Page 1 of Vows to a King
CHAPTER ONE
“YOU SHOULD BEout there. Not hiding in the dark pockets of the palace, Jemima.”
Jemima Nasar jerked up from the secluded spot on the parapet of the Thalassan palace—a hidden alcove nestled within the ancient stone walls, and quickly signaled to her maid.
Having witnessed Jemima’s father—and the powerful Chief of crown council—Aziz Nasar’s affinity for cutting words, the maid hurried away with her charge.
Feeling bereft without the weight of her brother in her arms, Jemima took a deep breath.
Vines of jasmine and bougainvillea draped delicately over the walls, their vibrant blooms releasing a sweet, heady fragrance that mingled with the salty tang of the Aegean breeze.
While he’d never been an affectionate father, the sight of her younger brother, Zayn—the product of her mother’s indiscretion before she passed away in childbirth—was sure to provoke her father’s temper. He barely tolerated the young boy he’d given his name to. Being a master strategist though, he’d soon discovered that Zayn served as an effective tool for controlling Jemima.
“I’m not hiding, Papa, but mourning,” Jemima said, smoothing her expression of the fear and confusion that had been dogging her for days now.
Below them, the courtyard, sprawled out in solemn grandeur, matched her mood. A sea of black-clad mourners assembled to pay their respects to their fallen Crown Prince—and Jemima’s fiancé—Adamos Vasilikos.
From her vantage point, Jemima could see rows of velvet-covered benches full of state dignitaries, the grand funeral altar adorned with candles and flowers, and the towering marble statues that stood sentinel over the proceedings. Beyond the palace gate stood hundreds of members of the public who’d come from corners of the kingdom to pay final respects to their Crown Prince.
The late afternoon cast a golden hue that reflected off the polished mahogany of Adamos’s casket. After five years of relentless, exhausting training, in one evening, she had gone from Queen-to-be to…nothing.
“The public should see you standing by Queen Isadora,” her father said. “They need to remember that your association with the royal family doesn’t end with the Crown Prince.”
Jemima bit her lip to hold back her retort. Provoking her father only resulted in life becoming difficult for her. Not that he wasn’t right in this instance.
She and Queen Isadora had developed a mutual fondness, and she hoped respect, for each other.
The Queen’s grief at this moment was too raw though, and real. Jemima refused to sully it by pretending to feel the same.
“You’re right, Papa,” she said, keeping her tone steady, “but I didn’t want to embarrass our family by losing my composure in public. I feel too…raw.” There, that claim to weakness should appease him.
In the distance, the sparkling waters of the Aegean stretched out to the horizon, their azure depths shimmering under the May sun. Seagulls wheeled and cried overhead, their mournful calls adding to the solemnity of the occasion. And beyond the palace walls, the bustling streets of Thalassos lay silent and still, the city holding its breath as it mourned.
She was as devastated by the sudden death of Adamos in a plane crash as all of Thalassos was. He would have made a good king. But her grief and her sense of loss were not personal, like the world and her father assumed.
If anything, her mourning of him was diluted by a very real, selfish sense of dread about her own future. While Adamos had showed no more interest in her than his bed or a chair, she had been guaranteed distant politeness and comfort in their upcoming marriage.
Now, she once again had to face the fact that her usefulness to her father was in the alliances she brought him in marriage.
If she didn’t figure out how to keep herself relevant to him, he would banish Zayn to some Godforsaken corner of the country and force her to marry some old crony of his.
She shuddered at the thought.
“Do not think me foolish, Jemima. I’m aware that Adamos had been growing increasingly restless in the last year. If you had done your job of keeping him happy with your company and other abilities, he wouldn’t have looked for entertainment in other places.”
Even having braced herself for some version of this conversation, his censure hit Jemima like a lash against her skin. All the more hurtful because there was truth to it.
Despite knowing her fate since she’d turned twenty, Jemima hadn’t felt any special attraction toward Adamos. Even at that young age, she hadn’t wanted love or even the pretensions to it.
They’d gotten engaged when she’d turned twenty-one. In five years of their engagement, Adamos had been reserved, dutiful and unflinchingly polite. He hadn’t even kissed her. The polite, chaste arrangement had suited her perfectly. But now…the seed of doubt had been sown.
Was her father right? Would Adamos have been less…restless if she had let him closer? If she knew how to flirt and play romantic games and how to seduce? Had she been too bookish and severe and lacking warmth as the palace gossip sometimes said?
As always, when she was cornered, logic came to her rescue. “You’re the one who drilled into me that to be Queen, I should control my wild impulses and behave beyond reproach. I could hardly pursue Adamos through the palace corridors and seduce him when he barely made eye contact with me.”
The words reverberated like cannonballs around the parapet, crass and brazen. Dread filled her at her daring. “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said, the words rushing out of her. “I’m upset at losing Adamos and cannot control myself enough for the crowd or the cameras. One public appearance this morning was too much.”
Whether her father believed her fear-fueled apology or not, she never found out. A hushed murmur pierced the crowd below, drawing their attention.
