something I read earlier in the year about Prince Tomas turning eleven.
Veronika lets out a heavy sigh. “That is something of a contentious topic at the moment. The king would very much like the prince to attend Eton like he did, but the government is concerned about the optics and are pushing for a European school instead.”
“Ah, I see.” The government’s position makes sense, I suppose. Korova is very much interested in joining the European Union, so sending the crown prince to school in a country that has left that union would certainly send a negative message. “Do we know where he’ll go to school if not England?”
“Likely France, possibly Germany,” Veronika says. “Hence why you’re here.”
I nod. “Got it.”
“In the morning session the royal children have their basic schooling with Ms. Tamlin, a tutor from England who has been here since Prince Aleksandr was a boy,” she says, referencing the king’s younger brother who is now around my age. “She instructs the children in spelling and arithmetic and such. They are both fluent in English and also speak Korovan, which I believe you speak as well?”
“That’s right.”
She nods with satisfaction and continues with her preamble. “Your classes will be in the afternoon, after the luncheon. And when they’ve finished their lessons for the day, the children will have a number of other activities to attend—horse riding, ballet, painting, that sort of thing. You’ll be given a schedule so you can keep track.”
I want to ask whether I’m expected to perform musical numbers and make a daring escape from the Nazis, because it’s starting to sound like I’m being hired more as a governess than a tutor, but I decide against it; I’m not a hundred percent sure Veronika would appreciate the joke.
“This section of the palace is what we call the residential suites,” Veronika says once we’ve veered away from the bustle of the main palace. “You have a modest suite, with access to a common kitchen and living room, as well as a small dining room for the upper level staff.”
‘Modest’ is not really the word I’d use to describe my suite, seeing as how between the sitting room, the bedroom and the ensuite bathroom it’d rival the square footage of my apartment back in New York. I notice my suitcase has been brought up for me and is sitting neatly by the door.
“I trust this will be suitable?” Veronika asks.
I offer a broad grin. “It’s great, thanks.”
She nods. “I’ll leave you to settle in for now. No doubt the king will wish to meet you, so I’ll return once that has been arranged.”
My plan was to have a shower and freshen up as soon as I had the chance, but the moment I’m alone in my suite, I can’t seem to stop my feet from taking me over to the bed. I’m so exhausted from my flights, surely a quick nap won’t hurt?
I don’t know how long I’m asleep for, but the next thing I know I’m being woken by a weird tinkling bell sound and realize it’s the tone for the doorbell outside my suite.
I slide off the bed and hurry to answer the door, finding Veronika on the other side.
“The king has asked to meet you.”
I spare a glance down at the hooded sweatshirt I’m wearing, my hand lifting to rub over the day of growth on my jaw. “Now?”
Veronika nods, and I think I catch a sliver of sympathy in her expression. “Now.”
2
LUKAS
“Your Majesty.”
I nod in acknowledgement as Veronika, the Crown Secretary, approaches me in the hallway just beyond my private rooms. “What’s on the agenda today, Veronika?”
Without even needing to check her notes, she rattles off, “You have the Prime Minister at ten for his weekly, and there’s a luncheon being held in your honor at Starkov House—that starts at twelve. This afternoon the princess will be having her first riding lesson, I thought you might like to be there for that.”
I nod in acknowledgement. “Yes, thank you. What time?”
“That will be at four. Also, the new tutor has just arrived.”
I pause in my step. “New tutor? What’s happened to Penny?”
Veronika shakes her head. “This is the languages expert. He’ll take the children for afternoon lessons and teach them French and German, along with history of this region. Penny can only handle so much, and with it becoming likely that Prince Tomas will be attending school in either France or Germany…”
I hold up my hand to interrupt. “Yes, yes, I know.” I still find it ridiculous that my son can’t attend the same school my brother and I, along with several generations of our ancestors, did. But that’s politics for you.
“So, what can you tell me about this tutor?” I ask.
“He’s American, and he has a masters degree in Eastern European Languages and Culture. He knows a great deal about the history and cultures of this region, and he speaks five languages.”
“And they are?”
“English, Russian, Korovan—”
“Korovan is barely indistinguishable from Russian,” I say with a scoff.
“Polish, German and French,” Veronika continues, ignoring my interruption.
I frown in confusion. “That’s six.”
She offers me a knowing smirk. “I thought you weren’t counting Korovan?”
I let out a disgruntled grumble in response. “Fine. He’s here already, did you say? Can I meet him this morning, before the Prime Minister’s visit?”
“I’m sure we can arrange that.”
Half an hour later, Veronika returns to lead me into the tea room, where this new tutor is waiting.
“May I present King Lukas III of Korova,” she says with her usual introductory gesture. To me, she says, “Your Majesty, this is Mr. Jai Winters.”
The man standing in front of me is young. No older than his mid-twenties, I’d wager. I find it difficult
to believe someone of his age could boast the kind of qualifications Veronika seemed so impressed with earlier, but I trust her judgment implicitly so I suppose I’ll take her word for it despite my reservations. He’s also incredibly handsome, a thought that I push from my mind due to its complete irrelevance. I instead focus on his attire—jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. My mouth turns down at the casual way he’s dressed, but it’s possible he was given very little warning ahead of this meeting so I suppose I could give him the benefit of the doubt this once.
“Mr. Winters. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He gapes at me for a long moment, his gray eyes running up the length of my body, then back down again in a way that makes me decidedly uncomfortable. When he finally remembers he’s supposed to bow in front of the king of Korova, he bends at the waist, dipping low and almost toppling over. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m happy to pleasure you.” His back straightens, eyes wide. “I mean, I care about your pleasure. Ahh, I mean…shit. Fuck…”
The corner of my mouth tilts upward. “Well, I can see my children are in excellent hands.”
There’s color blooming on his cheeks as he offers a self-deprecating smile. I bite down on my jaw as that pang of discomfort hits me again. Yes, definitely discomfort. Not anything else.