Captured and Crowned. Janette Kenny
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had inoperable cancer.
The prognosis was grim. With death imminent, Crown Prince Gregor had chosen to abdicate before the State Council proclaimed him King of Angyra tomorrow.
That official announcement had been made just one hour ago.
By order of birth, the crown now passed to Kristo. He was now Crown Prince, which had thrown the council into emergency session. Unless they deemed him truly unfit to rule—which was possible, considering his reputation—the accession ceremony would take place tomorrow promptly at eleven in the morning.
As if that weren’t jarring enough, he was now forced to assume his brother’s betrothal agreement as well! He had to marry Demetria Andreou—in less than two weeks, if he kept to the schedule that had been set in place.
Damn the fates!
Desirable, unfaithful Demetria would be his wife. His Queen.
“I don’t look forward to tomorrow.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be a good King,” Mikhael said.
Kristo wasn’t so sure. Though he’d done his duty to the State Council, and sat in on required meetings, he’d paid little heed for he’d been in reality no more than a figurehead.
However, he’d taken his role as ambassador much more seriously, as that had allowed him to wine and dine dignitaries around the world. Gambling and carousing, as his father had called it.
At times that had been true. But the setting had allowed him to do what came naturally. In turn, being away from Angyra had allowed him the freedom to do what he really wanted.
But that would soon be in the past.
“Has he contacted Andreou yet?” Kristo asked.
“He was speaking with him by phone when I left.”
How would Demetria take the change of plans?
Kristo stopped before the palatial window and looked out on the terraced garden that stepped down to the cerulean sea. He splayed his hands on the casing so hard that he felt the heavy moldings imprint on his flesh.
Dammit, he didn’t want to be King! And by hell’s thunder he certainly didn’t want to marry Demetria!
But the only way to surmount his fate was by death or abandonment of his country. Though he’d joked that he could walk away from Angyra and never miss it, the truth of the matter was that he couldn’t shirk his duty.
“Gregor felt certain that Andreou wouldn’t balk at the change of plans,” Mikhael said. “He suspects that the lady might feel differently.”
“How she feels doesn’t matter. She has a duty to uphold.”
“True, but you are a stranger to her.”
In some ways, but in others they were intimately acquainted. But that was his guilty secret to bear.
“As Gregor pointed out today, the betrothal contract simply states that Demetria is to marry the Crown Prince,” Kristo said, chafing over the fact that he was now that man. “Surely she is aware of that fact.”
“You are being callous about this, brother.”
“I’m simply being pragmatic,” Kristo said. “Demetria and I are bound by the same laws. There is nothing left to discuss.”
The Royal House of Stanrakis had one ancient and non-breakable rule. All future rulers must be of noble Greek blood. As the Stanrakis family continued to produce males, their Crown Princes had only to find a noble bride of Greek blood.
Easier said than done. But then, they weren’t marrying for love. Even if such a thing existed, it wasn’t ordained for a Stanrakis prince.
It certainly wouldn’t be for him!
Demetria had been handpicked by the King. She had been groomed to be the next Queen of Angyra.
She possessed the right lineage. Her maternal grandfather was Greek—one of the old noblemen like Kristo’s father. And her mother had married a Greek, even though Sandros Andreou’s blood wasn’t as pure.
That man had pricked his temper more times than naught over business dealings. As for Demetria—she fired his lust as well as his anger.
“I still think it would be wise for the sake of your marriage if you would take Demetria aside tomorrow and talk to her,” Mikhael said. “It would go a long way in allaying her fears.”
Kristo stared into his glass, his smile slow to come. “Yes, you’re right.”
He’d talk to her, all right. He’d let her know that he’d not tolerate her flirtations. That he’d have her watched carefully since he knew she was not to be trusted.
But the following day at the accession ceremony Demetria was embarrassingly absent.
“Please forgive her, Your Majesty,” Sandros Andreou implored as he bent in as deep a bow as a man with such a considerable girth could manage. “Demetria went on a shopping jaunt for her wedding trousseau hours before Crown Prince Gregor abdicated. I haven’t been able to reach her on her mobile phone to tell her of the news.”
“She is alone?”
The old Greek shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Don’t you know where she went?” Kristo asked, furious that the man hadn’t kept a closer eye on his daughter. “Couldn’t you send a messenger to find her?”
Sandros Andreou’s face turned an ugly purple. “I wasn’t sure where to send him, Your Majesty. Her sister thought she went to Istanbul, but the maid thought she went to Italy.”
“This is intolerable,” Kristo growled. She could be anywhere, with anyone. She could even be entertaining some man!
“Rest assured that when she returns I will have her contact—”
Kristo silenced the man with one wave of his hand that looked surprisingly like the dismissing gesture his father had employed. The wave he’d hated.
“I will see to it myself. Considering the turn of events, it would be wise if your daughter stayed here at the palace until the wedding.”
“For twelve days?” Then, as if remembering who he was addressing, Sandros quickly demurred. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
“You and your family are welcome to avail yourselves of the guesthouse the day before the wedding.”
“The day before?” Andreou repeated.
“Yes. That is all.”
The old Greek attempted another bow before taking his leave.
Kristo pushed from his chair and stalked to the window, more restless than he recalled being in years. His gaze fixed on the ridge of mountains in the distance.
Graceful cypresses and thickets of olives blanketed the rugged terrain and helped to conceal Angyra’s most treasured commodity. Rhoda gold—a pure metal kissed with a rosy blush and prized all over the world.
The ore taken from the Chrysos Mine had made the Stanrakis family rich beyond measure. It had turned this island kingdom into a mecca that now brought tourists here in droves to buy a trinket made of Rhoda gold.
But an equally rare treasure was the sea turtles. Protecting their nesting ground was his personal challenge, and that had evolved into his secretly backing similar programs worldwide. But who would pick up that challenge now?
“What are you going to do?” Mikhael asked.
The answer was simple. At least to him. “Find Demetria and bring her here.”
“But the wedding is less than two weeks away. Women have much to do before such an event.”
“She can attend to anything that needs be done here.”