The Goddess (6 page)

Helene’s mouth dropped wide open. “
How
?” Holding her brow, she shook her head.
Oh God
. “It doesn’t matter how.”

She collapsed onto the pillows. The condom
broke
? And she wasn’t using any form of contraception. She said the only thing that seemed
to fit. “It’s my fault.”

“Of course this isn’t your fault.”

“I flirted with you today. I wore all that silk last night…”

“I make my own decisions. I’d feel this way about you no matter what you wear.” Visibly
reining himself in, he lowered his voice. “What’s done is done.”

She swallowed against the sick feeling backing up her throat. “Have you ever had this
kind of thing happen before?”

He pressed a kiss on her furrowed brow. “We’ll be fine. Some couples try for years
to…well, to…”

“Get pregnant?”

A lead weight sailed through her middle. She wished she hadn’t said that word aloud.
But as Darius had pointed out, creating a baby wasn’t always as easy as some might
think. Plenty spent a bucket load on IVF. Other people never became parents no matter
how long they tried. But Helene would bet her life not too many of them had a genuine
fertility figurine sitting in the corner of their bedroom.

She tugged the sheet out from the foot of the bed. She needed space. She thought Darius
might feel the same way.

“I might go pick some fruit for lunch,” she said.

He looked as preoccupied as she felt. It took a moment for him to smile and nod. “I’ll
be out soon.”

With the sheet wrapped around her, she walked out the door. Passing through the main
room, she scooped up her scattering of clothes. In her quarters, she crossed to an
arched window that overlooked the sea.

She felt numb. Stupefied. She and Darius Vasily had made love. Protection had malfunctioned.
And so…

What if the unthinkable had happened? What if she
were
pregnant? Were cells already splitting and multiplying inside of her?

Gazing out over the ocean, she followed that thought to a not so surprising conclusion.
If she had conceived, she had a choice to make—and that choice would be to let nature
take its course. She’d never had to think about those options on a personal level
before. Or about giving a baby up for adoption either.

Her chin lifted even as she swallowed the ball of nerves stuck in her throat.

If this time with Darius ended with her bearing a child, she could never give it up.

Never, never.

Of course, it wouldn’t come to that. For now, there was nothing to do but wait and
see.

On her way to the bathroom, the shorts slipped from her hand. The shell in the back
pocket bounced to the floor and rolled under the ornately carved wardrobe. She crossed
over, knelt down, and swept an arm underneath. No luck.

Setting her cheek to the floor, she peered between four wooden claws. The shell sat
well back against the wall. Lying flat, she stuck her arm under again and reached.

Her fingers grazed the cool smooth surface but the wardrobe was so deep, even with
edging her shoulder completely under she couldn’t grab it. Grunting, she strained
and then snatched. Her knuckles hit the wardrobe’s timber bottom. A second later,
it fell on her arm—or at least part of the bottom did.

As she slid her arm out, a sheet of paper came with it. One side was covered in writing—sentences
penned in English. Rolling onto her back, Helene held the paper above her head and
read the first line.

The world had gone mad.

Her gaze swept the yellowed page. It smelled old, too. She swept her hand under the
wardrobe again and carefully extracted more sheets. Assembling them in some order,
she moved to the window-seat and began to read.

Chapter Eight

Darius stayed behind, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped and hanging between
his legs as he stared at the safe and thought over the steps—or missteps—that had
led to this point.

He was an educated man. While he respected the importance of tradition and valued
the legacy handed down, his more educated side confirmed that a block of stone—no
matter how revered—couldn’t influence whether sex between two people would bear fruit.

As much as he wished that damn condom had done its job, he’d been truthful with Helene.
He didn’t regret a second of their time together. He wanted to be with her again.
Holding off from making love again would not change that incident or its outcome.

Two hours passed before he showered, dressed, and then ventured out to the kitchen.
Helene was putting the final touches to a lunch platter. In her sleeveless shirt and
shorts, she sent over a smile, but he caught a glint of wariness in her eyes.

She grabbed two plates while he joined her behind the counter. He wasn’t hungry but
to lighten the mood he’d put up a good front.

“I’m starved.”

“Boys like their food.”

He collected the platter. “When I was very young I liked to hang out in the kitchen.
One of the cooks would let me watch her bake and help a little.”

“Bet she dished out a few treats along the way?” Helene teased, skirting around him.

“My father was determined I should know about duty. Who I was and what was expected.
But around that cook, I was just a kid who liked to lick the spoon. I’m sure she baked
far more cakes than we needed.” He followed Helene down the hall and out onto the
balcony, smiling at a flashback—a man laughing as they kicked a ball. “My uncle liked
to indulge me, too,” he said.

“The uncle who abdicated?”

