Read Online MAID FOR A PRINCE: (Book 1) (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way) by Robyn Grady - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robyn Grady
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then Russia and Turkey. Now it is our king’s turn to fall.”
Although many believed the baby to be the fruit of another man’s loins, their king had nonetheless married and accepted his bride’s child as his own. Coffers had been stripped to fund the marriage ceremony’s gold-plated carriage as well as a ring studded with priceless jewels. Like ripples from a stone dropped mid-stream, rumors had spread, every minute growing louder. It was written that should a Tierenias king marry outside of appropriate pedigree, consequences would befall his house as well as the people of this Aegean twin-island state. There had not been the plagues or endless famine of which the laws spoke, but last week some unknown beast had slaughtered a flock of goats. Four days ago, three male infants had died of no apparent cause.
Now as that woman and her child disappeared into the crowd, Leandros scanned the expressions of his friends, people he’d known all his life. With news of more global conflict adding fuel to this unrest, panic as well as indignation lined every face.
Who had not lost in the Great War or in those wide-spread massacres in Asia Minor? And yet as the calls for blood rose louder, Leandros could think of only one life that mattered now—one soul with midnight hair and adoring crystalline eyes whom he cared for more than his own life.
Over past months they’d met beneath the shroud of late evening to talk, to kiss, to pet. Three nights ago, they’d dropped their clothes upon the pebbles and had run into the waters of a secluded bay. Beneath the claw of a shiny new moon, they’d swirled in the cool, locked in each other’s arms as they’d whispered and laughed and all the while touched. When he’d bounced her up, her legs had latched around his back and, sighing, she’d pressed in dangerously close.
By some miracle she remained a virgin still, although soon, Leandros vowed, he would have her, and for the rest of their lives. But not until he’d taken her far from here. Not until she was safe.
Nearby, a youth—the fisherman Paulo’s son—shouted, “Look! On the balcony.”
Leandros’s gaze flew up. High on a platform where kings addressed their subjects in times of celebration as well as despair, a shadowy figure opened the doors. Caught on the same sea breeze that fanned those pyre flames, sheer curtains billowed out and a woman appeared. She wore a simple white gown. A light veil covered her head. Desperate to see—hard bars eating into his temples, his cheeks—Leandros clung to the gate while a thudding pulse echoed in his ears.
The air was hazy. She was far away. He couldn’t be sure. Was it her?
Remembering the burning kisses and promises they’d shared, Leandros cursed himself a thousand ways. When he’d left to visit a neighboring island this morning, he ought to have taken her. They should have escaped together and—to hell with her royal duty—never come back. The woman seemed to float to the balcony’s farthest point before bowing her head, asking the mass to quiet down. When only the hiss and crackle from the pyres could be heard, the woman raised her arms to the churning smoke-filled sky.
She held that pose for a long tense moment until the crowd breathed as one and Leandros’s splintered nerves began to break. When he couldn’t stand another second, when he was compelled to scale this gate and act, the woman removed her veil. Before he could catch the face, know for sure, she sent up a keening prayer then, toppling forward, threw herself off.
Chapter 9
When Darius was finished reading, he set the pages aside and ran a hand through his hair.
“It’s about the rebellion a hundred years ago,” Helene said and he nodded. “Is there a Leandros in your history books?”
“It’s a story, Helene.”
“Based on a real event. Do you have any idea who wrote it?”
“None.” His palm traced the top page lying between them now on the seat. The only clue was two initials: D.D.
Although many believed the baby to be the fruit of another man’s loins, their king had nonetheless married and accepted his bride’s child as his own. Coffers had been stripped to fund the marriage ceremony’s gold-plated carriage as well as a ring studded with priceless jewels. Like ripples from a stone dropped mid-stream, rumors had spread, every minute growing louder. It was written that should a Tierenias king marry outside of appropriate pedigree, consequences would befall his house as well as the people of this Aegean twin-island state. There had not been the plagues or endless famine of which the laws spoke, but last week some unknown beast had slaughtered a flock of goats. Four days ago, three male infants had died of no apparent cause.
Now as that woman and her child disappeared into the crowd, Leandros scanned the expressions of his friends, people he’d known all his life. With news of more global conflict adding fuel to this unrest, panic as well as indignation lined every face.
Who had not lost in the Great War or in those wide-spread massacres in Asia Minor? And yet as the calls for blood rose louder, Leandros could think of only one life that mattered now—one soul with midnight hair and adoring crystalline eyes whom he cared for more than his own life.
Over past months they’d met beneath the shroud of late evening to talk, to kiss, to pet. Three nights ago, they’d dropped their clothes upon the pebbles and had run into the waters of a secluded bay. Beneath the claw of a shiny new moon, they’d swirled in the cool, locked in each other’s arms as they’d whispered and laughed and all the while touched. When he’d bounced her up, her legs had latched around his back and, sighing, she’d pressed in dangerously close.
By some miracle she remained a virgin still, although soon, Leandros vowed, he would have her, and for the rest of their lives. But not until he’d taken her far from here. Not until she was safe.
Nearby, a youth—the fisherman Paulo’s son—shouted, “Look! On the balcony.”
Leandros’s gaze flew up. High on a platform where kings addressed their subjects in times of celebration as well as despair, a shadowy figure opened the doors. Caught on the same sea breeze that fanned those pyre flames, sheer curtains billowed out and a woman appeared. She wore a simple white gown. A light veil covered her head. Desperate to see—hard bars eating into his temples, his cheeks—Leandros clung to the gate while a thudding pulse echoed in his ears.
The air was hazy. She was far away. He couldn’t be sure. Was it her?
Remembering the burning kisses and promises they’d shared, Leandros cursed himself a thousand ways. When he’d left to visit a neighboring island this morning, he ought to have taken her. They should have escaped together and—to hell with her royal duty—never come back. The woman seemed to float to the balcony’s farthest point before bowing her head, asking the mass to quiet down. When only the hiss and crackle from the pyres could be heard, the woman raised her arms to the churning smoke-filled sky.
She held that pose for a long tense moment until the crowd breathed as one and Leandros’s splintered nerves began to break. When he couldn’t stand another second, when he was compelled to scale this gate and act, the woman removed her veil. Before he could catch the face, know for sure, she sent up a keening prayer then, toppling forward, threw herself off.
Chapter 9
When Darius was finished reading, he set the pages aside and ran a hand through his hair.
“It’s about the rebellion a hundred years ago,” Helene said and he nodded. “Is there a Leandros in your history books?”
“It’s a story, Helene.”
“Based on a real event. Do you have any idea who wrote it?”
“None.” His palm traced the top page lying between them now on the seat. The only clue was two initials: D.D.
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