And if she hadn’t have met Damon, she would not have thought the idea possible.
Tingles of pleasure worked their way around her body at the memories of the day, and she snuggled lower into the couch. She would keep these memories forever. The feel of his hands on her, his relaxed smile as they walked to the base of Aphrodite’s Mountain, the way he said her name after he laughed at something she said, or the shade of blue his eyes became after an argument. All of these were burned into her very soul.
Tia rubbed her hand over her chest. Her heart felt . . . raw. And it was because of him.
She needed water. She tiptoed across the hall, spying the office door. Good, it was still closed. He had said he needed to do some work. That was fine by her. The sooner she began to distance herself, the better. She squinted into the kitchen’s dimness and made her way towards the tap, her hands freezing in midair as she spied the open back door.
Curiosity mixed with a spoonful of apprehension buzzed through her like excited bees in a hive at the sound of glass knocking against wood, and she pulled her hand back from the tap. Reason warred with instinct. She shouldn’t try to seek him out. She should accept that whatever it was they had would be over in the cold light of the morning.
Instinct won, and she tiptoed outside. The cool air nipped at her bare feet, and the moonlight bathed her in its iridescent beams.
“Tia.”
A cry sprang to her lips as a shape moved in the shadows. Her limbs felt frozen into place as the blurred lines slowly began to take shape. It was a shape she knew well, and her heart hammered its approval as Damon emerged from the darkness.
She snaked her tongue over her dry lips, stopping instantly as she caught his gaze travelling in the same direction. “Damon! What are you doing out here? I thought you were in the study?”
“I was. Marius called and the roads are open again.” His voice was soft, sad almost.
“That’s, um, great news, isn’t it?” The words, like her, felt stuck. She was unable to move away from him, and she didn’t know if she wanted to.
“Yes, it is. The outside is a great place to think, and I’ve been out here wondering, who are you? I have never met anyone like you. I’ve been out here racking my brain, and I’ve got nothing.”
His voice was like caramel, soft, smooth, and bad for her. Fires of awareness raced over her skin, and she grasped the chair in front of her at the sudden jellylike feeling in her legs.
“I . . . I’m just an ordinary woman.” Her voice sounded shaky even to her, and she drew in a deep breath, swallowing it back quickly as he stepped silently closer.
He cupped her cheek, and her skin leapt to life under his hand. She could see the heat that had coursed through her all day reflected in his eyes.
“No, Tia. No, you are not.” His words whispered over her skin, pulling her to him. “I’ve never met someone and felt—I don’t even know what this is—but I’ve never felt it so soon.”
“Damon.” The sigh fell from her lips, and her fingers curled into his T-shirt as his head lowered and his lips danced slowly across her. He tasted of coffee and all the things that made him uniquely him, that made him uniquely hers.
Fireworks exploded behind her eyes. She felt herself flying as his lips left hers to move across her face, the sound of her name like a litany on his lips. And she knew that for the time they had, she wanted to be his, not the future queen, just his.
“Damon, I . . . ” She pulled back. She wanted him, this. Her lips felt swollen, and her body thrilled at the remembered touch. “I . . . I want you.”
She ducked her head as fear knotted inside of her. Was this how it was done? She wasn’t sure.
A callus-roughened finger stroked under her chin and lifted her face up, and then he was there. His breath was soft and warm on her face, and shivers spread like wildfire across her skin. His lips found hers. She leaned against him, breathing him in, allowing herself the freedom to lose herself in him.
“Are you . . . are you sure?” The uncertainty in his voice made her smile.
“I’ve never been more certain.”
“Thank God, because I want you too. I’ve been out here all night trying not to, and I’m tired of fighting it.”
Tears pricked at her eyes as his hands reached up to cup her face and then her . . .
Ice flowed through her veins as his fingers reached into her hair, pulling at her wig.
“Damon, don’t!” Her cry mingled with his sharp intake of breath before cool air nipped at her scalp and her wig landed gently on the floor.
Golden strands swam down her back and fluttered in front of her face, and her stomach sank at the horror in his eyes.
“What. The. Hell. Tia?”
Chapter 11
Tia pressed her hand over her mouth to hold back the cry she could feel building in her throat, and she inhaled deeply, dropping her hands to her side. “Damon. Please. I can explain. You see I—”
“There is no need. I think I can guess already. Hell, I knew as soon as I met you who you were.” The ice in his voice made her blood run cold, and she grasped the chair in front of her, the coolness of the wood not alleviating the heat pouring through her.
“What . . . what do you mean?” She could barely get the words out. What did he mean he knew? She had been so careful, no one had guessed, not even Anna.
“As soon as he started all this, I suspected every step he took would be bigger than the last. I hadn’t reckoned on you, though I should have known.”
He? Who was he? “I do not know who you are talking about. Damon, please listen—”
She was shouting at his back as he marched past her back into the house. His coldness towards her made her stomach as heavy as a lead balloon.
She followed after him and gripped the counter tops, digging her fingers into the cold, hard marble. Cold and hard. Strange how much the house was like its owner at this point.
