He rules a kingdom...
Will she rule his heart?
King Adonis learned early on that emotion is a weakness a monarch can’t afford. But then innocent Anna is sent to him to help tame his wayward motherless daughter. Instantly he realises he wants Anna. And that wanting her is extremely dangerous.
The gruff, iron-hearted monarch is unlike anyone unworldly Anna has ever met. That Adonis desires her is almost beyond comprehension. But their heated encounter is enough to make her believe anything. Even that she might be the only woman to glimpse the real man behind the throne...
JACKIE ASHENDEN writes dark, emotional stories, with alpha heroes who’ve just got the world to their liking only to have it blown wide apart by their kick-ass heroines. She lives in Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, the inimitable Dr Jax, two kids and two rats. When she’s not torturing alpha males and their gutsy heroines she can be found drinking chocolate martinis, reading anything she can lay her hands on, wasting time on social media or being forced to go mountain biking with her husband. To keep up to date with Jackie’s new releases and other news sign up to her newsletter at jackieashenden.com.
Also by Jackie Ashenden
Crowned at the Desert King’s Command
The Spaniard’s Wedding Revenge
Shocking Italian Heirs miniseries
Demanding His Hidden Heir
Claiming His One-Night Child
The Royal House of Axios miniseries
Promoted to His Princess
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
The Most Powerful of Kings
Jackie Ashenden
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09853-3
THE MOST POWERFUL OF KINGS
© 2020 Jackie Ashenden
Published in Great Britain 2020
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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For the 300
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
Extract
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
ANNA FLEETWOOD STOOD by the window in the great medieval fortress that was the royal palace of Axios, staring down at the little city nestled at the foot of the mountains below, the white stone buildings glowing in the sun, the windows glittering.
Itheus. Capital city of Axios, a small, but pretty kingdom just over Greece’s northern border.
She would have liked to do a few tourist-type things, since this was her first time out of England and away from the convent she’d grown up in, but unfortunately she wasn’t here to play the tourist.
She was here to meet King Adonis Nikolaides, the Lion of Axios.
She took a breath, trying to resist the urge to rub her sweaty palms down her plain grey dress.
Of course she wasn’t nervous. He was only a king. No big deal.
Anna turned from the window.
The big room she stood in was the king’s receiving room, with walls of undressed stone and a stone floor. Some attempts at lightening the austerity had been made with a few silk rugs, a couple of ancient-looking tapestries depicting battle scenes, and an incongruous spray of orchids on a side table near the huge fireplace.
But even the bright sun pouring through the window couldn’t soften the hard, very masculine energy of the room—of the entire palace, truth be told—and she was beginning to see why the Mother Superior of her convent had asked her to come to Axios.
The king needed someone to be a companion for his young daughter and, as the king’s godmother, the Reverend Mother had decided to undertake finding someone herself. She’d consequently decided that Anna was perfect for the job, despite Anna’s clear lack of anything resembling experience with either teaching or children. Anna had tried to argue, of course, but the Reverend Mother wouldn’t listen. And somehow a meeting was arranged, and Anna found herself on a flight to Axios, a thick guidebook—the Reverend Mother eschewed technology—her only reading material.
Anna wandered over to one of the tapestries and examined it. It was very old, depicting a gory battle scene with people getting their heads lopped off with broad swords, and arrows embedding themselves in heads through visors of helmets.
She wondered which particular battle this one depicted, since the history of Axios seemed to be nothing but non-stop wars and skirmishes. An austere, military culture, according to the guidebook. Just like its king, by all accounts.
Anna squinted at the figure standing in the middle of the battle scene: a giant warrior wearing one of those ancient Greek horsehair helmets, his huge arms raised above his head, a massive sword held between them. Another warrior lay at his feet, hands lifted, either trying to stop an attack or beg for mercy, it wasn’t clear.
What was clear was that there would be no mercy coming from the giant warrior
.
A shiver of foreboding snaked down Anna’s spine, which she ignored. How silly. It was just a tapestry.
She leaned forward for a closer examination—and maybe to prove to herself that the shiver had been an aberration—then wrinkled her nose. It was musty.
‘Something about our history you don’t approve of?’ a voice said from behind her, deep and harsh, like a glacier scraping over stone.