“He was a kind man. Patient.” There was a time Darius had wanted to grow up to be
just like Uncle Galen. “I loved him. So did my father. When he renounced the throne,
he was banished. No member of my family was permitted contact. I haven’t seen him
since.”

“All because he fell in love with a woman who’d been married before?” She set down
the plates while he centered the platter.

“People can be protective of their royals.”

“So this woman was supposed to be dangerous?”

Darius slid back her chair then sat after she did. They talked as they ate.

“There were rumors that she’d seduced him in order to drain funds from the coffers
to funnel to her ex-husband in Germany.”

“Was that true?”

“There’s no proof. Either way, when things got hairy, my uncle chose his personal
life over his sovereign duty. No matter how much he loved her, he should have given
her up. If it had been my father, there’d have been no choice to make. When unrest
broke out, it was up to my father to hold it all together. I was in his office when
he got word that a mob had formed downtown. My mother was caught up in the crush.
A special guard got her back safely but after that, my father always made sure we
understood never to underestimate whispers that can turn into cries.”

“Your father was stepping up to help. Why would anyone want to hurt your family?”

“There was an element that saw my uncle’s mistake as a way to end Vasily rule forever.”

She thought that over. “I guess there aren’t a whole of lot of absolute monarchies
left.”

He rubbed an ear. “I’m partial to them myself.”

She leaned across to pop a blueberry into his mouth. “And you’ll make one very cute
king. Word on the main island is you’re pretty special.”

He put his head down and laughed softly.

“You don’t believe me?” she asked.

“I’m just thinking about my sister. In her eyes, I’m a tyrant.”

“Teenage years are hard. And she’s lost both her parents. When my father passed away,
I remember thinking that suddenly no one seemed to understand me. My mother was always
nitpicking, was always demanding respect. She didn’t seem to understand that I deserved
respect, too.”

“I don’t try to take my parents place where Tahlia is concerned. I only ask that she
finish her education before getting sidetracked, thinking about boys.”

“Sorry to tell you, but all teenage girls stress over make-up, clothes, hair, and
boys—not necessarily in that order. How old is she?”

“Just turned eighteen.”

“She wants to stretch her wings, to be her own person, to feel as if she can make
her own decisions.”

He poured more wine. “She likes a boy. A member of my staff.”

“Likes?”

He conceded. “She says loves. She’s naïve. Little more than a child.”

“That’s something my mother would say.”

“A person needs more than butterflies chasing around in their stomachs to make a marriage
work.”

“My parents married at a young age and they were happy.” She shrugged. “Maybe your
sister truly is in love.”

“Young love comes and goes. But an education lasts a lifetime.”

“Haven’t you read Romeo and Juliet? The more you try to keep star-crossed lovers apart,
the more they’ll fight to stay together.”

He near drained his glass. “Tahlia will go to university in England.”

“Right. She’ll be safe from boys there.”

“I don’t want her to make a mistake.”

“Like your uncle made a mistake?”

“Perhaps.”

“Where’s your uncle now?”

“Living in the States.”

“Happily married?”

“I believe so.”

“Three cheers for love.”

“Not when it costs a man his kingdom.”

“I’m sure your uncle is happy with the kingdom he resides in now.”

He sat back.
Damn, this woman was like a dog with a bone.

“We have three days left here,” he said. “Let’s pretend politics and family don’t
exist.”

A playful smile eased across her face. “So you’re just a regular guy taking some time
off from the beat.”

“Just a regular guy.”

She raised her glass. “Well, here’s to boring obscurity.”

But as they drank, for the first time in his life Darius truly wondered what it would
be like to lead an ordinary existence, to set sail on an adventure as Helene had done—as
his uncle had done, too—and have no real plans for ever coming back.

“Darius, your mother liked to read.” Helene put down her glass. “Did she like to write?”

“You mean like a journal or her own stories?” He thought back. “Not that I recall.”

She nibbled the last of her cheese then set her plate aside. “I might go down to the
stables later and try to clean up the rest of that paint.”

“Hang on. Why did you want to know whether my mother wrote?”

“No reason.”

He reached over and caught her hand. “Sorry. Not convinced.”

“Well, this morning, after I left you…I kind of broke something. Actually, I think
it was already broken. Or maybe it was a hidden lid. Like a trap door in reverse.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“The wardrobe in my room. That shell I brought back rolled underneath, and when I
tried to rake it out…” She pushed to her feet. “Why don’t I show you?”

She led him through into her quarters and crossed to the window seat. Presenting a
few sheets of yellowed paper, she sat down.

“Read this.”

The world had gone mad.

Leandros slapped away hot ash that drifted from a ring of burning pyres then grabbed
a man rushing past. Ahmet was a well-respected merchant who dealt in fine cloth. Today
his gaze was wild and, his garments were stained with soot and blood. Fisting his
hands into the older man’s shirtfront, Leandros spoke fervently to his eyes.

