Vows to a King
Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
“Y OU SHOULD BE out there. Not hiding in the dark pockets of the palace, Jemima.”
Jemima Nasar jerked up from the secluded spot on the parapet of the Thalassan palace—a hidden alcove nestled within the ancient stone walls, and quickly signaled to her maid.
Having witnessed Jemima’s father—and the powerful Chief of crown council—Aziz Nasar’s affinity for cutting words, the maid hurried away with her charge.
Feeling bereft without the weight of her brother in her arms, Jemima took a deep breath.
Vines of jasmine and bougainvillea draped delicately over the walls, their vibrant blooms releasing a sweet, heady fragrance that mingled with the salty tang of the Aegean breeze.
While he’d never been an affectionate father, the sight of her younger brother, Zayn—the product of her mother’s indiscretion before she passed away in childbirth—was sure to provoke her father’s temper. He barely tolerated the young boy he’d given his name to. Being a master strategist though, he’d soon discovered that Zayn served as an effective tool for controlling Jemima.
“I’m not hiding, Papa, but mourning,” Jemima said, smoothing her expression of the fear and confusion that had been dogging her for days now.
Below them, the courtyard, sprawled out in solemn grandeur, matched her mood. A sea of black-clad mourners assembled to pay their respects to their fallen Crown Prince—and Jemima’s fiancé—Adamos Vasilikos.
From her vantage point, Jemima could see rows of velvet-covered benches full of state dignitaries, the grand funeral altar adorned with candles and flowers, and the towering marble statues that stood sentinel over the proceedings. Beyond the palace gate stood hundreds of members of the public who’d come from corners of the kingdom to pay final respects to their Crown Prince.
The late afternoon cast a golden hue that reflected off the polished mahogany of Adamos’s casket. After five years of relentless, exhausting training, in one evening, she had gone from Queen-to-be to…nothing.
“The public should see you standing by Queen Isadora,” her father said. “They need to remember that your association with the royal family doesn’t end with the Crown Prince.”
Jemima bit her lip to hold back her retort. Provoking her father only resulted in life becoming difficult for her. Not that he wasn’t right in this instance.
She and Queen Isadora had developed a mutual fondness, and she hoped respect, for each other.
The Queen’s grief at this moment was too raw though, and real. Jemima refused to sully it by pretending to feel the same.
“You’re right, Papa,” she said, keeping her tone steady, “but I didn’t want to embarrass our family by losing my composure in public. I feel too…raw.” There, that claim to weakness should appease him.
In the distance, the sparkling waters of the Aegean stretched out to the horizon, their azure depths shimmering under the May sun. Seagulls wheeled and cried overhead, their mournful calls adding to the solemnity of the occasion. And beyond the palace walls, the bustling streets of Thalassos lay silent and still, the city holding its breath as it mourned.
She was as devastated by the sudden death of Adamos in a plane crash as all of Thalassos was. He would have made a good king. But her grief and her sense of loss were not personal, like the world and her father assumed.
If anything, her mourning of him was diluted by a very real, selfish sense of dread about her own future. While Adamos had showed no more interest in her than his bed or a chair, she had been guaranteed distant politeness and comfort in their upcoming marriage.
Now, she once again had to face the fact that her usefulness to her father was in the alliances she brought him in marriage.
If she didn’t figure out how to keep herself relevant to him, he would banish Zayn to some Godforsaken corner of the country and force her to marry some old crony of his.
She shuddered at the thought.
“Do not think me foolish, Jemima. I’m aware that Adamos had been growing increasingly restless in the last year. If you had done your job of keeping him happy with your company and other abilities, he wouldn’t have looked for entertainment in other places.”
Even having braced herself for some version of this conversation, his censure hit Jemima like a lash against her skin. All the more hurtful because there was truth to it.
Despite knowing her fate since she’d turned twenty, Jemima hadn’t felt any special attraction toward Adamos. Even at that young age, she hadn’t wanted love or even the pretensions to it.
