Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
A DONIS STARTLED AT the sudden strength in the older man’s clasp as he knelt in front of his father and took his hand.
In front of his eyes, the gold-veined marble floor blurred, making his knees quake. His coronation day had dawned bright and clear, with the capital city dressed like a bride. That he and Jemima, after two days of intense discussions with their teams, had a solution for the trade treaty problem and he was about to meet Ephyra’s ambassador soon—without the crown council’s permission—set the right note. Still, something in him resisted fully giving in to the day.
What had begun as a hazy headache between the royal procession and the anointing by the high priestess had turned into a viselike clamp by the time he had been required to recite the Oath of Kingship with his hand on the Scroll of Kings.
Adonis couldn’t admit it to another soul, not even Jemima maybe, but the fact was that he was overwhelmed by the sanctity of the rituals and could feel the shadow of his brother Adamos press down upon him with each step of the long, laborious ceremony. His brother’s absence felt like a void in his heart and yet, he wouldn’t be standing here if Adamos were present.
And nothing in his life, no extravagantly lethal stunt that he had performed, had readied him for this moment. For this responsibility.
“Give me your blessing, Father,” he whispered, having been ordered to kneel in front of the King by the high priestess.
“Adonis…” King Aristos said, with such sudden urgency that Adonis looked up, warmth a flickering kennel inside him. Finally, would his father give him one measly moment of recognition, if not approval?
With the sun at its zenith, bright golden light streamed through the large stained-glass windows of the Grand Sanctuary Hall within the palace. But only darkness and confusion dwelled in his father’s eyes.
Until the moment he suddenly wasn’t confused. His blue eyes turned shrewd, almost calculating.
“Adonis,” he repeated, his hands reaching for his son’s shoulders. “What are you doing here? Why are we here in the Grand Sanctuary?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Adonis saw his mother and Jemima move in closer. More to protect the King’s sudden confusion from prying eyes than to listen to Adonis’s whispered attempt at a conversation.
“I’m to be crowned King, Father. I come to seek your blessing and words of wisdom.” The words felt like ashes on his tongue and still, a tiny flame of hope flickered.
The King’s head reared back, a sudden glint in his eyes. “King? You?” Harsh laughter escaped his mouth. “The Crown of Thalassos is not for you, Adonis. It would have been better if you had perished in the crash instead of Adamos. You’re nothing but my taint, my shame, a crow in the cuckoo’s nest, for all that Isadora tried to hide it. A maid’s son and no more.”
It was the first time Adonis heard the words straight from the King’s mouth. Of course, he had known the truth of his birth, having heard it during a heated discussion between his parents, hiding himself behind one of those bloody columns that littered the palace.
He had been nineteen, already a captain in the air force, and more than anything in the world, wanted to be his father’s son, to be loved and appreciated like Adamos had been.
Instead, the bitter truth was that he was the son of a maid his father had either forced himself on, or blackmailed, or simply commanded with his bloody royal authority to submit, when his mother had been heavily pregnant with Adamos. The great King Aristos was nothing but another predictably powerful man who preyed on those that depended on him for their livelihood.
Of course, Queen Isadora, being principled and refusing to compromise and wanting to teach her cheating, conniving, power-bloated husband a lesson, had brought Adonis to the palace as an infant, to be raised alongside her own son. As her own son.
His mother had been careful enough to make it look like Adonis had been born during the time she had spent in Paris, during a temporary separation from King Aristos, persuading him by threatening a scandal of disastrous proportions. Knowing full well that King Aristos would have to see his mistake grow up in his own household, in the palace, as his younger son, as another contender to the throne.
She had also, whatever her feeling toward her husband, loved Adonis as if he were truly her own, trying her best to protect him from the King’s fury. But neglect and apathy were much harder to fight than direct cruelty, for his father had never made even eye contact with Adonis.
He had never forgiven Adonis for existing, for being the walking, talking symbol of his weakness. And when a host of learning disabilities had plagued him as a growing boy, the King’s satisfaction had been cruel and prevalent, for he had started calling Adonis a crow in the nest.
“Hush, my love,” his mother said, bringing a glass of water to King Aristos’s mouth, her eyes filled with anguish and anger. Like a puppet whose strings were pulled, the King sat back in his seat, his eyes panicking like a child’s.
Drawing back her shoulders, his mother pinned Adonis with the same intensity that she had used to talk to him as a confused, desperate-to-please boy. “You’re my son, Adonis and the Prince of this realm. Do your duty by Thalassos. Make me and your brother and all the Thalassans that love and trust you justice.”
Adonis nodded, tried to swallow past the hard rock lodged in his throat and got to his feet. And when his gaze clashed with Jemima’s shocked amber one, he pretended to not see the fat tears that his new queen didn’t let fall.