His lips had curled into a snarl, and his muscles flexed in his arms from where he was pressing his hands into the kitchen table behind him. “Like hell you don’t! Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe you know him by another title. After all, he has so many of them, and from what I’ve heard, he is not immune to using them all if he needs too. Here are two that I know of: Phillipe Rousseau, king of Montcroix,” he hissed, and Tia’s heart dropped to her feet.
“Phillipe? But that is . . . Why would he do that? He . . . ” Her mouth hung open as the thoughts refused to hang together in a single thought. This did not make any sense!
Paper rustled from somewhere, and she looked down as he dug in his pockets and pulled out a piece of paper and smoothed his hands across it.
“Why? Because of this. Let me read it to you.”
Damon Anastos—I will admit by some ill luck of fate that you are my son, but mistakes and royal bastards have no place in the Royal House of Rousseau. I demand the return of all the letters I wrote to your mother or further action will follow.
“Sweet, isn’t it, Tia? Don’t you just love father and son relationships?”
Oh. My. God! She touched her trembling fingers to her lips, narrowing her eyes at the paper. That was the royal seal. She would recognise it anywhere.
“And now further action has followed, though for a spy—”
“A spy? For Phillipe?” Tia cut across him, quickly putting the pieces together. “You really think I am a spy for Phillipe?”
“No? Then who are you, and why did you have a wig on?” His face had paled to an ashen pallor, and Tia dragged her hand through her hair.
“I, um . . . ” She nibbled on her lower lip as excuses flew through her brain. There were none, not anymore. She was going to have to take the bull by the horns. Despite what said bull thought about her family. She straightened her shoulders and dropped her hands to her sides. “I am Princess Christiana Athena Louise Helios. Tia to my friends and family and, to everyone else, the future queen of Kephelai.”
The paleness she had witnessed only moments before disa
ppeared as bright red flooded his cheeks and his mouth dropped open before closing quickly again. “The future queen?” Damon’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away, and she shook her head to clear the clouds clogging her thoughts.
Confusion mixed with hurt laced his voice, and she reached out her hands as he stepped farther back—away from her.
She hadn’t thought it was possible for her already broken heart to shatter further, but clearly she had been wrong.
“Yes, so you see there is no way I could have been sent by Phillipe to spy on you.” She had meant to sound reassuring, but from the dipping of his eyebrows and pressing of his lips into a grimace, her words had missed their mark by miles.
“Is that supposed to be a joke? After everything I said about royals and titles . . . ” The chair squeaked as he sat down heavily and leaned forward, splaying his hands across his knees. “Why the wig, and why did you break down on my land? Did you really have a job in Arios, or was that another lie too?”
“No, I do have a real job and the car was a genuine breakdown. I needed the wig because I had a plan that required me to not be noticed—”
“It would take more than a wig for that to happen,” he mumbled, and she felt heat creep up her cheeks. Was that a compliment? From the look of annoyance on his face, she suspected it was and that he had not intended to make it.
“My plan was to work in a gift shop and kind of do a survey of what people really thought of the royal, I mean, my family. Magazines do it in the UK about theirs, and I wanted to know. Also it would give me a chance to work out my modernisation pl—”
“Plans. You mean the factories you intend to build that would cut into the orange blossom honey farming land and the tourism initiatives you intend to attract to an area that people are already happy and settled in?” he cut in, his eyes alight with new flames of anger.
“Yes, but I have been thinking about it. After what you said, actually, and I think I can improve these areas without changing things and . . . ” Her voice trailed off as he stood up, and his long legs ate up the ground as he paced the length of the room.
“You really are a piece of work, you know that? All that talk you did about the factories. I stupidly thought it was hypothetical when, in fact, it was a reality. I bet you thought I was an idiot to question you when there was no point.”
She shook her head as tears stung behind her eyes. “No. I did not, and that is not how it is! I had that plan but only because I had to do something!”
“What does that mean?” he muttered gruffly.
“You do not know what it is like living in the shadow of someone else. Well, maybe you do, but at least the world does not know about your family. They know about mine, and they know about Georgios, my brother, who was supposed to be the king and who implemented all these amazing things. After he died, people looked to me to fill his shoes,” she cried, curling her hands into fists beside her and pushing them into her thighs. “On top of which there is this crazy pressure to create this archaic happy home life with the perfect husband and children.”
“You’re married?” He froze, his features hard as he stared at her. “But you said . . . ”
“No, I was engaged but I called it off. We did not love each other. It was a stupid thing, and even Antoine—”
“Antoine as in Prince Antoine? The same Antoine who is King Phillipe’s legitimate son and heir and my . . . half brother. That man was your fiancé?”
Her cheeks burned, and she grasped the side of the counter as her legs threatened to fold under her. She had not thought of it like that. She had not been thinking at all if she was honest with herself. It had kind of just popped out. “Yes,” she whispered.
“This has to be a joke, right? Some sick joke,” he growled, his feet moving back and forth again before stopping in front of her. His nostrils flared, and he dragged his hand across his head. “I was right all along. What the royals want, they get, right?”