They’d gotten engaged when she’d turned twenty-one. In five years of their engagement, Adamos had been reserved, dutiful and unflinchingly polite. He hadn’t even kissed her. The polite, chaste arrangement had suited her perfectly. But now…the seed of doubt had been sown.
Was her father right? Would Adamos have been less…restless if she had let him closer? If she knew how to flirt and play romantic games and how to seduce? Had she been too bookish and severe and lacking warmth as the palace gossip sometimes said?
As always, when she was cornered, logic came to her rescue. “You’re the one who drilled into me that to be Queen, I should control my wild impulses and behave beyond reproach. I could hardly pursue Adamos through the palace corridors and seduce him when he barely made eye contact with me.”
The words reverberated like cannonballs around the parapet, crass and brazen. Dread filled her at her daring. “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said, the words rushing out of her. “I’m upset at losing Adamos and cannot control myself enough for the crowd or the cameras. One public appearance this morning was too much.”
Whether her father believed her fear-fueled apology or not, she never found out. A hushed murmur pierced the crowd below, drawing their attention.
Beyond the palace gate, a ripple appeared in the sea of black as if a great wave was approaching to drown them. Suddenly, the sea parted and a large black motorcycle appeared.
On it, clad in black leathers, was the Devil Prince of Thalassos.
A shiver pulsed down her back as memories gripped her.
Memories of the one evening in her life where she had tasted unprecedented freedom and reveled in her femininity.
One forbidden evening at a masquerade ball.
On a dare, she’d stolen a kiss from the Devil Prince under a star-studded sky.
Her first kiss, full of a fiery passion she didn’t even know to dream about.
It had been the best evening of her life.
Here he was now, a larger-than-life figure, breaking any number of palace protocols with his brazen, disrespectful arrival. And with no regard to security whatsoever.
Dressed, not in the dark navy Thalassan uniform as befitting the occasion and his rank as air force commander, but in a black leather jacket and white shirt open at the chest. Dark trousers molded to his long legs. His dark blond hair, tousled and unruly, framed his stunningly gorgeous face.
Even from a distance, Jemima could note the high forehead, the large beak of a nose, and the wide, sensual lips that women all over the world gushed over. Framed by the thick dark slashes of his brows, his blue eyes appeared startlingly bright. Everything about him was a stunning contrast, ending with his near-angelic beauty and devilish nature.
His arrival confirmed his fiendish reputation, even as his name broke out among the crowd like some kind of chant. A benediction even , Jemima thought, awestruck by the sudden uproar of gaiety.
His expression remained somber as he stepped off the bike and reached out hands to touch the animated crowd. Around him, security staff ran around like little rats trying to corral the elephant into place.
Adonis Vasilikos , the Devil Prince of Thalassos and adventure sports billionaire, cut a striking figure as he strode confidently through the courtyard and reached the Queen standing alone.
For just a second, Queen Isadora’s iron-tight composure broke at the sight of him. The Prince shielded her tiny frame with his powerful one—a protective gesture that made something twist in Jemima’s chest—before the cameras or the state guests could catch her fracture.
Jemima stared at the unfolding scene, shocked. Even after seven years of his absence—his rift with King Aristos was popular knowledge, though the reason was not—Thalassans were clearly…overjoyed by the sight of Prince Adonis. She couldn’t think of one occasion when Adamos had received half the overjoyed greetings or the wild energy that the Devil Prince commanded now.
Once upon a time, as a teenager whose every hour and day and life were planned out by an autocratic father, as a girl who’d constantly toed the line in the hope of being rewarded with affection and kindness, Adonis Vasilikos had become the object of extreme fascination to her.
It wasn’t simply his fearlessness or his daring feats or his irreverent bucking of the very traditions and rules that had been poured down her throat even as a child, but that he had never let anyone, not even the King, contort him into a box he didn’t fit into. Even as a rowdy, rebellious teenager, Adonis had been completely his own creation.
