Not unsurprising. Timon was a stern, upright man, very like Xerxes’ own late father; he definitely had a soldier’s sensibility, so no wonder it had rubbed off on his daughter.
‘I hate to say it,’ he murmured, sipping on his coffee, ‘but you look far too female to be his son.’
Calista didn’t respond to the gentle tease, her expression hardening. ‘Looking female has nothing to do with it.’
Xerxes studied her, sitting upright and rigid, always the soldier. And a memory came back to him, of her standing before the mirrors in his bedroom, wearing a magnificent gown yet refusing to look at herself.
‘I think it might have something to do with it,’ he said, testing gently. ‘And I think you don’t like that.’
Her eyes glittered, the embers of her temper glowing. ‘Being a woman in the army is a liability. You have to work harder than everyone else, be stronger, not show even the slightest weakness. And you can’t ever look female, because when you look like a woman, that’s all people will see.’
She looked so proud sitting there, proud and defiant and strong. But he had the feeling that she wasn’t directing that conviction at him. No, it was at someone else.
‘That sounds personal,’ he said, innate protectiveness squeezing tight inside him. ‘Did something happen? Did someone hurt you? Take advantage of you?’
‘Why should that matter?’
‘Because I am the head of the army, which means I’m ultimately responsible.’
‘Oh, of course.’ She took a little breath. ‘No one ever physically touched me. But some of the men liked to get me...angry.’
Carefully, Xerxes put his mug down so he wouldn’t crack it. ‘Angry? Why?’
She lifted a shoulder. ‘To test me, probably.’
‘And what happened?’
The flush was back in her cheeks, creeping down her neck, but her jaw was tight. ‘I cried.’
It was clear from the look in her eyes that crying had been a crime worse than death, and he could well imagine it. In the army, strength was everything and emotion was a weakness, a terrible vulnerability.
You understand that.
Of course he did. He knew that better than anyone.
‘I told you something,’ she continued stonily, not waiting for him to speak. ‘Now it’s your turn to tell me something.’
So it was, and he’d promised her. And who knew? Perhaps she would find his own weakness, his own loss of face, useful.
‘When I was captured, it took Adonis a week to find me,’ he said. ‘And every day for a week I held that capsule in my hand and thought about taking it. But I didn’t. Because I told myself that my brother needed me. I was his Defender and if I was gone, who would be left to defend him?’ He paused, back in the concrete cell they’d kept him in, which was oddly reminiscent of that room under the palace. With no food and no water, beaten every day. ‘But the truth was, I didn’t choose not to take that pill for Adonis. I didn’t take that pill because I wanted to prove my father wrong.’
The stiffness had bled out of her entirely, her gaze was glued to his. She was curious, that was clear. ‘Wrong about what?’
‘He thought I was weak,’ Xerxes said. ‘He gave me that pill because he thought I would break under torture.’ The beatings had been painful, the water deprivation worse, yet he’d endured. ‘So I didn’t take it. And I didn’t break. Not this time.’
Calista’s eyes widened. ‘What do you mean, “not this time”?’
The room under the palace. The bright light. The knife. The cigarette. He’d been terrified. He hadn’t known it was a test.
And he’d failed.
You were weak. You still are. Nothing can change that.
Yes, he’d been weak once. But not again. He knew the dangers now, wouldn’t fall into the same old traps. He would stay strong for his child’s sake.
‘Xerxes?’ She was frowning. ‘You said not this time.’
But he was done with the subject all of a sudden. He didn’t want to talk about this, and anyway, he’d meant to end the conversation before because she looked so shattered. He couldn’t think why he’d prolonged it.
He put his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. ‘I think that’s enough for one day. Do you still want me to show you to your room? Or better yet, perhaps you’d like me to show you your bed?’
Her gaze turned measuring, as if she knew very well what he was doing. ‘You can show me to my room. But I’m not sleeping with you.’
He wanted to tell her that he hadn’t mentioned anything about sleeping, but he’d lost his taste for suggestive flirting. So all he said was, ‘Certainly. Follow me.’
She said nothing as she followed him into the house, up a couple of flights of stairs and down some of the light, airy corridors to the room he’d assigned to her, that was conveniently a couple of doors down from his.
He pushed open the door and stood aside so she could go in. But she didn’t. She stood there, looking at him and frowning. There was something in her eyes that made him feel strange, as if someone had taken his heart in their hands and was slowly twisting it.
Why had he told her that? She was a soldier through and through, and she’d judge him the way his father had. View him with disdain and contempt the way the rest of the army did. Not that her opinion mattered to him one way or the other.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said. ‘Or I’ll start thinking you want to sleep with me after all.’
He’d meant to push her away, but apart from a slight twitch of her brows, she paid no attention to his petulant remark. Instead she said, ‘It bothers you, doesn’t it? That you didn’t choose death.’
His jaw hardened. ‘Cowardice is a crime. Though I guess it’s not in the same league as weeping in front of a roomful of soldiers.’
