“I trust this will be suitable?” Veronika asks.
I offer a broad grin. “It’s great, thanks.”
She nods. “I’ll leave you to settle in for now. No doubt the king will wish to meet you, so I’ll return once that has been arranged.”
My plan was to have a shower and freshen up as soon as I had the chance, but the moment I’m alone in my suite, I can’t seem to stop my feet from taking me over to the bed. I’m so exhausted from my flights, surely a quick nap won’t hurt?
I don’t know how long I’m asleep for, but the next thing I know I’m being woken by a weird tinkling bell sound and realize it’s the tone for the doorbell outside my suite.
I slide off the bed and hurry to answer the door, finding Veronika on the other side.
“The king has asked to meet you.”
I spare a glance down at the hooded sweatshirt I’m wearing, my hand lifting to rub over the day of growth on my jaw. “Now?”
Veronika nods, and I think I catch a sliver of sympathy in her expression. “Now.”
2
LUKAS
“Your Majesty.”
I nod in acknowledgement as Veronika, the Crown Secretary, approaches me in the hallway just beyond my private rooms. “What’s on the agenda today, Veronika?”
Without even needing to check her notes, she rattles off, “You have the Prime Minister at ten for his weekly, and there’s a luncheon being held in your honor at Starkov House—that starts at twelve. This afternoon the princess will be having her first riding lesson, I thought you might like to be there for that.”
I nod in acknowledgement. “Yes, thank you. What time?”
“That will be at four. Also, the new tutor has just arrived.”
I pause in my step. “New tutor? What’s happened to Penny?”
Veronika shakes her head. “This is the languages expert. He’ll take the children for afternoon lessons and teach them French and German, along with history of this region. Penny can only handle so much, and with it becoming likely that Prince Tomas will be attending school in either France or Germany…”
I hold up my hand to interrupt. “Yes, yes, I know.” I still find it ridiculous that my son can’t attend the same school my brother and I, along with several generations of our ancestors, did. But that’s politics for you.
“So, what can you tell me about this tutor?” I ask.
“He’s American, and he has a masters degree in Eastern European Languages and Culture. He knows a great deal about the history and cultures of this region, and he speaks five languages.”
“And they are?”
“English, Russian, Korovan—”
“Korovan is barely indistinguishable from Russian,” I say with a scoff.
“Polish, German and French,” Veronika continues, ignoring my interruption.
I frown in confusion. “That’s six.”
She offers me a knowing smirk. “I thought you weren’t counting Korovan?”
I let out a disgruntled grumble in response. “Fine. He’s here already, did you say? Can I meet him this morning, before the Prime Minister’s visit?”
“I’m sure we can arrange that.”
Half an hour later, Veronika returns to lead me into the tea room, where this new tutor is waiting.
“May I present King Lukas III of Korova,” she says with her usual introductory gesture. To me, she says, “Your Majesty, this is Mr. Jai Winters.”
The man standing in front of me is young. No older than his mid-twenties, I’d wager. I find it difficult to believe someone of his age could boast the kind of qualifications Veronika seemed so impressed with earlier, but I trust her judgment implicitly so I suppose I’ll take her word for it despite my reservations. He’s also incredibly handsome, a thought that I push from my mind due to its complete irrelevance. I instead focus on his attire—jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. My mouth turns down at the casual way he’s dressed, but it’s possible he was given very little warning ahead of this meeting so I suppose I could give him the benefit of the doubt this once.
“Mr. Winters. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He gapes at me for a long moment, his gray eyes running up the length of my body, then back down again in a way that makes me decidedly uncomfortable. When he finally remembers he’s supposed to bow in front of the king of Korova, he bends at the waist, dipping low and almost toppling over. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m happy to pleasure you.” His back straightens, eyes wide. “I mean, I care about your pleasure. Ahh, I mean…shit. Fuck…”
The corner of my mouth tilts upward. “Well, I can see my children are in excellent hands.”
There’s color blooming on his cheeks as he offers a self-deprecating smile. I bite down on my jaw as that pang of discomfort hits me again. Yes, definitely discomfort. Not anything else.
“Yes, very good hands.”
His words prompt my gaze to drop to the hands clasped together in front of him. Long fingers, neatly clipped nails, golden tan skin. Strong hands. Capable hands. My own fists clench at my sides as I force my brain not to go there. The place I’ve been fighting against for over twenty years.
I glance up to find the American eyeing me curiously. A stray dark curl has fallen over his forehead and I decide to extricate myself from the situation before I do something ridiculous, like reach out to brush it back. With a curt nod, I turn on my heel and stride from the room, making a beeline for my private study where I take a seat at my large mahogany desk and start sifting through the pile of papers that have been left for me.
As the king of a parliamentary monarchy, my role is largely ceremonial, but as the Head of State it’s my signature that’s needed for any laws passed through Parliament to be ratified. And because I prefer to understand everything I’m putting my name to, I spend a fair amount of time