Of course, throw in his godlike looks, and she’d been as gaga over him as the rest of Thalassos.
Growing up, she’d had very little interaction with him—except for the kiss, but she had collected every little tidbit she could about him like a magpie collecting treasure. In the past few years, she’d become aware of how highly the Queen thought of her younger son. Even Adamos had always praised his brother.
And yet, what kind of a man stayed away from his family and his adoring country for seven years without a single visit? What had kept him away? More importantly, what would Adonis Vasilikos choose now—his adventure sports empire and playboy lifestyle or Thalassos in its hour of need?
“Finally, he returns,” her father said, bringing her out of her trance.
“What?” she said inanely, eager for any information about the mysterious prince.
“The Queen summoned him months ago. But, of course, Adonis Vasilikos only does as he pleases. It will be highly amusing to see her fail to leash him.”
“Leash him?” Jemima said, her gaze tracing the powerful breadth of the Prince’s shoulders as he stood by the diminutive queen. “You make him sound like a wild animal, Papa.”
“That is what he is, for all intents and purposes,” her father said, his mouth twisted in distaste.
“Leashing him is,” Jemima said, following the strange urge to defend the Prince, “akin to bottling lighting.” Below them on the ground, the energy of the somber occasion was shifting, Adonis’s name whispered, over and over again, sprinkling joy and hope amidst a mourning populace. “But if anyone can, it will be Queen Isadora,” she added, her admiration for the older woman bleeding into her words.
She knew how much the Queen worried about the future of Thalassos and somewhere during the years of being trained as queen, Jemima had begun to care just as much. That same urgency beat at her. “With Adamos gone and the King declining, she needs Adonis at the helm. Now.”
Her father scoffed. “He won’t give up his freedom. Or his daredevil adventure sports or his fast cars or his…disgusting lifestyle. Prince Adonis lives for the next high,” he said, as if Jemima hadn’t said a word.
“His rift is with King Aristos. Not Thalassos or his mother,” she pointed out.
Hands clasped behind his back, her father cast her an assessing glance. “With that much faith in the Queen, you better prepare yourself then.”
Jemima turned her head so fast that it was a wonder there wasn’t a loud click. “Prepare myself for what?”
“To join the Queen in persuading Adonis to wed you and take the crown.”
“No!” The word escaped her like the loud gong of the monastery up in the hills she’d once planned to run away to. “That’s preposterous. I can’t marry…the Devil Prince. We don’t even know each other and I’m sure I’m the last woman he would glance at.”
Except for a scorching, stolen kiss they’d shared once and the fairy tales she’d woven as a young girl with him as the charming hero who would rescue her from her boring, miserable life.
The Devil Prince falling in love with her was as possible as her father turning into a caring man overnight.
“Of what use are you then, Jemima?” her father said with a silken smoothness that made it sound like he was actually interested in her answer. “Don’t pretend to silly romantic aspirations now. It’s not like Prince Adamos cared for you either. No man is impressed with that face and body of yours and either Prince should do to become Queen.”
Her belly rolled on itself at the casual cruelty of his comments. “Do you hear how…awful that sounds? I can’t just replace one brother with the other. Adamos has been hardly dead for a week.”
“You can and you will. If anything, our family will have even more bargaining power in this alliance now. Queen Isadora needs to bring the Devil Prince to heel and she knows what she has in you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Prince Adonis has been gone for seven years. With the best of intentions to rule, he needs someone who understands the palace and its politics. You would be an asset to him. As for you suiting him…the man has a reputation for chasing any woman and the face of an angel. So it should not be a hardship for you to produce children with him, ne ?”
Jemima raised shocked eyes to her father’s face. “That’s…disgusting.”
Her father shrugged. “The point is, nothing holds his interest for too long. So you can be assured he will return to his daredevil ways, while leaving you behind. As the Queen, you will have a host of powers. With me and the council bearing the burden of important decisions, you can devote yourself fully to your brother and any children the Prince will give you. And have full control of your life. It is not such a bad deal then, is it?”