The words dripped with sarcasm and they had the desired effect.
He wasn’t surprised when she abruptly turned away. What he was surprised about was the disappointment he felt when she shut the door in his face.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CALISTA WOKE TO light coming through the windows that was the soft, dusky pink of twilight. She must have slept half the day away, though maybe that wasn’t any surprise, given the shocks of the past twelve hours.
She’d been exhausted after the conversation with Xerxes downstairs and had simply lain down on the big white bed in the big white room he’d shown her to and gone to sleep.
Possibly she’d been so tired because of what they’d talked about, since she hadn’t expected to confess those things to him. Hadn’t expected him to confess things to her, either.
Such bleak things, too. Things she’d never guess a prince would be subjected to. He’d been tortured. And, despite not taking that pill, he hadn’t broken and his father had still exiled him.
Why? Why had his father assumed he would break? Why had his father assumed he was weak?
You think you’re weak for weeping...
She let out a breath and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, contemplating his last sarcastic comment and how it had hit her somewhere vulnerable. He hadn’t liked her asking him questions and so he’d turned into the tiger again, snapping at her with those sharp teeth. She’d been tired, and she’d felt vaguely ashamed of how large her own weakness had loomed in her life, especially when his had been infinitely more serious.
She should have found it contemptible that he’d failed to swallow that capsule, that he’d put his own obvious anger at his father ahead of the good of his country. Yet...she didn’t. And maybe that was because it so obviously bothered him that he hadn’t. He’d clearly expected her to judge him for it, too, though why her opinion would matter to him, she had no idea.
What she did know was that he wasn’t weak. Nothing about him was. He was so strong physically and it must have taken a tr
emendous amount of mental strength to return to a country that he knew had condemned him.
And it was clear, also, that he felt very strongly about keeping their child safe, and she couldn’t help but respect that. She was a protector herself and his total commitment to the child they’d created was admirable.
She did want to know why he felt he’d failed people, though, because he had told her that. And that he wasn’t going to fail again.
So who had he failed? His father? His brother? Who else?
Perhaps that didn’t matter though. What mattered was that this was clearly a mission for him and one he was determined to complete whether she wanted it or not.
So where did that leave her? She could keep on refusing to marry him, but that wouldn’t stop the little life inside her from growing. Or from needing protection when it was born. No, she hadn’t asked for this to happen, but she’d made an error and this was the consequence, and she couldn’t avoid taking responsibility.
Xerxes certainly wasn’t, which meant she could do no less. She’d been thinking with her heart, not her head, so maybe she needed to think like a soldier and regroup, re-strategize.
He’d said that the role of a prince or princess was to defend, to protect, to serve, and she hadn’t thought of it like that before. It made sense. If she married him, she’d be a princess, which meant she would still be serving Axios. And she’d be protecting her child, too.
In which case, if he was going to be her husband, it would probably be a good thing to do a little reconnaissance on said husband, check out the lay of the land, so to speak. She’d made a start already downstairs, but that had only left her with more questions.
She rolled over and stared towards the big windows that looked out over the sea. The gauzy white curtains had been drawn over the glass, making the light diffuse and milky, but she could still see the sea sparkling beyond. It was very peaceful here with nothing but the faint sound of the waves breaking against the rocks and the cries of the gulls.
What would Xerxes be like as a husband? What did marriage even mean? The only example she had was her parents and that wasn’t a stellar example. Her mother had been so sweet and loving, and yet she’d ended up betraying both her husband and her daughter, leaving them for another man, another life.
A better life than what she had with you.
Pain dug sharp claws into her, though she tried to ignore it. No, her mother had been weak, that had been the issue. She’d wanted love, or so she’d shouted at Calista’s father, but she’d had love. Calista had loved her with all her heart, but in the end that hadn’t been good enough for Nerida. She’d walked away from her husband and her daughter without a backward glance.
No, Calista’s father had been right that night when he’d told her that love was a lie. That it was a weakness. That it had no place in the life of a soldier. And, since she would still be a soldier married to Xerxes, it would have no place in hers.
Xerxes himself wouldn’t care. He didn’t love her and, as he’d already told her, love wasn’t a requirement for a royal marriage and so he wouldn’t be expecting it anyway. And that could only be a good thing.
Sick of thinking about it, Calista pushed herself up and brushed her hair back from her face. Perhaps she’d have a shower, then maybe find something else to wear, as she’d been wearing the same clothes since the day before.
The shower in the en-suite bathroom was large and had the perfect pressure, and once she felt refreshed Calista wrapped a towel around herself and went back into the bedroom. The bag that the guard had taken out of the helicopter had been put on the sofa that faced the windows, so she moved over to it and unzipped it. Inside were a number of brightly coloured, silky items that appeared to be underwear and nothing else.
Calista dug around for anything that was less revealing than the long, dark blue silk negligee that had for some reason been included, but apparently actual clothes had not been packed for her, which meant it was the negligee or nothing.
