Carrying the King's Pride

by Jennifer Hayward

  “And Stella?”

  His mouth tipped up at one corner. “Stella eschews formality whenever she can get away with it.”

  He took her arm and escorted her down the massive circular staircase to the gold-accented foyer and through to the drawing room, where Nik’s family was gathered for drinks before dinner.

  Her first impression of King Gregorios as he sat in a high-back chair near the windows was of flashing blue eyes the exact light aquamarine color of Nik’s, a thinning head of pure white hair and a lined face that seemed to tell the colorful story of his almost four decades of rule.

  Nik placed a palm to her back and directed her to his father’s chair. King Gregorios stood as his son made the introductions, his vivid blue eyes inspecting her from head to foot.

  “Ms. Ramirez,” the king said, inclining his head. “We had anticipated welcoming a countess to the family, but life takes unexpected turns, doesn’t it?”

  Stella gasped. Nik’s fingers tightened against her back. “Behave, Father.”

  The heat that she was sure heightened color in her cheeks was the only indication Sofía allowed that the king’s barb had landed. Queen Amara stepped forward and took Sofía’s hands. She was just as elegantly beautiful as her photographs, her silver hair caught up in a knot at the back of her head, her dark brown eyes discerning beneath sharply arched brows. “Sofía,” she murmured, brushing a kiss to each of her cheeks, “it is so good to meet you.”

  The queen pulled back, a wry twist to her mouth. “Don’t mind my husband. The men in this family have a tendency to speak their minds as I’m sure you’ve learned from Nik.”

  She forced a smile to her lips. “Somewhat. It’s an honor to meet you, Your Highness.”

  “Amara, please. You are going to be my daughter-in-law after all.”

  She blinked at the unreality of that. Then there was another Constantinides to meet as Stella stepped forward. More arresting than beautiful, the cool, blue-eyed blonde with those signature Constantinides eyes took her in with unabashed curiosity.

  “So lovely to meet you,” Stella murmured, brushing a kiss to both her cheeks. “Don’t mind my father,” she said under her breath as she guided Sofía toward the ornately carved bar on the other side of the room. “He is who he is.”

  Sofía kept her gaze firmly averted from King Gregorios. “It’s so nice to meet you, too. Nik has told me how close you are.”

  “That I am the renegade princess, I expect?” Stella lifted a brow, eyes dancing. “And you are the scandalous American lover who destroyed an alliance. It’s a match made in heaven.”

  She gave Nik’s sister a wary look as she poured her a glass of lemonade. “If it makes you feel any better,” Stella murmured, handing her the glass, “I can’t stand the countess. She is a cold fish. Nik would have been miserable.”

  Sofía’s eyes widened. She wrapped her fingers around the glass. “What is that?” Stella demanded, manacling her fingers around Sofía’s wrist to twist it so she could see the sapphire. “I can’t believe Nik broke with tradition.”

  “Tradition?”

  “All Akathinian royal engagements are celebrated with a rare type of Tanzanian sapphire named for the Ionian Sea upon which we sit. You will be the first not to wear an Akathinian sapphire. Well, except for Queen Flora’s daughter.”

  “What did she have?”

  “Her eldest daughter, Terese, refused to have an Akathinian sapphire. She hadn’t been married two years when she and her husband had a huge argument. Terese took the car out and got in an accident. At the time, the queen was convinced it was because of the ring. Because she’d broken tradition. She was very superstitious.”

  Right. Yet another strike against her and Nik.

  “So the legend goes.” Stella waved a hand at her. “It’s foolishness. I’m so glad Nik’s not the superstitious type. I’m not wearing one if I ever marry. I’m a canary diamond kind of girl.”

  Queen Amara strolled over to see the ring. “Nik has always been of his own mind. His coronation ceremony was very simple, bucking tradition. I hope he won’t deprive us of too many traditions around your wedding. We have such lovely ones.”

  Nik joined them. “On that note, we’re planning an engagement party rather than a garden press conference.”

  The queen brightened. “That’s a lovely idea. When will you have it?”

  “In two weeks’ time.”

  His mother looked horrified. “Two weeks?”

  “It will be good for the people. They could use something to cheer about right now.”

  “Yes, I expect it will. But so soon. How will we get everything done?”

  “It’s all in motion. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

  Stella clapped her hands, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “Let me help plan it. I can work with the palace staff and help Sofía with all the protocol and rigmarole.”

  Nik lifted a brow. “You teach Sofía protocol? She’ll have an adviser.”

  Stella scowled at her brother. “I’ll be the perfect teacher. She’ll know what’s old-school nonsense and what she has to pay attention to.”

  And with that Sofía learned that Stella always got what she wanted.

  * * *

  Nik was still fuming as he sat down beside his father at the dinner table in the smaller, less formal dining room. He had been inexcusably rude to his fiancée. It would not continue, but it would have to be addressed later at a more appropriate time.

  His attempt to steer the conversation to innocuous ground was circumvented by the sensational news coverage of his meeting with Idas today and his father’s ire. “Your stance was called aggressive,” his father pointed out. “International opinion doesn’t like it, Nikandros, and neither does the council.”