So that was his brilliant plan. He was counting on Adonis to be bored—of his responsibilities, of her, and the kingdom. Then, with her as a placeholder, her father and his cronies would have unprecedented power.
As for her, she would have full control of her life and Zayn for the first time… Even as she abhorred his plan and the idea of marrying the Devil Prince gave her chills, Jemima was sorely tempted.
“I can’t, Papa. Please—”
“It is not up for discussion, Jemima. Present yourself for dinner with him tonight. Remember that you get to keep your bastard brother around only if you convince Prince Adonis that you are his best bet at ruling Thalassos.”
Jemima stood there on the parapet for long minutes after her father left. The sun began its fiery trek down, leaving the courtyard and the parapet and her painted in bold orange and pink slashes.
A cold breeze flew in from the Aegean, making her shiver.
As if she’d screamed his name from the highest tower, Prince Adonis looked up. His alert gaze scanned the myriad parapets and terraces before settling on her. And just like that, the world fell away, leaving the two of them locked together in their own battle.
Eventually, Jemima broke away from his gaze, but not before those penetrating blue eyes swept over her features with a thorough scrutiny. Then his mouth curved in pure mockery, as if he could read her and her father’s grubby intentions, as if he knew how much of a pull he still held over her.
* * *
It hadn’t been more than half a day since Adonis Vasilikos had arrived back in Thalassos and he was already enraged by the machinations of those who ran the palace.
Yes, he’d been gone for seven years but the staff was as ancient as the palace and knew of his utter hatred for protocol. But of course, they still insisted on it. And the last thing he wanted to do was throw a prissy tantrum and play into their hands. Which had been his default once upon a time.
He’d barely gotten a word in with his mother and he had yet to catch a glimpse of his father. Who, he’d been informed, was too unwell to attend his favorite son’s burial.
Once the funeral procession had been complete, a host of admin staff had descended on him like vultures circling carrion. Already, he’d been given a schedule of events for the next three days, the final draft of a speech—written without any input from him—he was to deliver in two days, a list of public appearances for him to show his face at.
All the while the truth barely settled inside his gut, like a lump of oily sludge, making it hard to breathe.
Adamos was gone.
His older brother, his first and sometimes only friend in the entire world…gone in a puff of smoke.
His serious, silent and endlessly supportive brother, the man destined to be King, the man Adonis had adored…now out of reach forever.
Frustration, and something darker, fueled him as he strode through the opulent corridors of the palace, the familiar scent of beeswax and lavender polish mingling with the faint aroma of old books and aged wood.
As a boy, he’d loved running around the endless maze, laughing, shrieking, and generally creating mayhem. Unless his father was near and ready with his cold disapproval.
His heart pounded now—turning him into that eager, needy child—as he approached the King’s chambers, a place he’d once been forbidden to enter as punishment.
The pattern of the heavy oak door was as familiar to him as his own face in the mirror. He had spent hours staring at it, while their father regaled his firstborn and favorite son with war stories, taught him to play chess, and loved him with all his heart.
The cruelty had been unbearable on his young heart for he hadn’t known then why his father would love Adamos so much and yet so thoroughly neglect him.
Gritting his teeth against the memory, Adonis pushed the double doors. The room was dimly lit by late afternoon sun filtering through the heavy drapes, casting long shadows on the rich, intricately woven tapestries depicting the glorious history of Thalassos. The scent of medicinal herbs and a hint of stale air lingered.
His gaze fell upon the large, canopied bed where King Aristos lay. The once formidable monarch appeared frail and diminished, his hair silvered with age, his eyes clouded with confusion. Gnarled hands twitched on the embroidered bedspread.
“Father,” Adonis said softly, nearing the bed. His voice, steady yet tinged with emotion, seemed to drift into the stillness of the room.
