The Greek's Forbidden Princess

‘So you’ll find your godson a bolt-hole then wash your hands of him?’

Her words pierced his conscience. Or maybe it was what remained of his heart.

‘It’s for the best.’

She shook her head. ‘I truly believed you cared. I thought you a man of honour.’

She rose. His trained eye noticed the slight wobble in her legs. She fought emotion or exhaustion or both, determined not to let him see.

She was so valiant his respect for her soared. Even as he wished her and her demands to the very devil. For she was wrong. He wasn’t the man to help. He wasn’t the man she believed.

She spun on one heel, walking away.

It was what he wanted. Yet his gut hollowed.

‘You said time’s running out.’ The words jerked out before he was conscious of forming them. ‘What did you mean?’

‘Why ask when clearly you don’t care?’ She didn’t even turn to face him. Only the rigidity of her slim frame and the hands clenched at her sides revealed her tension.

Lambis didn’t answer. To say he cared would be tantamount to inviting them to stay, and that he couldn’t do. Yet nor could he see her tension and not respond.

Damn the woman! She’d got under his skin once. He couldn’t let her do it again.

Suddenly she spun round and the change in her was a punch to the solar plexus. Gone was the touch-me-not Princess, the haughty aristocrat. Everything about Amelie spoke of heat and passion. From her flashing eyes to the heightened colour accentuating those high cheekbones and the sweet bow of her mouth, deliciously plump as if she’d been biting it.

The effect was instant and incendiary—a symphony of want turned his body to hot, brazen metal. He’d wanted her before, too many times to count, but not like this—as if he’d incinerate if he didn’t reach out and touch her, taste those kissable lips and possess that poised, perfect body.

Her chin tilted as if she read his lust and was disgusted by it. Yet when she spoke Lambis realised she’d noticed nothing but the worries tormenting her.

‘Because he’s underage, Seb can’t be crowned King. Instead he’ll be officially proclaimed heir and a regent will be confirmed. The date for the proclamation ceremony has been set for his fifth birthday next month. Since he’s no longer an infant, on that day he must personally accept his new status.’

‘And?’

‘And he’s required to speak. To accept his future role and swear an oath. If he doesn’t—’ Amelie paused and the colour faded from her cheeks ‘—if he can’t say the words, another heir will be found.’

‘But in the circumstances—?’

Amelie’s mouth thinned. ‘The law of succession is specific. He must make the oath himself or be barred from the throne for ever.’

Lambis felt his brow furrow. ‘But he’s Michel and Irini’s only son.’

‘And the throne is his birthright. But that doesn’t matter. What matters under St Gallan law is establishing the next ruler as soon as possible. If it’s not Seb then I’m informed it will be a distant cousin, a man currently being investigated for fraud.’

Her words fell like blows. Irini’s son disinherited? It didn’t seem possible.

‘Couldn’t the law be changed?’

‘Not quickly enough for Seb.’

‘What about you?’ When she simply stared he continued. ‘Why not make you Queen if the next legitimate heir is so distant?’ After all, she’d carried much of the royal burden, both for her father, then later for her younger brother as he’d adapted to the role of King.

‘Women don’t inherit the St Gallan throne. That’s a male privilege.’ Her tone was dispassionate, but Lambis wondered what it was like, eldest child of a monarch, forced to make a career out of diplomacy and public service, knowing you were barred from taking the throne for ever.

‘I need to help Seb find his voice again, because that will mean he’s recovering. And because without it he’ll be denied what should rightfully be his.’ She wrapped her arms around herself and something clenched in Lambis’s chest. It was so rare for Amelie to reveal vulnerability. ‘I couldn’t live with myself knowing I’d failed Michel and Irini’s trust in me.’

Lambis reached for the brandy he’d nursed before she arrived. One swallow and it shot a heated trail through his chest and down to his belly.

Amelie’s talk of trust evoked the harsh remembrance of his responsibility to Irini. Lambis had failed his friend once, with dire consequences. If he failed her son...

‘Why bring him here? I’m not a psychologist or speech therapist.’

Her face changed at his words. The grimness turning down her mouth at the corners eased, as if she sensed him weakening.

‘He’s fascinated by you. You know how he followed you around every time you came to visit. He thinks the world of you.’

Her shoulders lifted in the smallest of shrugs as if she couldn’t fathom her nephew’s taste. Nor could Lambis.

‘I couldn’t think of anyone else he cared about so much that they might help him through this.’

Lambis shook his head so vehemently he felt the tickle of his hair on his neck and jaw.

‘I wouldn’t have the first idea how to help him.’

But that wasn’t what made Lambis’s chest ice over. It was the idea of anyone, especially that small boy, depending on him to save them.

What a fraud he was! Every day he managed arrangements to protect strangers, some of them in the most fraught environments, but he couldn’t protect those closest to him.

It was a cosmic joke. And the tragedy of it was it was no joke. It was all too real.

The consequences haunted him every day.

He looked back to find her eyes fixed on him as if trying to see into his soul. He wished her luck with that. He was pretty sure he no longer possessed one.

Carefully he put the empty glass on the mantelpiece. ‘I can’t do what you want.’

‘You won’t try?’ Her fine features paled, pared back by tension and disappointment.

‘I’m not the man to help Seb. I’m sorry.’

He thought her mouth would crumple, and pain, swift and sharp as a javelin, lanced his chest.

‘Then God help him.’ She swung around and strode away, heels clicking on the polished floor.

‘I’ll find a retreat for you both. Somewhere the press can’t bother you.’ It was the best he could do. His pride and his conscience howled that it was far too little. But he refused to raise false hope. He was no miracle worker. Better for Seb to spend quiet time with his aunt. Surely that was all the miracle he needed. ‘It will be sorted by tomorrow.’

Amelie didn’t even pause on her way out of the door.

CHAPTER FOUR (#u4661a4f3-8bac-5adc-a446-3bf9d690a0ca)