  Nik’s blood boiled a degree hotter. What was wrong with his father talking politics at the dinner table? His mind hadn’t been right since Athamos’s death. “Idas was the inflammatory one,” he said curtly. “I was merely responding to him, an error, I know. It would not have been necessary had the council representatives with me had the facts at hand.”

  “What will you do?” his mother interjected. “Idas doesn’t seem to be backing down. This seems like more than rhetoric.”

  “I have a meeting with Aristos Nicolades tomorrow.”

  “Aristos?” Stella frowned. “Why are you meeting with him?”

  “To discuss an economic alliance to replace the Agieros.”

  Nik’s sister looked horrified. “But he’s the devil.”

  “He is necessary now that Nikandros has eliminated the Agieros from the equation.” King Gregorios scowled. “Now we will see the scourge of humanity his casinos will bring to Akathinia.”

  Nik threw his father a hard-edged look. “I don’t think this is the right time or place to be discussing this. I will meet with Aristos tomorrow and we will move forward from there. Akathinia must be protected. That is the priority.”

  His father shook his head. “We will live to regret this. If Athamos were in charge, we would have had a deal with the Agieros. This would not be happening.”

  “Yes, well, unfortunately, Athamos was off fighting over his lover when his car plunged into the ocean and he is dead.” All eyes flew to Nik as he trained his gaze on his father. “I am the one making the decisions. I say we meet with Aristos.”

  His father muttered something under his breath, picked up his fork and started eating. The table was so silent, the clink of the king’s fork against the china was the only sound in the room.

  His mother, ever the peacekeeper, asked Sofía about her dress for the engagement party. Nik mentally checked out as the conversation flowed around him, his anger too great to corral.

  When coffee and dessert were offered, Sofía thankfully declined, likely no
more enamored with the idea of staying at the table than he was. They said their good-nights, his fiancée promising to meet with Stella over breakfast the next morning to discuss the party.

  And then, mercifully, it was over.

  * * *

  If the dining room had been quiet, their suite was deadly so. Nik poured a whiskey, took it out on the terrace and stood in the moonlight looking out at the gardens. The rigid set of his shoulders, his ramrod-straight spine, the explosive intensity that had wrapped itself around him all day warned her to stay away.

  They didn’t need any more tension between them. She should go have a bath. But her concern for him outweighed her common sense.

  She slipped off her shoes and joined him on the terrace, her elbows resting on the top of the railing beside him as she considered the moon, a luminous crescent-shaped sliver that sat high in the sky.

  “I’m sorry my father was so rude to you,” he said. “It was unacceptable. My brother’s death has hit him hard.”

  “You and he lock horns.”

  He lifted the glass in a mock salute. “A brilliant deduction.”

  She let that slide. “I’m sorry about the Agieros,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry this is such a mess.”

  He flicked her a sideways glance. “What’s done is done.”

  A wave of antagonism shot through her at the jaded glint in his eyes but she tamped it down because now was not the time. “What happened today, Nik?”

  * * *

  He turned to face her, a closed look on his face. “Why don’t we choose another topic? This one is getting a little old.”

  She looked at him silently, waiting him out.

  He lifted a shoulder. “He was inflammatory, as I said. Half of what he was saying wasn’t true, and yet I couldn’t counter it properly because my advisers didn’t have the information. Weren’t prepared.”

  “And you blew up?”

  “You watched the media coverage?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked back out at the gardens. “It was unfortunate. He pushed the right buttons.”

  Silence fell between them. She studied the play of the moonlight across the hard lines of his face.

  “I don’t think your father is the only one who hasn’t processed your brother’s death,” she said quietly. “It’s been a huge shock. You need to give yourself time, Nik. Time to grieve.”

  He shot her a hard look. “I don’t need a counselor, Sofía.”

  “Well you need something. You are like a powder keg today, ready to blow at the slightest provocation.”

  His jaw hardened. “I’m fairly sure I’ve had more than my fair share of it today. It was a mistake. We all make them.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “We do.” She laced her hands together on the railing. “Where does the antagonism between you and your father come from?”

  “We’ve never seen eye to eye.”

  “And your brother and he did?”

  He turned to her, his gaze firing. “I said I was done with this topic.”

  She gave him an even look. “You can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

  “Signomi?”

  “You picked me apart that night in New York, Nik. You pointed out things about me I hadn’t necessarily had the courage to address. So I could see myself clearly. Are you too afraid to do the same?”

  “I see myself just fine,” he growled. “I let my temper get in the way today. Forgive me if it’s a bit much to have what my brother would have done thrown in my face one too many times.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Did your brother’s philosophies differ from yours?”

  His mouth flattened. “My ideas on how to run this country, on life, are pragmatic, progressive. I have a more international view. My father and Athamos preferred to remain mired in the past. Enamored of traditions and ideals that no longer make sense. Athamos did not always recognize the need to forge his own path.”