The King’s eyes flickered toward him, a bright spark of recognition making them shine. “Adamos,” he whispered, a tremor in his voice. “My wonderful boy, you’ve come back. I told them nothing could hurt you. Nothing.”
The words hit Adonis in his gut, a physical blow that knocked his breath out. “It’s Adonis, Father,” he corrected gently, bending and taking the King’s trembling hand in his own.
The older man’s skin felt paper-thin and cold, a stark contrast to the strength he had prided himself on.
“Adamos, my son. I knew you would return,” the King murmured again, reaching out to touch Adonis’s face, his eyes lost in a distant memory. “Nothing could take my mighty son. Not the wind, not the mountains, not the sky.”
Adonis felt the sharp sting of heartbreak as his father kept repeating his brother’s name, each utterance a knife twisting deeper into his heart. Apparently, nothing had changed. He swallowed hard, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over.
Tears that spoke to his weakness after all these years. How could he still crave this man’s acknowledgment, a kind word, even a chance to offer a moment’s respite from the horrendous loss they had suffered when it had never been offered before? Hadn’t he hardened his heart enough?
As always, his father didn’t see him, much less need him.
But his refusal to even acknowledge Adonis’s presence—even with festering resentment that the wrong son had died—felt…wrong on a deeper level. Like, his father was present in his body, but in his mind, he was not fully there.
Adonis patted his father’s hand and stormed out of the chamber, confusion warring with anger. Questions pounded at him. How ill was the King? Why hadn’t he been informed?
The nearly half-mile walk did nothing to grant him control of the whirlwind of his roiling emotions. He turned the corner when a woman stepped out of his mother’s chambers, closed the doors behind her, and turned.
Jemima Nasar.
His dead brother’s fiancée. The Almost Queen of Thalassos. The only woman he’d ever wanted with a blazing honesty and burning desire—not to bury his own demons or escape into gluttonous pleasure—but because she fascinated him.
The only woman he had realized soon he shouldn’t touch and couldn’t have.
The smoldering kiss she’d demanded of him before she’d been engaged to his brother had only poured fuel on their connection. The memory of her lush body wrapped around him sent echoes of longing through him even now.
Your freedom and adventure and unfettered spirit, Adonis , she’d boldly claimed when he’d asked her why she’d picked him for her first kiss, using his name before he had given her permission to. Her amber eyes glittering with desire under the mask she wore. In that interview, you said the moment before you dive is when you’re the most afraid and yet you do it. I…can’t imagine being that willing to face life at its scariest.
And he had known then that approaching him had been her most defiant act and he had pulled her to him and sealed their lips. The second kiss had blazed hotter than the first, deepened into a soul-drenching one in mere seconds, the sweet eagerness of her passion stoking his own.
He’d learned only at the end of the masquerade ball when her father came to stand by her that she was Aziz Nasar’s daughter. The dutiful mouse who never put one step out of line, a brainy bookworm whose poise and smarts been praised even by his father the King.
In two minutes, she’d stripped him of all the things that had weighed him down, that had given him a false sense of belonging in the damned world.
Seeing him only as he was.
It was the first, and only, time a woman had wanted him simply for who he was at his core. The only time he’d allowed one actually close, even though he’d glutted himself on women all the time.
That she had been chosen as his brother’s bride, by the King no less, mere days later had only entrenched the memory deeper inside him.
In his mind, she’d become another thing he’d been denied, another chance he’d been robbed of, because he hadn’t been found worthy.
At the sight of him now, Jemima froze, her fingers pressing into the heavy oak doors. Her brown eyes widened, then swept over his features with a swift and greedy curiosity he’d known since he had shot up during adolescence.
A black silk dress with a high collar clung to her breasts and the thick outline of her thighs. Her cheeks had filled out, giving her a round face, and her smooth honey-gold skin glowed like the facet of some rare metal. Her mouth—so wide and so plush that it had once filled him with the filthiest of thoughts, was the only hint toward passion that wasn’t buried beneath steely reserve.