“How long have they been gathered?”

“Since the early hours.” Ahmet growled, a sound drenched in venom and disgust. “Our
king has disgraced his ancestors. He will bring misery upon us all. None here will
sit on their hands while he flouts our laws to satisfy the whims of his whore.”

Ahmed spat at the dirt, shook himself free, and continued up Sangros Hill while pockets
of chanting beat at the air like a drum.

Nearby a young boy wept for his mama. Scooping up the child, shielding his tear-stained
face from the ash, Leandros set his jaw and pushed on.

Behind soaring walls and ornate gates, a regiment of the royal guard stood erect with
white-gloved hands poised on sabres and their expressions set beneath military cap.
More guards sat mounted on horses that snorted, shied, and danced around. Jostling
and shoving, Leandros craned to see more over the palace’s turrets. Finger by finger,
panic closed around his throat and squeezed.

Where was the rest of the guard? Mutinied? Or perhaps inside the palace itself, a
final bastion protecting lives they’d pledged to honor and defend. Greeks were superstitious.
Their nature was to watch for signs to appease the gods—to sacrifice. In Tierenias,
female sexuality in its purest form was revered but not when the power was abused.

“There’s my boy!”

A woman who took in laundry for a wage broke through the rabble and swept her child
from Leandros’s arms.

“Take him home,” he shouted over the din. “It isn’t safe.”

“And who is safe in times such as these? We mustn’t cower. We must right the wrong,
and quickly.”

The boy pleaded, “Mama, please, home.”

But the woman only glared at Leandros through wings of frazzled hair and eyes dark
with hate. “Spain was first, then Russia and Turkey. Now it is our king’s turn to
fall.”

Although many believed the baby to be the fruit of another man’s loins, their king
had nonetheless married and accepted his bride’s child as his own. Coffers had been
stripped to fund the marriage ceremony’s gold-plated carriage as well as a ring studded
with priceless jewels. Like ripples from a stone dropped mid-stream, rumors had spread,
every minute growing louder.

It was written that should a Tierenias king marry outside of appropriate pedigree,
consequences would befall his house as well as the people of this Aegean twin-island
state. There had not been the plagues or endless famine of which the laws spoke, but
last week some unknown beast had slaughtered a flock of goats. Four days ago, three
male infants had died of no apparent cause.

Now as that woman and her child disappeared into the crowd, Leandros scanned the expressions
of his friends, people he’d known all his life. With news of more global conflict
adding fuel to this unrest, panic as well as indignation lined every face. Who had
not lost in the Great War or in those wide-spread massacres in Asia Minor?

And yet as the calls for blood rose louder, Leandros could think of only one life
that mattered now—one soul with midnight hair and adoring crystalline eyes whom he
cared for more than his own life. Over past months they’d met beneath the shroud of
late evening to talk, to kiss, to pet. Three nights ago, they’d dropped their clothes
upon the pebbles and had run into the waters of a secluded bay. Beneath the claw of
a shiny new moon, they’d swirled in the cool, locked in each other’s arms as they’d
whispered and laughed and all the while touched. When he’d bounced her up, her legs
had latched around his back and, sighing, she’d pressed in dangerously close.

By some miracle she remained a virgin still, although soon, Leandros vowed, he would
have her, and for the rest of their lives. But not until he’d taken her far from here.
Not until she was safe.

Nearby, a youth—the fisherman Paulo’s son—shouted, “Look! On the balcony.”

Leandros’s gaze flew up. High on a platform where kings addressed their subjects in
times of celebration as well as despair, a shadowy figure opened the doors. Caught
on the same sea breeze that fanned those pyre flames, sheer curtains billowed out
and a woman appeared. She wore a simple white gown. A light veil covered her head.

Desperate to see—hard bars eating into his temples, his cheeks—Leandros clung to the
gate while a thudding pulse echoed in his ears. The air was hazy. She was far away.
He couldn’t be sure. Was it her?

Remembering the burning kisses and promises they’d shared, Leandros cursed himself
a thousand ways. When he’d left to visit a neighboring island this morning, he ought
to have taken her. They should have escaped together and—to hell with her royal duty—never
come back.

The woman seemed to float to the balcony’s farthest point before bowing her head,
asking the mass to quiet down. When only the hiss and crackle from the pyres could
be heard, the woman raised her arms to the churning smoke-filled sky. She held that
pose for a long tense moment until the crowd breathed as one and Leandros’s splintered
nerves began to break. When he couldn’t stand another second, when he was compelled
to scale this gate and act, the woman removed her veil.

Before he could catch the face, know for sure, she sent up a keening prayer then,
toppling forward, threw herself off.