Anna’s heart leapt into her mouth and she froze, a primitive, animal part of her sensing threat. Had she done something wrong? Was she not supposed to be here? Had she touched something she shouldn’t have? She hadn’t heard anyone come in...
There was silence behind her.
She took a breath, her heart thumping, and turned around.
A bolt of pure, instinctive fear shot through her, because somehow the huge warrior on the tapestry had come to life and was standing a few feet away from her by the door.
He was a giant of a man, standing at over six feet four at least, with the kind of wide, heavily muscled shoulders and broad chest that she’d always imagined Atlas possessing, strong enough to carry the entire world on his back. His waist was narrow, his legs long and solid and powerful; he looked as if he could complete two marathons in a row without even breaking a sweat.
His features were roughly carved with a brutal, masculine kind of handsomeness: strong jaw, a blade of a nose, closely cropped black hair, straight dark brows, deep-set, piercing eyes the blue of a cold winter sky. And he radiated authority and power the way the sun radiated heat. It was almost a physical force, making her want to go to her knees and pray before him as she did before the altar in church.
The king.
Of course it was the king. She’d read up on him in the guidebook and it had to be said that the pictures of him, grim-faced and utterly impassive, looking as if he hadn’t ever smiled one day in his life, didn’t do him justice. They didn’t capture that aura of power.
He looked as if he’d been born wearing a crown.
Her mouth had dried and her palms had got even sweatier, and she was a little appalled at herself and her ridiculous burst of fear. Because, though he might look as if he was more suited to the battlefield on the tapestry behind her than he was to a throne room, he wasn’t going to do anything to her.
She bobbed a graceless curtsey. ‘Um, sorry, Your Majesty. I was just admiring the...um...tapestry.’
He said nothing, his granite features utterly expressionless, his blue eyes glacial. He wore a conventional yet immaculately tailored suit of charcoal-grey wool, black business shirt and a tie of dull gold silk.
How strange. She’d been positive it was armour he’d been wearing when she’d first looked at him.
Don’t get carried away.
No, of course not. She was flighty and prone to an overactive imagination, as the Reverend Mother had always said in kind yet slightly disappointed tones, and she needed to work on controlling her impulses and passions, since those only led to trouble.
Then again, it had been years since she’d been that young, wild girl who used to sing too loudly in the choir, talk too much at mealtimes, accidentally knock over the communion wine, and get grass stains on her habit.
She’d made a decision a year ago that it was a life of contemplation and prayer that she wanted, and had asked the Reverend Mother to approve her taking her vows.
The Reverend Mother had had other plans for her, however, such as a visit to Axios and ‘some time away in the secular world’, before making her final decision.
Anna had been frustrated because she didn’t need ‘time in the secular world’ but, since she couldn’t take her vows without the Reverend Mother’s approval, she’d had no choice but to do what she was told.
Which meant comporting herself as befitted a nun rather than an untried novice.
‘Anna Fleetwood, I presume?’ the king said.
Anna inclined her head. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
He eyed her dispassionately for a second then raised a hand, indicating one of the armchairs near the couch. ‘Please, sit.’
She supposed the ‘please’ was for form’s sake, since it didn’t sound like a request. More like an order.
She’d never been particularly obedient—something else that concerned the Reverend Mother—but she went without even her usual irritation at being told what to do, moving over to the armchair the king had indicated.
It was a heavy piece of furniture, covered in dark leather and not particularly comfortable. Anna perched on the edge of the seat, clasping her hands together in her lap, watching as the king went to the couch and sat down. For all his height and muscular size, he moved with a kind of lethal, animal grace that she found oddly mesmerising.
The Lion of Axios, that was what they called him, and that was what he reminded her of: a great, predatory beast.
Which makes you a gazelle.
Anna didn’t much like that comparison. She didn’t want to get eaten and she didn’t want to be hunted. What she wanted was to do the job the Reverend Mother had assigned her and then return to England to take her vows. Easy.
‘So, Sister,’ the king said in his deep, harsh voice, his English perfect and uninflected. ‘I assume the Reverend Mother told you what is required for the position you’ll be taking?’