  And how difficult must that have been? For his brother and father to have been on the same page and Nik on another entirely? To be on the outside of that bond?

  And now, she thought, studying the deeply etched lines on his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes, him as the new king, with the weight of a nation on his shoulders, still gaining his sea legs in a role she suspected he wouldn’t have chosen. A father mired in grief and of no help to him. A man in the middle of a storm.

  “You called me philosophical that night in New York,” she said, “about my father. I was angry, too, Nik. For a long time. I didn’t understand why he was taken from me. Couldn’t stop thinking what if. I didn’t get there overnight. You won’t, either.”

  “Your father’s death was a tragic accident, Sofía. Athamos’s was senseless. Selfish. He got in that car and threw his life away over a woman.”

  “And the airline could have properly serviced my father’s plane. If I had carried that around with me my entire life, kept assigning blame, I would have ended up bitter and angry. Don’t do that to yourself.”

  “This isn’t the same thing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he played with something that wasn’t his to give.” His voice rose until he was nearly shouting at her. “He was the heir to the throne. He threw my country into crisis without thinking of the consequences.”

  “And he put you in this position.”

  A stillness enveloped him. The icy anger in his blue eyes morphed into a white-hot fury that made her heart race. “I do not begrudge the role I have been given, Sofía.”

  She drew in a breath, her heart pounding. “I wasn’t suggesting that. I was merely saying it would be understandable for you to feel resentment for having your life turned upside down. For having all of this thrust upon you.”

  He stepped closer, the smoky scent of whiskey filling her senses as he set his glittering blue gaze on hers. “I don’t need your understanding. What I need from you is less complication.”

  Her chin came up. “It took two of us to produce this particular complication.”

  His eyes moved over her in a hot, deliberate appraisal that melted her insides. “And it was a hell of a good time doing it, wasn’t it? That kind of comfort I can take. Otherwise, go to bed.”

  Her mouth dropped open. Nails biting into her palms she stood there staring at him. He was hurting, no doubt about it. Had ghosts she’d barely scratched the surface of. But that wasn’t going to happen.

  Spinning on her heel, she stalked inside.

  * * *

  Nik took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his hands gripping the railing as he leaned back and flexed his arms. Sofía telling him how to feel, how to manage the maelstrom of emotions storming his head after the day he’d just had was too much. Much too much.

  You need to give yourself time to grieve. When was there time to grieve when he spent every waking hour trying to find his way out of this hell he’d been bequeathed? Of course he was angry with Athamos. Furious with his brother for playing not only with his own life but with his, as well. For landing him back in an arena where his father had made it clear he didn’t belong. Athamos’s domain. Athamos the born diplomat.

  And maybe his father had been right. Hadn’t he walked right into Idas’s trap today? Done exactly what he’d expected him to? What everyone had expected him to—the reckless, rebel prince turned king? Proved them all right about him?

  He would rectify his mistake, he knew he would. He was mostly furious with himself for allowing his emotions to get the best of him. His weakness. What his father called his Achilles’ heel.

  He brought the tumbler to his mouth and downed the rest of the whiskey. But it wasn’t having its usual dulling effect. He was too tense, too on edge. When he was like this, when a shot of something strong couldn’t block out the f
uror in his head there was only one thing that could relax him, and that one thing had just turned on her heel and walked away from him. Had made it clear there would be no sex until they reached an understanding of each other.

  Well, she had that wrong. This marriage might have been thrust upon him, along with everything else he’d acquired over the past month, but he’d be damned if he was going to sacrifice the physical aspect of his relationship with Sofía when it was the part they did so spectacularly well.

  He turned on his heel and strode inside. Sofía was standing in front of the mirror, brushing her hair. It fell down her back like a dark silk curtain, contrasting with her honey-colored skin bestowed upon her by her Chilean heritage.

  Heat moved through him. She was so beautiful, so desirable, what she had done to him, manufacturing a pregnancy, had no impact on his lust. It only made him want to have her more.

  He deposited his glass on the coffee table with a deliberate movement. Sofía’s wary gaze met his in the mirror as he walked up behind her and rested his hands on her hips. “This looks fantastic on you, glykeia mou.”

  She kept the brush strokes going, rhythmically over and over. “I put the nightie on because the maid took my T-shirt. I haven’t changed my mind, Nik. Get your hands off me.”

  “No.” He lowered his mouth to her bare shoulder, scraping his teeth across her delicate skin. Her involuntary shudder made him smile. “Your body says yes.”

  “And I’m saying no.” Her gaze speared his in the mirror. “You accused me of trapping you into marriage, Nik. You threatened to take my child away. As if you don’t know me. Until we regain our trust in each other, this isn’t happening.”

  Fire heated his gaze. “So you fell into the trap of wanting more. I’m past it, Sofía. I’m moving on. You should, too. Why drag this out?”

  She threw the brush on the dresser and spun around. “The only thing I’m guilty of is wanting to be closer to you that night, Nik. There was no risk in my mind. If you really want me to come around, then start wrapping your head around a real relationship where we actually communicate. We’re going to need it to get through this.”