Her presence hit him like the last in a series of punches, knocking his breath out of him.
With her dark hair falling in unruly strands from the sophisticated knot and skin damp with a sweaty sheen, she looked…achingly real and stunningly beautiful for it. Having surrounded himself with fake and cheap things for so long, Adonis recognized raw beauty when he saw it.
At twenty-six, her beauty had sunk deeper into her skin, aided by her bright, whip-smart eyes and resolved chin. And then there were her rosebud thick lips that he knew the taste of…she was a decadent invitation to sin.
Had her innate composure unraveled in his brother’s bed? Had he devoured the blazing hot passion she had let Adonis taste? Had she loved Adamos enough to…
He gritted his teeth and arrested the torrent of questions, both disgusted and infuriated. Too late, he noted the stirrings of that old fiery attraction claw through his gut. It was bad enough to covet her when Adamos had been alive but now…it felt like it made every nasty thing that his father had said about his “dirty” blood was right.
“Prince Adonis,” she said, her voice fracturing. “What are you doing here?” Color streaked her round cheeks and she swallowed. “I mean…” Her slim fingers played with the pendant at her throat, betraying her nervousness. Perversely, her reaction to him calmed him.
“Should I be flattered or insulted by your shock at finding me still here?” he said, defaulting to mocking her. “Did you and your dear papa wish for me to disappear already?”
“Of course not.” Breaking their tethered gazes, she took in a deep breath and forced a smile to her lips. “Welcome home,” she said softly. “The Queen will be overjoyed to see you.”
“I want to see her. Now,” he said, moving past her.
Arms spread wide across the dark oak, she blocked him. “She just settled to a nap after a brutal day. Let her rest for now.” When he raised a brow at her imperious tone, she added, “Please.”
He stepped closer, unable to stop himself from reveling in her sudden, shallow breaths. The idea of his proximity affecting her…appealed to his perverse nature, to the bubbling that wanted to unleash destruction to morph his own pain.
“Still playing the role of the future Queen?” he said, curling his mouth into a sneer.
Amber eyes flashed with a mix of anger and hurt. She chased away both, donning equanimity as if it were armor, as if it were the bloody crown itself. “I understand today has been hard for you, Your Highness, but none of us have recovered from it either.”
“You cannot know what or how I feel right now, Ms. Nasar,” he said, biting the words out. “And I’m too old to be lectured about good behavior.”
“No, I can’t even begin to imagine how you must be feeling,” she said, even as her honey-gold skin turned pale. Her voice held steady and damned if he didn’t envy her steely hold on her composure. “But coming in here like an angry bull and unleashing your temper on everyone around you only makes a bad situation worse. Please get a grip on yourself before you…meet with the crown council.”
So the news of his frustration with the palace media had already spread. And yet the more she tried to appeal to his better nature, the more Adonis felt riled up. “You’re not the Queen-to-be anymore. Drop the Goody Two-Shoes act.”
She didn’t bat an eyelid at his name-calling. “Other than Queen Isadora, I might be your only ally here. So, if I were you, I would not burn the last bridge you have.”
“I don’t need you or your conniving father.”
“You do,” she said with the kind of conviction that he found both intoxicating and infuriating. “You do need me, Prince Adonis. And I’m willing to be realistic about a difficult situation, about what’s coming for both of us. About the fate of Thalassos itself.”
That …stopped him in his tracks. She wasn’t faking the urgency in her tone or the very real worry in her eyes.
With the new and excruciating awareness that something was wrong with his father’s mind, the vacuum left by Adamos’s sudden death, and the new trade agreement renewal with their war-hungry neighbor dead on its feet, even he could see things had reached a boiling point. Could nearly feel the cold, metal shackles binding him to the crown, to the palace, to the place he hated.
And being pushed toward a decision he didn’t want to make turned him as tame as a caged lion. “Ahh…looks like the little mouse has finally grown claws.”