Marandis smile. His voice was rough with the Australian twang, deep and intensely masculine. Suddenly it made the cultured accents of the men she knew sound, well, namby-pamby. And she was having the strangest reaction to the feel of his hand in hers.
For the first time in years, her self-control vanished and she had not the slightest idea what to do or say.
‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered softly as he pretended to kiss her cheek. ‘This isn’t your fault. I’ll find a way out of this crazy situation.’
She blinked, stared, opened her mouth and closed it. Where had her famous self-composure disappeared to when she needed it?
Max’s smile told Jazmine he’d seen her reaction to the new prince. Taking the focus from her, he moved forward to meet the new arrivals, shaking hands with the right degree of friendly welcome.
‘We will take tea.’ The king turned towards the stately sandstone house—the Marandis summer palace since the eighteenth century—before anyone else could speak.
The smile vanished from Charlie’s face. He nodded, as if his permission had been sought, and turned to walk with Lia into the house.
Despite his being a firefighter, obviously taking orders wasn’t something he enjoyed, though he seemed to know to choose his fights and bide his time.
Though that meant more work whipping him into shape, the complex nature of the new prince seemed to fit into her very personal agenda for the future of Hellenia. A modern hero with rebellious tendencies— as shown by his rescue of the children in Australia—and knowing when to keep silent, was exactly what her people needed.
She turned to follow her grandfather, taking Max’s arm. Then she remembered, and turned to Charlie to walk inside first. He was Crown Prince now, and above her in station.
He took his sister’s arm and stood, waiting. ‘I was brought up to allow ladies—and princesses— to go first.’
The words told her more than she wanted to know. He had no intention of accepting the title, or becoming a part of the royal family. He wanted to return to Australia as soon as possible. He’d soon learn it wouldn’t happen. Royal families didn’t belong to themselves, or have the luxury of independence.
As Max took her arm, he whispered, ‘I suspect life is about to get interesting. Our new prince is a firecracker. Good luck with that.’
She stifled a laugh. ‘I suspect you’re thanking the gods for your changes, now you’ve seen Lia.’
‘She certainly is lovely,’ he murmured, ‘And smooths over the waves. Good manners and well brought-up. Just what every man wants in a wife.’
Jazmine caught the irony in his tone. If Max resented being a slave to royal duty, he hadn’t shown any sign of it in the past few months—but then, how could he until now?
‘If the sister was well brought-up, what happened to the brother?’ she whispered.
‘By all accounts, his grandfather never bowed to the will of the crown,’ Max replied, just as softly. But as they passed through the grand double doors to the ballroom-sized chamber known as the tea room, she saw Charlie stiffen.
Max ushered her into the room. ‘Well, you can’t fault his hearing. You might want to keep any future liaisons—’
‘I’m not biting.’ She smiled sweetly at him. A prince in waiting and a gentleman to the core, Max had always enjoyed putting the cat among the pigeons.
Max grinned. ‘You can’t blame me for trying. It doesn’t appear as if my future bride has the Marandis fighting spirit your future king has in spades. I fear she’ll make me a poor opponent.’
Jazmine shook her head. Having read the investigative reports into the brother and sister, she doubted Lia lacked anything, including spirit. Her story of anorexia survival proved that, but Max would have to find out in his own time and way.
Grandfather waved them all into chairs facing him. By the way he drew himself up and refused to sit, he was about to hold court, as he called it.
She called it laying down the law.
‘Tea,’ he ordered a servant, who bowed and disappeared. The room emptied.
To Jazmine’s surprise, Charlie took a seat beside her. He was glancing from her to Giulia—who sat on Jazmine’s other side—but his expression didn’t change. He still looked grim and protective.
‘We will have no public displays in future of family discord, Kyriacou.’
Grandfather never descended to such terms as ‘do you hear me?’ As king, he could enforce his word with the full force of the law, even in the twenty-first century. He believed the Hellenican people liked it that way.
Jazmine had other ideas, but they’d remain her own until she was queen. If she became queen. She kept her gaze on the man who held her entire future in his hands.
Charlie was sprawled in his chair, watching her grandfather with polite interest, as if the king was an unusual exhibit at the zoo. ‘It’s been a long time since anyone defied you, I’d guess, Your Majesty.’
Grandfather put a hand on the back of the carved-oak chair. His brows lifted a touch. ‘Certainly.’
Charlie said politely, but with finality, ‘Well, here’s the lowdown on family discord, sire. I’m not your family. I met you five minutes ago. I am an Australian citizen—’
The king’s smile stopped him mid-sentence.
‘Actually, Kyriacou, you are a Hellenican citizen,’ Grandfather stated with well-bred relish. ‘You are a descendant of the royal family. You have been Hellenican, subject to its laws and regulations, from the moment you stepped into the consulate in Canberra.’
The silence was absolute. Even the servants didn’t breathe.
After a minute that seemed to take an hour, the king went on. ‘My word is law in Hellenia. You will do as I tell you, and leave only when I allow it.’ He smiled at Charlie in barely restrained triumph.
Giulia’s face was pale as she turned towards her brother. Max lifted his brows.
Jazmine felt herself gulping on air. Whatever Charlie said or did, unless it was capitulation or an abject apology, would only throw a landmine into Grandfather’s proud, stubborn face—and, on five minutes’ acquaintance, she felt sure ‘capitulation’ and ‘apology’ were words as foreign to the prince’s nature as they were to the king’s.
After an interminable minute, Charlie answered without the expected fire. ‘Without prior knowledge of Hellenican law, we’ve been subjected to false imprisonment, which is subject to international law under the terms of the Geneva Convention.’ He smiled back at Grandfather, whose lined, regal face whitened. ‘You made a mistake in underestimating me, Your Majesty. I will not be forcibly detained here. Nor will I allow you to force my sister or me to accept the positions. We are not political prisoners. If you make us such, I’m sure the world media would love to know about it.’
War declared—and it was about to be accepted. Before she knew it, Jazmine was on her feet, looking down at Charlie.
