The Most Powerful Of Kings - Jackie Ashenden

CHAPTER ONE

ANNA FLEETWOOD STOOD by the window in the great medieval fortress that was the royal palace of Axios, staring down at the little city nestled at the foot of the mountains below, the white stone buildings glowing in the sun, the windows glittering.

Itheus. Capital city of Axios, a small, but pretty kingdom just over Greece’s northern border.

She would have liked to do a few tourist-type things, since this was her first time out of England and away from the convent she’d grown up in, but unfortunately she wasn’t here to play the tourist.

She was here to meet King Adonis Nikolaides, the Lion of Axios.

She took a breath, trying to resist the urge to rub her sweaty palms down her plain grey dress.

Of course she wasn’t nervous. He was only a king. No big deal.

Anna turned from the window.

The big room she stood in was the king’s receiving room, with walls of undressed stone and a stone floor. Some attempts at lightening the austerity had been made with a few silk rugs, a couple of ancient-looking tapestries depicting battle scenes, and an incongruous spray of orchids on a side table near the huge fireplace.

But even the bright sun pouring through the window couldn’t soften the hard, very masculine energy of the room—of the entire palace, truth be told—and she was beginning to see why the Mother Superior of her convent had asked her to come to Axios.

The king needed someone to be a companion for his young daughter and, as the king’s godmother, the Reverend Mother had decided to undertake finding someone herself. She’d consequently decided that Anna was perfect for the job, despite Anna’s clear lack of anything resembling experience with either teaching or children. Anna had tried to argue, of course, but the Reverend Mother wouldn’t listen. And somehow a meeting was arranged, and Anna found herself on a flight to Axios, a thick guidebook—the Reverend Mother eschewed technology—her only reading material.

Anna wandered over to one of the tapestries and examined it. It was very old, depicting a gory battle scene with people getting their heads lopped off with broad swords, and arrows embedding themselves in heads through visors of helmets.

She wondered which particular battle this one depicted, since the history of Axios seemed to be nothing but non-stop wars and skirmishes. An austere, military culture, according to the guidebook. Just like its king, by all accounts.

Anna squinted at the figure standing in the middle of the battle scene: a giant warrior wearing one of those ancient Greek horsehair helmets, his huge arms raised above his head, a massive sword held between them. Another warrior lay at his feet, hands lifted, either trying to stop an attack or beg for mercy, it wasn’t clear.

What was clear was that there would be no mercy coming from the giant warrior.

A shiver of foreboding snaked down Anna’s spine, which she ignored. How silly. It was just a tapestry.

She leaned forward for a closer examination—and maybe to prove to herself that the shiver had been an aberration—then wrinkled her nose. It was musty.

‘Something about our history you don’t approve of?’ a voice said from behind her, deep and harsh, like a glacier scraping over stone.

Anna’s heart leapt into her mouth and she froze, a primitive, animal part of her sensing threat. Had she done something wrong? Was she not supposed to be here? Had she touched something she shouldn’t have? She hadn’t heard anyone come in...

There was silence behind her.

She took a breath, her heart thumping, and turned around.

A bolt of pure, instinctive fear shot through her, because somehow the huge warrior on the tapestry had come to life and was standing a few feet away from her by the door.

He was a giant of a man, standing at over six feet four at least, with the kind of wide, heavily muscled shoulders and broad chest that she’d always imagined Atlas possessing, strong enough to carry the entire world on his back. His waist was narrow, his legs long and solid and powerful; he looked as if he could complete two marathons in a row without even breaking a sweat.

His features were roughly carved with a brutal, masculine kind of handsomeness: strong jaw, a blade of a nose, closely cropped black hair, straight dark brows, deep-set, piercing eyes the blue of a cold winter sky. And he radiated authority and power the way the sun radiated heat. It was almost a physical force, making her want to go to her knees and pray