A part of him was suddenly glad that he had bucked tradition and married Jemima in a quiet, private ceremony at dawn that morning with no one but his mother present. Still the obedient daughter, she hadn’t liked going through it without her father present. But he had insisted on it and the Queen’s request that it was better that way, with Adamos’s death so recent, had finally convinced her.
Even as he felt Jemima’s inquiring gaze on his face, Adonis refused to meet hers. He didn’t want to see her shock or her disgust or her distaste at the dirty secret of his birth. Her pity would be both the best he could hope for and the worst to bear.
Hardening himself against the tumult, he proceeded toward the royal balcony that overlooked the courtyard where thousands of Thalassans waited to bestow their cheer and trust and blessing on him.
But everything inside him craved freedom from the pain, craved a challenge, craved something that would take him so close to the edge that all the conflicting emotions pummeling him from all sides would burn out in flames.
* * *
She was married.
To Adonis Vasilikos, possibly the most beautiful man in the world.
She, Jemima Nasar, of cunning mind and round body and far too ambitious bones, as one tabloid magazine had called her after their engagement had become public, was now not only the Devil Prince’s convenient wife but Thalassan Queen.
She was married to the man she’d spun fantasies around as a teenage girl, the man she’d stolen a kiss from on one bold, daring evening of her life, the man who now held her entire future in the palm of his hands.
The man she’d just learned carried a torment no boy should have had to shoulder, who had bent but not buckled at the casual cruelty with which the King had greeted him at the most important moment of his life. The man who was a bloody legend and a billionaire in his own right, who had always marched to his own drum and forged his own path.
In the infinitesimal moment that their eyes had met, he hadn’t let the strain seep through into his expression.
Suddenly, she realized what a sacrifice it was that Adonis Vasilikos was making by returning and agreeing to be crowned King of Thalassos. And that she was part of the sacrifice that he was making out of some blind loyalty to the mother who had raised him as her own, to the kingdom he had once called home.
Another horrifying thought struck her as her royal attendants stripped her out of the heavy velvet gown she’d worn for the coronation, to ready her for the public tribute Adonis had planned to honor Adamos’s memory.
Was that why he had insisted on the quiet ceremony for the wedding? Had he taken stock after the endless rituals and meetings of the last two days and decided he’d had enough of the pathetic pomp that he didn’t even want?
Jemima met her own gaze in the full-length mirror, automatically lifting her legs and arms as the attendants pulled a burnt-copper-colored dress over her head. The color instantly made her golden skin shimmer and she made a note to thank the new stylist that had come on board with Adonis’s team.
She tugged at a couple of pins and her silky waves tumbled out of the complicated knot they’d been set into. In the reflection, her gaze fell on her engagement ring and the plain platinum and gold band, an inexplicable ache making her chest heavy.
Was she anything but a part of the sacrifice he was taking on for the greater good? Had she been deluding herself that they could have a meaningful relationship?
He had barely made eye contact with her as they had made vows to each other, after he had insisted on a secret, dawn wedding that was nothing like what she had imagined.
Even the Grand Hall of the Palace, with its opulent high ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes depicting the history of Thalassos, only seemed to mock her. The arched windows and the stained-glass panes, filled with dawn’s pink light, couldn’t banish the solemnity of the occasion.
Jemima, surprising herself, had resented the hell out of the whole damn thing. She hadn’t wanted a grand celebration or extravagant festivities but she had wanted a ceremony that was meaningful to both of them. She’d wanted to choose a beautiful dress, wear her mother’s jewelry, have her brother present for the occasion.
She’d wanted to honor the tenuous but real connection between her and Adonis and she wanted to nurture it without guilt or grief or any of the million constraints that seemed to surround them.
And now that she had learned of the final piece of the puzzle that made up her mysterious husband, Jemima understood why he had pulled away, why he had turned their wedding into nothing but a somber ceremony he had to go through. She had a feeling she was nothing but another piece of duty he had tacked on for the good of his country. And having come to know the honorable, kind man he was under all the suffocating masks, she detested being no more than a placeholder for him.
* * *
The sky was a brilliant blue, the May sun casting a golden glow over the capital city as Jemima arrived at the main plaza—a sprawling open space surrounded by ancient buildings, with the palace looming majestically in the background. Banners and flags waved in the gentle breeze, adding color and movement to the scene. A large crowd had gathered, filling the air with a buzz of anticipation and excitement.
She took her place on the roof of the plaza, her eyes scanning the sea of faces below. The entire kingdom seemed to have turned out for the air show, a tribute by Adonis to Adamos. The plaza was alive with noise—children laughing, vendors calling out their wares, and the buzzing hum of conversations. Yet, amidst the clamor, a sense of solemnity lingered.
When the crowd’s attention shifted to her, Jemima wore her practiced smile and waved, feeling wholly like a fake.
She was their Queen now.