Actually, the Reverend Mother had been frustratingly opaque about it, merely assuring Anna that she would be perfect for the position no matter her inexperience and that the king—or more probably one of his staff members—would give her all the details.
But, on arrival at the palace, no one had given her any details. She had simply been ushered straight into the receiving room to wait for the king without a word.
Nervousness fluttered in her gut.
She hadn’t much experience with men, still less with men who looked like him, and none at all when it came to royalty. And he was so very royal and so very...male.
He made her uncomfortable.
‘A little,’ Anna said, forcing the feeling away. ‘The Reverend Mother mentioned teaching the princess.’ And then, because she was incurably honest and wanted him to know, she added, ‘I should warn you, Your Majesty, that I don’t have any teaching experience. Or any experience with children at all, in fact.’
The king said nothing, merely looked at her, and Anna tried to stop herself fidgeting under the weight of that icy blue gaze.
‘The position doesn’t involve teaching,’ he said after a long moment. ‘The princess already has a tutor. I require a more...steadying influence.’
Anna frowned. ‘Excuse me, Your Majesty? I’m not quite sure—’
He lifted a hand. ‘You may address me as sire if it’s easier.’
‘Very well, sire,’ she said. ‘And, please, call me Anna.’ She didn’t much care for being called Sister quite yet, not when she hadn’t taken her vows.
‘Noted.’ He leaned back on the couch, the slight movement making her aware of his long, powerful body, a very physical awareness she’d never experienced with another person before. ‘You weren’t quite sure of what?’
‘What you meant by a “steadying influence”.’
‘Ah.’ He shifted again, very slightly, and again her attention was drawn to the pull of fabric across his broad shoulders and powerful thighs.
Which was strange. Why on earth was she staring at his body? She might not have had much to do with men, it was true, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen a man before.
Not a man like this one, you haven’t.
‘Ione’s behaviour is an issue,’ the king said without preamble. ‘She is a loud, boisterous child, which is not becoming in the heir to the throne. I believe she needs to start learning how to manage herself and her emotions, and, since I do not have the time for it, help is required from an outside source.’
Anna ignored her own odd re
action to him and frowned. Surely, all children were boisterous? Then again, who was she to question a king’s parenting decisions?
‘I see. And is there anything in particular you’d like me to do?’
‘You will be issued with a list of acceptable activities, as well as some rules concerning Ione, her behaviour, and what is permitted and what is not. You will also be assigned a room here in the palace for your personal use.’
Well, that didn’t sound...onerous.
Anna opened her mouth to tell him it sounded fine, but before she could he said, ‘The Reverend Mother heard that I was looking for a companion for my daughter and chose you specifically for this task.’ He paused, his gaze raking over her in a way that made Anna distinctly uncomfortable for reasons she couldn’t put her finger on. ‘Any idea as to why that might be?’
She felt her cheeks heat. ‘No.’
One of the king’s black brows arrowed skyward. ‘No? No idea at all?’
‘I... No. I’m not sure.’ Her poise, already shaky, began to slip. Because she really had no idea at all why the Reverend Mother had chosen her. She’d been called into her study and given the task, and the Reverend Mother hadn’t explained. And Anna hadn’t questioned it, too busy trying to prove her obedience.
She had nothing to be ashamed of, so why was she blushing?
‘No,’ she said more levelly and with greater confidence. ‘She didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask. It wasn’t my place. I do as she tells me.’
‘I see.’ The king’s voice was very deep and glazed with ice. ‘So nothing at all to do with seducing me into making you my queen?’
The nun’s pretty grey eyes went very, very wide.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she exclaimed, in tones of complete astonishment.
Adonis wasn’t a man who repeated himself and he didn’t now. He simply stared at her, scanning and assessing her threat level the way he did with everyone he met.
Except the nun—or novice really—didn’t pose much of a threat. She wore a plain and unflattering grey dress, her long, pale gold hair coiled in a loose bun at her nape, and she was round and very soft-looking. Her face was pretty, heart-shaped, with a firm chin and those wide eyes the colour of morning fog. Her mouth was a problem, though, full and red and...biteable.
The Most Powerful Of Kings (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Royal House of Axios, Book 2) Page 1