Read Online MAID FOR A PRINCE: (Book 1) (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way) by Robyn Grady - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robyn Grady
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kingdom.”
“I’m sure your uncle is happy with the kingdom he resides in now.”
He drummed a set of fingertips on the table. This woman was like a dog with a bone.
“We have three days left here,” he said. “Let’s pretend politics and family don’t exist.”
A teasing smile eased across her face. “So you’re just a regular guy taking some time off from the beat.”
“Just a regular guy.”
She raised her glass. “Well, here’s to boring obscurity.”
But as they drank, for the first time in his life Darius truly wondered how it would feel to lead an ordinary existence, to set sail on an adventure as Helene had done—as his uncle had done, too—and have no real plans for ever coming back.
Thankfully Helene changed the subject.
“Darius, your mother liked to read,” Helene said, digging into her meal. “Did she like to write, too?”
“You mean like a journal?”
“Or her own stories.”
“Not that I recall.”
Helene nibbled thoughtfully on some cheese then changed the subject again. “I might go down to the stables later and try to clean up the rest of that paint.”
He grinned. Wait a minute . “Why did you want to know whether my mother wrote?”
“No reason.”
He reached over and caught her hand. “Try again.”
“Well, this morning, after I left you, I kind of broke something. Actually, I think it was already broken. Or maybe it was a hidden lid. Like a trap door in reverse.”
He inwardly groaned. Again? “Something’s broken?”
“The bottom of the wardrobe in my room. That shell I brought back rolled underneath, and when I tried to rake it out…” She pushed to her feet. “I’ll show you?”
She led him through into her quarters and crossed to the window seat. Offering over a few sheets of yellowed paper, she sat down.
“Darius, read this.”
ᵿᵿᵿᵿᵿ
The world had gone mad. Leandros slapped away hot ash that drifted from a ring of burning pyres then grabbed a man rushing past. Ahmet was a well-respected merchant who dealt in fine cloth. Today his gaze was wild and, his garments were stained with soot and blood. Fisting his hands into the older man’s shirtfront, Leandros spoke fervently to his eyes.
“How long have they been gathered?”
“Since the early hours.” Ahmet growled, a sound drenched in venom and disgust. “Our king has disgraced his ancestors. He will bring misery upon us all. None here will sit on their hands while he flouts our laws to satisfy the whims of his whore.”
Ahmed spat at the dirt, shook himself free, and continued up Sangros Hill while pockets of chanting beat at the air like a drum.
Nearby a young boy wept for his mama. Scooping up the child, shielding his tear-stained face from the ash, Leandros set his jaw and pushed on. Behind soaring walls and ornate gates, a regiment of the royal guard stood erect with white-gloved hands poised on sabres and their expressions set beneath military cap. More guards sat mounted on horses that snorted, shied, and danced around.
Jostling and shoving, Leandros craned to see more over the palace’s turrets. Finger by finger, panic closed around his throat and squeezed. Where was the rest of the guard? Mutinied? Or perhaps inside the palace itself, a final bastion protecting lives they’d pledged to honor and defend.
Greeks were superstitious. Their nature was to watch for signs to appease the gods—to sacrifice. In Tierenias, female sexuality in its purest form was revered but not when the power was abused.
“There’s my boy!”
A woman who took in laundry for a wage broke through the rabble and swept her child from Leandros’s arms.
“Take him home,” he shouted over the din. “It isn’t safe.”
“And who is safe in times such as these? We mustn’t cower. We must right the wrong, and quickly.”
The boy pleaded, “Mama, please, home.”
But the woman only glared at Leandros through wings of frazzled hair and eyes dark with hate. “Spain was first,
“I’m sure your uncle is happy with the kingdom he resides in now.”
He drummed a set of fingertips on the table. This woman was like a dog with a bone.
“We have three days left here,” he said. “Let’s pretend politics and family don’t exist.”
A teasing smile eased across her face. “So you’re just a regular guy taking some time off from the beat.”
“Just a regular guy.”
She raised her glass. “Well, here’s to boring obscurity.”
But as they drank, for the first time in his life Darius truly wondered how it would feel to lead an ordinary existence, to set sail on an adventure as Helene had done—as his uncle had done, too—and have no real plans for ever coming back.
Thankfully Helene changed the subject.
“Darius, your mother liked to read,” Helene said, digging into her meal. “Did she like to write, too?”
“You mean like a journal?”
“Or her own stories.”
“Not that I recall.”
Helene nibbled thoughtfully on some cheese then changed the subject again. “I might go down to the stables later and try to clean up the rest of that paint.”
He grinned. Wait a minute . “Why did you want to know whether my mother wrote?”
“No reason.”
He reached over and caught her hand. “Try again.”
“Well, this morning, after I left you, I kind of broke something. Actually, I think it was already broken. Or maybe it was a hidden lid. Like a trap door in reverse.”
He inwardly groaned. Again? “Something’s broken?”
“The bottom of the wardrobe in my room. That shell I brought back rolled underneath, and when I tried to rake it out…” She pushed to her feet. “I’ll show you?”
She led him through into her quarters and crossed to the window seat. Offering over a few sheets of yellowed paper, she sat down.
“Darius, read this.”
ᵿᵿᵿᵿᵿ
The world had gone mad. Leandros slapped away hot ash that drifted from a ring of burning pyres then grabbed a man rushing past. Ahmet was a well-respected merchant who dealt in fine cloth. Today his gaze was wild and, his garments were stained with soot and blood. Fisting his hands into the older man’s shirtfront, Leandros spoke fervently to his eyes.
“How long have they been gathered?”
“Since the early hours.” Ahmet growled, a sound drenched in venom and disgust. “Our king has disgraced his ancestors. He will bring misery upon us all. None here will sit on their hands while he flouts our laws to satisfy the whims of his whore.”
Ahmed spat at the dirt, shook himself free, and continued up Sangros Hill while pockets of chanting beat at the air like a drum.
Nearby a young boy wept for his mama. Scooping up the child, shielding his tear-stained face from the ash, Leandros set his jaw and pushed on. Behind soaring walls and ornate gates, a regiment of the royal guard stood erect with white-gloved hands poised on sabres and their expressions set beneath military cap. More guards sat mounted on horses that snorted, shied, and danced around.
Jostling and shoving, Leandros craned to see more over the palace’s turrets. Finger by finger, panic closed around his throat and squeezed. Where was the rest of the guard? Mutinied? Or perhaps inside the palace itself, a final bastion protecting lives they’d pledged to honor and defend.
Greeks were superstitious. Their nature was to watch for signs to appease the gods—to sacrifice. In Tierenias, female sexuality in its purest form was revered but not when the power was abused.
“There’s my boy!”
A woman who took in laundry for a wage broke through the rabble and swept her child from Leandros’s arms.
“Take him home,” he shouted over the din. “It isn’t safe.”
“And who is safe in times such as these? We mustn’t cower. We must right the wrong, and quickly.”
The boy pleaded, “Mama, please, home.”
But the woman only glared at Leandros through wings of frazzled hair and eyes dark with hate. “Spain was first,
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