But first in her mind, she was Adonis’s wife. He hadn’t even kissed her at the hurried wedding, and whatever real foundation she’d imagined between them suddenly felt like a pipe dream.
The sound of engines roaring to life pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up, her breath catching in her throat as she spotted the sleek fighter jets cutting through the sky.
Adonis had planned this air show himself, a gesture of remembrance for his brother. She knew how much Adamos had meant to him, despite the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in so long.
The crowd’s excitement peaked as the jets climbed higher, their silver bodies glinting in the sunlight.
Jemima’s heart raced with a mix of awe and fear.
Adonis was up there, leading the formation. She had heard stories of his daring feats as a fighter pilot, but seeing him in action was an entirely different experience.
The jets performed a series of breathtaking maneuvers, looping and twisting in perfect synchrony. The crowd gasped and cheered with each daring stunt. Jemima’s eyes never left Adonis’s jet, admiration and anxiety knotting in her chest. He was so close to the edge, pushing the limits of what seemed possible. She feared for his safety, yet couldn’t help but be captivated by his skill and courage.
As the jets flew in a tight formation, drawing a heart in the sky with their contrails, Jemima felt a pang of sorrow. She wondered if he would ever open to her truly, about his grief over Adamos, about the wound his father fueled even now.
The final stunt was the most daring of all—a vertical climb followed by a sudden nosedive, pulling up just before hitting the ground. The crowd held its breath as Adonis executed the maneuver flawlessly.
The plaza erupted in applause and cheers, a thunderous tribute to the fallen prince and the skill of his brother.
When it was time for her to leave the plaza and greet him in public for the first time since his coronation, Jemima found her hands were trembling, her emotions a tangled mess. Her heart seemed to have permanently lodged in her throat, cutting off her breath.
She was proud of Adonis, awed by his bravery, yet terrified by the risks he took. Their marriage was nothing but a partnership born out of necessity. He kept reminding her of that through his actions, and yet, she couldn’t keep her heart from weaving around his magnetic presence.
Clearly, the man was going to make zero changes to his lifestyle, just because he was married or because he was the damned King upon whom millions depended. Maybe she could ask him for lessons on how to harden herself.
As the jets returned to the ground and Adonis climbed out of his cockpit, the crowd surged forward, eager to congratulate their new king.
Jemima watched him, her heart aching with confusion and longing. He was a hero to the people of Thalassos, a symbol of strength and resilience. But to her, he was an enigma, a man she barely understood.
Adonis made his way through the crowd, his eyes searching for her. When their gazes finally met, Jemima felt a flicker of connection, a reminder of the bond they had been braiding in the past two weeks. But today—the somber wedding, the coronation and now this stunt of his—proved that it was tenuous at best.
As he approached, she forced a smile, determined to play her part, especially in front of his adoring public. “That was incredible, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.
His thigh pressed against hers, as security created a tight bubble around them, keeping the screaming public at bay behind steel barricades.
Jemima jerked at the contact, feeling as if burned. How foolish had she been to think she would become at least a factor he would consider in his life…
Nothing and no one would tame him, remember?
Adonis quirked a brow at her plastic politeness and her panic to put distance between them. “Thank you, Jemima. Although I must say I’m used to much more effusive welcomes after such an exhilarating stunt.”
“I’m not your groupie, Your Majesty, but your queen. It is possible you might have forgotten the little fact since you would barely meet my eyes during the ceremony.”
“Is that a complaint I hear, Jem? Did you want a week of festivities, a princess’s ball gown, and an enchanted ball?”
“You will not shame me for expecting the minimum out of this life, Adonis. As for the stunt—”
“It was for Adamos,” he said, interrupting her.
She placed a hand on his arm as they reached the dais from where they would watch the rest of the coronation day festivities. “Is that what you tell yourself?”
Adonis stared at her, his eyes dark and intense. “Why do I have a feeling you’re dying to have a go at me, Princess?” The moment stretched, ripe with tension and unsaid things.
A cue from one of their aides had them standing up and waving. And then came the next cue—for a chaste, polite kiss, perfect for the public’s consumption.
When Adonis dutifully reached for her, Jemima stiffened. “I’d rather kiss a frog right now than kiss you.”
“And here I thought you didn’t lie to yourself, Jem. Come, let’s see how much of a lie that is.”
And then, without warning, he sealed his lips over hers. Breaking convention, breaking protocol, breaking every boundary she drew around herself, Adonis deepened the kiss. He licked and nipped at her, his tongue sweeping over the cavern of her mouth as if he were looking for treasure.
The kiss rivaled his stunt in how dizzy it made her.
When he released her, her chest was heaving, her head was off floating in the clouds and her heart…her foolish heart was ready to get on the roller coaster of wanting to know the real Adonis all over again.
She flushed to the roots of her hair at the applause that broke out and pretended to not hear when he whispered at her ear, “Now, who’s the liar, Your Majesty?”