Page 17 of Vows to a King
It was time to flex his claws. Men like Jemima’s father only understood a show of power. “One more thing,” he said, infusing a silky undertone. “I do hope that any more attempts at finding long-lost cousins from broken branches of the Vasilikos family will end today. Or I will treat any such efforts as treason toward the royal family and the crown.”
With his mother on one arm and Jemima on the other, he walked out of the summit room. But not before he caught the pale, horrified faces of the members of the crown council.
And if he felt a well of conviction rise up at Jemima’s whispered “Well done,” he tucked it away in the farthest corners of his heart like a giddy child.
CHAPTER FIVE
IFJEMIMA HADthought she was wholly prepared to be the wife of a Prince of Thalassos—whichshe hadassumed because she had prepared for years for the same role, she was proved completely wrong.
The fact that Prince Adonis was nothing like his brother had become apparent after the public declaration in front of the crown council, making it clear that Jemima was, as his queen-to-be, not just his wife but his political advisor, and his equal partner in all things.
While performative plays and provoking crusty old rich men by bucking tradition were Adonis’s tools, he had proved that he also very much stood by his words.
He hadn’t let her go the entire afternoon, keeping her by his side and busy for hours, knowing her father was dying to take out his volcanic temper on her. By the time Adonis had dismissed her, two armed guards had flanked her wherever she went, having been ordered to never leave her alone. Then there was the relief that her brother was out of her father’s hands literally, for Queen Isadora—with brilliant foresight—had demanded that Jemima send Zayn to a trusted friend’s place in the city for a couple of weeks.
By the same evening, her stuff had been moved to a suite in a different wing, connected to Adonis’s chambers through a small private hallway. The new suite not only denoted a clear upgrade—spacious with high ceilings and large arched windows that overlooked the sapphire waters of the Aegean, but had been done up in cream and light gold walls, adorned with intricate frescoes depicting the mythology and rich art history of Thalassos.
She’d learned later, by probing some of the staff and even Queen Isadora who had supplied the information about Jemima’s interests, that the order from Prince Adonis had been to make the space worthy of not just the Thalassan queen, but Jemima Nasar too. As if he were acknowledging that she wasn’t just a placeholder as everyone in her life had always thought her. As if she was an actual person.
So many of her favorite elements had been braided into her new space and every time Jemima walked in, she felt a wellspring of…gratitude and a prickle of shame.
He was giving her everything that came with his word—status, influence, and freedom. Every step she took on the cool marble floors with the gorgeous inlaid patterns of olive branches reminded her that she had thrown the olive branch he had offered her back in his face.
The fact that he had traveled to Monaco the next evening—to take care of his business affairs before the coronation—only made the man and their upcoming wedding even more mythical in her head. All of it felt too good to be true.
Now, as she sat at the vanity table staring at her reflection in a gilded, ornate mirror, readying herself for their first public appearance as a couple, nerves twanged through her as if she had been tuned too tight. Even the gentle breeze from the sea caressing her skin, filling her nostrils with the scent of salt and blooming jasmine, couldn’t calm her restlessness.
And she knew the reason was her appearance. To begin with, at least.
The afternoon sun bathing the suite in a golden hue couldn’t transform her high-necked, shapeless dress in a muddy brown color into anything better. Even her sensible, low-heeled pumps seemed to scream how boring and predictable and dull she had become.
It was as if she’d allowed all the lines her father had drawn around her to become solid walls, boxing her in.
Shooting to her feet, she did a dance kick she’d once been forced to perform as part of some ghastly weight-loss program, and the shoe flew in the direction of the veranda.
The door connecting the hallway between their suites opened just as she raised her other leg.
Dressed impeccably in a hand-tailored dark navy suit, Adonis exuded effortless command and power. Having only seen him in casual clothes so far, Jemima’s breath hitched in her throat.
God, the man looked…magnificent.
Her knees buckled beneath her—forcing her to pull her quivering thigh down, as he casually leaned against the doorframe, biting into an apple. As if he didn’t tempt her entire being into wickedly decadent thoughts just by existing. His lush lips glistened with the juice of the fruit and she so desperately wanted a taste.
“Were you aiming for my door, Princess?”
She shook her head, stupefied into muteness by the twinkle in his eyes.
“I thought maybe after three days, you were missing me and throwing things around to express the displeasure. A great improvement over the placid little smile you show the world, I promise.”
“No, not missing you,” Jemima said, even as she fought the tendril of pleasure that wound around her heart. How was the damned man so perceptive? Did anything she, and the world, assumed about him hold even a whisper of the truth? “But I would like a little notice in the future before you up and leave the country.”
Straightening, he ventured into the vast sitting space, immediately reducing it, sucking all the air out. She huffed through her lips, as if she had been running nonstop, as he continued coming at her.
“Noted,” he said, reaching her. This close, she could see the small cut under his right jaw from the shave and smell that unique woodsy scent of him. God, how did he manage to smell as if he had rolled around in the lush jungles and roaring river rapids of Thalassos? How did he make her want to roll and writhe against him in turn?
“If this king thing fails,” she said, determined to start over, determined to punch through those stupid walls one word and action at a time. She refused to become that cynical creature completely. “You could simply bottle that unique scent you create and sell it for millions. It’s…sure to melt the panties off any woman.”
“Is it melting yours?” the devil shot back at her.