She’d never worn anything so feminine before—if she didn’t count the gowns she’d tried on a couple of months back—and she didn’t like the idea of wearing it now. But she wasn’t going to wander around naked, so she put it on, as well as a fresh pair of lacy gold underwear. Then she found a matching blue silk robe that at least covered up the fact that she was dressed only in a nightie, and put that on over the top.
Feeling underdressed and oddly vulnerable, she opened the door and went to find Xerxes. With any luck she wouldn’t run into any staff curious about why she was wandering around in only a silky dressing gown.
There were no staff members around, as it turned out, which was a relief, the big house seeming empty. All the rooms were large and all were facing the incredible views of the ocean, the sun setting fire to the sky as it sank below the horizon. The furniture was low-key and rustic, the walls white, while silk cushions and rugs provided bright pops of colour here and there. There was nothing fussy or formal about the decor; it was a house meant to be lived in rather than admired and she liked that very much.
Eventually, drawn by the sounds of splashing coming from one of the terraces, she walked out onto the cool white stone to find Xerxes swimming in the infinity pool.
The big glass doors that separated the terrace from the house had been pushed back, so she wandered out into the pool area, standing on the side, watching him as he powered down the length of the pool.
His strokes were strong, and he pulled himself through the water as if he were climbing a mountain, his muscles flexing and releasing as his arms rose and fell. His skin glistened in the fading light of dusk, the water flowing over the tattoo of the lion on his back.
He was beautiful to watch, raw masculine power and strength, sleek and predatory as a shark in the water.
A pulse of hunger and deep longing went through her.
She’d tried so hard not to think of him over the past few weeks, or of the specifics of the night they’d spent together. Tried so hard to keep everything about that night locked down and in the past. But she could feel that need inside her, twisting and turning, trying to penetrate the armour she wore, stealing through the cracks and forcing them wide. He was the one who’d done that. Who’d cracked her armour apart. And now she’d had a taste of what it was like not to wear it...
God, she wanted more.
Another benefit of marrying him.
Her mouth dried as the thought hit her. If she married him, she could have that. He’d made it clear that he wanted it, so she wouldn’t have to deny herself or pretend she didn’t feel it. She wouldn’t have to be quite so disciplined. The expectations of a princess were different from that of a soldier and so maybe she wouldn’t have to wear that armour. At least, not all the time.
The thought was like a stone thrown into a still pond, each ripple getting wider and wider, setting up a reaction that echoed through her entire body, making her shudder.
Why not? If you keep it only physical, what harm could it do?
Perhaps no harm. And she could be free...
Xerxes must have spotted her, because he slowed then came to a stop, putting his head back and standing up. Water streamed down his body, running off every carved inch of him, the setting sun sending his olive skin a deep gold, and striking sparks from the gleam of it in his dark eyes. He raised a hand, pushing his fingers through his wet black hair, and she was mesmerised by the flex and release of the muscles of his biceps and chest, by the lift of one powerful shoulder.
The hunger inside her deepened.
He smiled, his sheer physical charm almost an affront, because surely no man was allowed to be that gorgeous. ‘Good evening, Calista. How did you sleep?’
‘Very well.’ Her voice was scratchy and breathless, and she couldn’t quite get it under control.
Do you need to? You’ve already lost control with him once before...
&nb
sp; Another thought that sent ripples through her. Of course, she’d lost control with him that night, hadn’t she? And he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t judged. He’d simply taken her passion and driven it higher, using hers to fuel his own so that they’d lost it together...
Her heart thudded hard in her ears as he gave her a long look up and down, and she remembered abruptly what she was wearing, her face heating at the blatant appreciation in his eyes. ‘I knew that would look superb on you.’
She tried to get some much-needed air into her lungs, resisting the urge to cross her arms protectively over her breasts. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anything else for me to wear.’
‘No, there isn’t.’ He moved through the water to the side of the pool. ‘I didn’t pack anything else.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you don’t need anything else.’ He put his hands on the white stone of the pool’s edge. ‘I’d really prefer you to be naked, but I thought the underwear and negligee would save your blushes.’
Calista opened her mouth to respond to that particular insanity, but just at that moment Xerxes pushed himself up and out of the water in one fluid, powerful movement, and everything she’d been going to say went straight out of her head.
He straightened, the sheen of the water on his skin outlining every muscled inch, and Calista found herself staring. Then she blinked as she realised something.
He was naked. Completely, gloriously naked.
Wild heat rushed through her. ‘You’re not wearing anything,’ she said stupidly.
‘No. It’s my pool and the staff have all gone home for the day.’ His mouth curled in that seductive way. ‘Why don’t you join me? You look like you could do with some cooling off.’
She barely heard, unable to stop looking at him. He was a work of art, the setting sun making his skin gleam, the hard lines and white scars a map she wanted to follow with her fingers, or like braille, a story she could read just by touching him.
Promoted To His Princess (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Royal House of Axios, Book 1) Page 11