His tone was flat, emotionless, and she pressed her hand over her lips and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. “Damon, please that is not—”
“Save it, Tia. I am done with the royals. Period. Why don’t you just go back to where you belong and leave me alone?”
His feet thumped heavily against the floor as he turned sharply away from her, and she dropped against the counter top, leaning on it as the sound of a door click reached her ears.
She dropped her head in her hands and let the tears that had been building up fall. She had never meant to hurt him or anyone, but she had and now he was gone.
Tia cleared her throat loudly and pulled herself up, dragging her hands over her eyes. This would never do! She was the future queen, and she had the House of Helios running though her veins.
She looked around the empty kitchen. She could even hear her heart break, if that was possible, and she had thought, after Geo, that there was nothing left to break.
Thoughts of her brother strengthened her resolve. Sure the first part of her plan had gone belly up, but the next part would not. She would show Damon that not all the royals deserved to be tarred with the same brush as Phillipe. He had been right about one thing, no matter how much the words hurt. She had to get back to the palace.
She tiptoed to the room she had seen him use as an office and grabbed the phone, keying in the number she knew by heart, and her nerves jumped at the voice on the other end. “Sebastian, it’s me. Where are you? Back at the palace, thank God! . . . Yes, I know I did not go to the chalet. Did you tell Mother and Father? . . . Phew. Bastian, I need your help . . . No, I am okay and no guards. You need to come incognito, though I doubt that will be a bother for you! I am at number ten Aiolou Street. As you enter Thethys—yes, the village in the mountains—it’s the sharp turn exit after the mini-roundabout.”
She dropped the phone back into the receiver with a click and stood up, making her way back to the living room and her book. The pages felt heavy between her fingers. Like Odysseus, she was finally going . . . the word “home” stuck in her throat. She was going to her palace. Back to where she belonged.
• • •
It had been two weeks, and now it was starting to make sense, damn it!
He should have known she was too good to be true. Damon pierced the pitchfork into another bale of hay, sending it flying silently through the air onto the mound behind him. His chest still burned at the memory of coming back to the house and finding her gone. Yes, he had told her to go. But his stomach had churned at the thought that something had happened to her until one of the local shops had said they had seen her in a car with a man who looked strangely like Prince Sebastian. Fine, good even! She had gone back to where she belonged, and so had he.
No wonder she did not want to stick around when Mr. Kavilas turned up that night, and how else could she have known Nico Baros? Sure, Mr. Kavilas had known him, but Damon would bet a thousand euros that he hadn’t been the one to give Nico Damon’s address. The only reason Damon let the man stick around instead of throwing him off his land was because, if he was honest, he owed it to his horses and the memory of his mother to make his stables a success.
Like . . . the royals.
Damon ground the pitchfork deeper into the hay. He had been so stupid, so blinded by hate towards his father that he had not even thought to link the puzzle pieces of her story. In fact, it made sense now how she knew about racers altogether! He remembered his mother’s warning to be careful after finding out about the death of Prince Georgios in a horse riding accident, but he knew that did not apply to him. He and Kronos were unstoppable.
He scuffed his shoe against the cobbled floor. Nico had said that with the right training, his Olympians could be stronger than the royal racers and that he hadn’t seen such strength as Damon’s Olympians had in a long time.
Damon shook his head, clearing the dizzying wishful thoughts. It didn’t matter. He didn’t want anything more from her or her royal connections. If he could do this without his “f
ather’s” help, then he could do it without hers.
“Damon. Damon. There are people here to see you.”
He glanced down at the walkie-talkie on his hip and grimaced. He had said he wanted to be left alone in the barn. It was the same request he had made these past few days, and yet Rafe sought him out every chance he got.
He pulled it from his waistband and pressed hard on the button. “Tell them to go away. I’m in no mood for company.”
“I think you will want to see us.”
Damon swivelled quickly, letting the walkie-talkie drop with a soft thud into the hay.
A soft gasp emerged from the diminutive woman standing next to a tall, suited man whose green eyes regarded him steadily.
“Prince Antoine,” Damon ground out. He would recognise that face anywhere, especially considering the time he had spent researching it since getting back to the stables.
“Ah, so you already know who I am. But please just call me Antoine. And you are Mr. Damon Anastos, I presume.”
“Damon.” His jaw ached, and he gripped the pitchfork tighter. He wouldn’t show them he was nervous. He wouldn’t give them the pleasure.
“Damon it is. In that case, let me introduce our baby sister, Adelle.”
Eyes Damon couldn’t decipher as hazel or golden rolled at the comment. “I’m not a baby and it’s Elle. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. . . . ah, Damon. You have lovely stables and beautiful horses.”
“Elle has a passion for horses. She is a silver medalist in the equestrian Olympics.”
Pride rang out in Antoine’s voice, and Damon’s heart squeezed at the closeness between the siblings. Siblings he had never known.
“Horses seem to run in the Rousseau blood. The king of Montcroix has very fine stables,” Antoine carried on at his silence.
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