His Chosen Queen
Bella Mason
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Vasili heard the words. The moment he had craved and dreaded was upon him. For two weeks he had wanted to kiss her. Images of her against the door of his office flashed in his mind once again. He had wanted a taste of her then, and after replaying that moment so frequently, he wasn’t sure that he would want to stop once his lips met hers. So, with her hands still in his, Vasili mustered every bit of control he had and leaned in, placing a chaste kiss upon her lips, but as if it were a trap designed just for him, this one simple touch caused the very air to snap around them.
He was utterly lost to the current that swept them both away and it was only the sound of polite clapping and an amused chuckle close by that broke through the haze, wrenching him back.
With careful tenderness he pulled away, noticing the look in Helia’s eyes. Like a raging sea. He knew she was just as affected as he was.
Maybe there was an upside to this marriage after all.
For Brad, without whom none of my books would ever have been written.
In you, I have found my king.
CHAPTER ONE
ITWASREMARKABLEhow some days could seem completely ordinary. How the sun would beat down as it always did, how the sounds in the air didn’t change, how people could go about their lives as normal and yet everything could be different. Changed.
Prince Vasili Leos, ‘spare’ to the throne of the small Mediterranean island kingdom of Thalonia, located in the Ionian Sea, sat in the darkened office of the private secretary to the King. He’d never liked this office, and would try to avoid it at all costs. The wood-panelled walls and polished wood floors were suffocating. It wasn’t a room to make anyone feel at ease, and ease was the last thing on his mind now.
Only the barest hints of sunlight passed through the slats of the dark wooden blinds, landing in penumbral stripes on the highly polished desk that was devoid of all clutter. And in the centre of all that light and dark, as if a divine spotlight was cast upon it, sat a letter with his name on it. A letter that currently consumed his existence. A letter that he wouldn’t have had if it hadn’t been for the news that had broken his world apart.
The King of Thalonia was dead.
Vasili was now King.
His brother Leander had been flying over the mainland when his plane had crashed. There were no survivors.
The King’s private secretary, Andreas Kyriakou, was speaking, but Vasili barely heard a word.
He was numb. Mere hours ago he had been sharing a drink with his brother, the rightful King, and now he was gone. An entire life wiped out. His only real family. And now he sat in this uncomfortable chair, hardly feeling the carved wood his arms rested on, to be told they had to move on swiftly.
Vasili had never wanted to be King. He was the spare. The insurance policy. The ‘Playboy Prince’, as he had been dubbed. He had never been intended for the throne and he didn’t want it.
‘Your Majesty, are you listening?’ Andreas asked, halting his pacing.
No, Vasili wasn’t listening. He didn’t want to. Everything was happening so fast it was a blur. The sun was still low in the sky. The morning had barely begun. And in that time he had been summoned to Andreas’s office and, without any preamble at all, had been told his brother was dead. Now, without waiting or caring about how that news had landed, they had already read Leander’s will. The letter had been left in his brother’s care to be given to Vasili in the event of his death.
Vasili glared at the white envelope. He shouldn’t have received it. Not yet, at least.
‘We need you to take the throne immediately. You need to speak to the people. Make sure they know the monarchy stands strong.’
Vasili curled his fingers into fists. He was still trying to process the fact that his brother was gone and all Andreas could do was talk of his ascension. Still, he remained silent. In this void he had landed in the thrum of his steady heart could be felt throughout his body. All he could see was that letter. A physical representation of the fact that Leander was gone and that Thalonia was now looking at a twenty-nine-year-old king in the seat of power. It was ridiculous. Just as ridiculous as the fact that yet another letter had been left to him by his father. A man who had shown him nothing but disapproval. The rebellious son...
The first had been after his death, barely a year ago, but Vasili had had no interest in what his father had had to say. In anger, he had immediately tossed that letter into the fireplace, and he had no inclination to open this letter either. He didn’t know if he ever wanted to read it. The contents could stay buried for all he cared. Just like the man himself.
His illness had come on swiftly, and before they’d known it the Kingdom had been plunged into mourning and Leander had ascended the throne. A role he had trained for his whole life. A role never meant for Vasili. One that the more superstitious of his people had come to believe was cursed.
And now allaying their fears would have to fall to him. It had to be some sort of cosmic joke! His people would once again sink into a pit of mourning and he couldn’t blame them. Leander had been a popular king and, given the fact that only Andreas was in this office with him, Vasili surmised that Carissa, their communications secretary, was making the announcement to the people as they spoke.
‘Thalonia requires stability, Your Maj—’
Vasili cut Andreas a glare that had him falling silent. He rounded the desk, sitting in the overlarge chair behind it.
‘Your Majesty, I understand that you do not wish to hear this, but I will say it again. Thalonia requires stability and it is your responsibility. This is your duty.’
