her sin either. And why should she?
Wealth and position awaited her.
Damn her for her perfidy! He hated her more than he did anyone on earth.
After today, he vowed to avoid the royal palace and his brother’s unfaithful fiancée.
Chapter One
PRINCE KRISTO STANRAKIS had never thrown a royal fit of anger in his life, but he was moments away from doing so just now. He flung his tuxedo jacket on a red brocade Louis XV chaise and ripped open his stark white shirt, sending a row of diamond studs flying. One pinged off an inlaid table before falling to the gold Kirman carpet, while another chinked as it hit a window.
This urgent meeting with the future King, his lawyers and the highest officials was over. Angyra would face change yet again.
His life had just been turned on its heel and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to evade his fate.
No! His duty!
He paced the impressive length of his apartment. Duty! How he hated that word. How he hated her!
Just one month ago they’d buried their father, the beloved King of Angyra. She’d come to the funeral and sat with her father and sister, looking solemn and royal and aloof. Looking sexy as hell in a black sheath that had hugged her luscious curves.
He hadn’t seen her in almost a year, yet the moment their eyes had met he’d been slammed him back to that day on the beach. A roiling mix of guilt, rage and desire had boiled in him.
He wanted nothing to do with her. Yet he still wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman.
Being near her needled him with guilt for betraying his brother and he did not like that feeling one bit. But he’d been prepared to suffer through her return in less than two weeks to marry King Gregor. Except that would not happen now!
The rap at his door was preceded by its opening. He whirled to find Mikhael striding into his suite, with a bottle of ouzo under his arm and two glasses clutched in one hand.
“I thought you could use this,” Mikhael said, and promptly poured two drinks.
He took the offered liquor and tossed it back, relishing the bite to his senses. “Did you have any idea that Gregor was ill?”
Mikhael shook his head. “He’s seemed tired of late, and complained of headaches, but I attributed it to the stress of assuming Father’s duties.”
The same thought had crossed Kristo’s mind. He’d never dreamed that Gregor had secretly seen a doctor just before the King’s death, only to discover two days ago that he had inoperable cancer.
The prognosis was grim. With death imminent, Crown Prince Gregor had chosen to abdicate before the State Council proclaimed him King of Angyra tomorrow.
That official announcement had been made just one hour ago.
By order of birth, the crown now passed to Kristo. He was now Crown Prince, which had thrown the council into emergency session. Unless they deemed him truly unfit to rule—which was possible, considering his reputation—the accession ceremony would take place tomorrow promptly at eleven in the morning.
As if that weren’t jarring enough, he was now forced to assume his brother’s betrothal agreement as well! He had to marry Demetria Andreou—in less than two weeks, if he kept to the schedule that had been set in place.
Damn the fates!
Desirable, unfaithful Demetria would be his wife. His Queen.
“I don’t look forward to tomorrow.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be a good King,” Mikhael said.
Kristo wasn’t so sure. Though he’d done his duty to the State Council, and sat in on required meetings, he’d paid little heed for he’d been in reality no more than a figurehead.
However, he’d taken his role as ambassador much more seriously, as that had allowed him to wine and dine dignitaries around the world. Gambling and carousing, as his father had called it.
At times that had been true. But the setting had allowed him to do what came naturally. In turn, being away from Angyra had allowed him the freedom to do what he really wanted.
But that would soon be in the past.
“Has he contacted Andreou yet?” Kristo asked.
“He was speaking with him by phone when I left.”
How would Demetria take the change of plans?
Kristo stopped before the palatial window and looked out on the terraced garden that stepped down to the cerulean sea. He splayed his hands on the casing so hard that he felt the heavy moldings imprint on his flesh.
Dammit, he didn’t want to be King! And by hell’s thunder he certainly didn’t want to marry Demetria!
But the only way to surmount his fate was by death or abandonment of his country. Though he’d joked that he could walk away from Angyra and never miss it, the truth of the matter was that he couldn’t shirk his duty.
“Gregor felt certain that Andreou wouldn’t balk at the change of plans,” Mikhael said. “He suspects that the lady might feel differently.”
“How she feels doesn’t matter. She has a duty to uphold.”
“True, but you are a stranger to her.”
In some ways, but in others they were intimately acquainted. But that was his guilty secret to bear.
“As Gregor pointed out today, the betrothal contract simply states that Demetria is to marry the Crown Prince,” Kristo said, chafing over the fact that he was now that man. “Surely she is aware of that fact.”
“You are being callous about this, brother.”
“I’m simply being pragmatic,” Kristo said. “Demetria and I are bound by the same laws. There is nothing left to discuss.”
The Royal House of Stanrakis had one ancient and non-breakable rule. All future rulers must be of noble Greek blood. As the Stanrakis family continued to produce males, their Crown Princes had only to find a noble bride of Greek blood.
Easier said than done. But then, they weren’t marrying for love. Even if such a thing existed, it wasn’t ordained for a Stanrakis prince.
It certainly wouldn’t be for him!
Demetria had been handpicked by the King. She had been groomed to be the next Queen of Angyra.
She possessed the right lineage. Her maternal grandfather was Greek—one of the old noblemen like Kristo’s father. And her mother had married a Greek, even though Sandros Andreou’s blood wasn’t as pure.
That man had pricked his temper more times than naught over business dealings. As for Demetria—she fired his
