Page 2 of Vows to a King
Beyond the palace gate, a ripple appeared in the sea of black as if a great wave was approaching to drown them. Suddenly, the sea parted and a large black motorcycle appeared.
On it, clad in black leathers, was the Devil Prince of Thalassos.
A shiver pulsed down her back as memories gripped her.
Memories of the one evening in her life where she had tasted unprecedented freedom and reveled in her femininity.
One forbidden evening at a masquerade ball.
On a dare, she’d stolen a kiss from the Devil Prince under a star-studded sky.
Her first kiss, full of a fiery passion she didn’t even know to dream about.
It had been the best evening of her life.
Here he was now, a larger-than-life figure, breaking any number of palace protocols with his brazen, disrespectful arrival. And with no regard to security whatsoever.
Dressed, not in the dark navy Thalassan uniform as befitting the occasion and his rank as air force commander, but in a black leather jacket and white shirt open at the chest. Dark trousers molded to his long legs. His dark blond hair, tousled and unruly, framed his stunningly gorgeous face.
Even from a distance, Jemima could note the high forehead, the large beak of a nose, and the wide, sensual lips that women all over the world gushed over. Framed by the thick dark slashes of his brows, his blue eyes appeared startlingly bright. Everything about him was a stunning contrast, ending with his near-angelic beauty and devilish nature.
His arrival confirmed his fiendish reputation, even as his name broke out among the crowd like some kind of chant.A benediction even, Jemima thought, awestruck by the sudden uproar of gaiety.
His expression remained somber as he stepped off the bike and reached out hands to touch the animated crowd. Around him, security staff ran around like little rats trying to corral the elephant into place.
Adonis Vasilikos, the Devil Prince of Thalassos and adventure sports billionaire, cut a striking figure as he strode confidently through the courtyard and reached the Queen standing alone.
For just a second, Queen Isadora’s iron-tight composure broke at the sight of him. The Prince shielded her tiny frame with his powerful one—a protective gesture that made something twist in Jemima’s chest—before the cameras or the state guests could catch her fracture.
Jemima stared at the unfolding scene, shocked. Even after seven years of his absence—his rift with King Aristos was popular knowledge, though the reason was not—Thalassans were clearly…overjoyed by the sight of Prince Adonis. She couldn’t think of one occasion when Adamos had received half the overjoyed greetings or the wild energy that the Devil Prince commanded now.
Once upon a time, as a teenager whose every hour and day and life were planned out by an autocratic father, as a girl who’d constantly toed the line in the hope of being rewarded with affection and kindness, Adonis Vasilikos had become the object of extreme fascination to her.
It wasn’t simply his fearlessness or his daring feats or his irreverent bucking of the very traditions and rules that had been poured down her throat even as a child, but that he had never let anyone, not even the King, contort him into a box he didn’t fit into. Even as a rowdy, rebellious teenager, Adonis had been completely his own creation.
Of course, throw in his godlike looks, and she’d been as gaga over him as the rest of Thalassos.
Growing up, she’d had very little interaction with him—except for the kiss, but she had collected every little tidbit she could about him like a magpie collecting treasure. In the past few years, she’d become aware of how highly the Queen thought of her younger son. Even Adamos had always praised his brother.
And yet, what kind of a man stayed away from his family and his adoring country for seven years without a single visit? What had kept him away? More importantly, what would Adonis Vasilikos choose now—his adventure sports empire and playboy lifestyle or Thalassos in its hour of need?
“Finally, he returns,” her father said, bringing her out of her trance.
“What?” she said inanely, eager for any information about the mysterious prince.
“The Queen summoned him months ago. But, of course, Adonis Vasilikos only does as he pleases. It will be highly amusing to see her fail to leash him.”
“Leash him?” Jemima said, her gaze tracing the powerful breadth of the Prince’s shoulders as he stood by the diminutive queen. “You make him sound like a wild animal, Papa.”
“That is what he is, for all intents and purposes,” her father said, his mouth twisted in distaste.
“Leashing him is,” Jemima said, following the strange urge to defend the Prince, “akin to bottling lighting.” Below them on the ground, the energy of the somber occasion was shifting, Adonis’s name whispered, over and over again, sprinkling joy and hope amidst a mourning populace. “But if anyone can, it will be Queen Isadora,” she added, her admiration for the older woman bleeding into her words.
She knew how much the Queen worried about the future of Thalassos and somewhere during the years of being trained as queen, Jemima had begun to care just as much. That same urgency beat at her. “With Adamos gone and the King declining, she needs Adonis at the helm. Now.”
Her father scoffed. “He won’t give up his freedom. Or his daredevil adventure sports or his fast cars or his…disgusting lifestyle. Prince Adonis lives for the next high,” he said, as if Jemima hadn’t said a word.
“His rift is with King Aristos. Not Thalassos or his mother,” she pointed out.
