Page 4 of Back to Claim His Crown
A swell of bitter rejection rose inside. He was not worthy to be King. But Anders was a worse alternative. So he would do what he had to do. He allowed it for a few moments, to let it fully sink in to Anders. To Garth. That he was back. And he let the anger resurge. Yet, even so, he couldn’t take his gaze from the pretty woman, pale in that resplendent dress. Now the icy angerburned. Because anyone who knew Anders well—and Garth knew him—would know the man’s tendencies and inclinations. And yet here was this ethereal, petite princess looking too perfect to even be real, about to be sacrificed to him. Didsheknow Anders—the truth of him? Or did she not care about those he’d hurt? Did she think herself safe somehow? Not even Lucian had been safe. That cold anger seeped out, driving him to test them both.
‘Please don’t let me interrupt the wedding a moment longer.’ He bowed slightly towards the bride. ‘I apologise for the hold-up in proceedings.’
The flicker of reproach in her gaze stabbed. He tensed, more alert than he’d been all week. The greatest threat to anyone present—to both this woman and tohimself—was right now. But he was ready.
‘What?’Anders finally stepped into Lucian’s full line of sight. The man was visibly shaking and his expression was one Lucian had seen many times in his youth. Petulant anger. Where Lucian harnessed his, allowing adrenalin to make him more alert, Anders succumbed to rage and irrationality. And he was still that wilful, greedy child now, furious at being denied what he wanted. He’d been spoilt—Lucian knew it, because Lucian had been spoilt too. And it took only a spark to set Anders’s rage alight—to goad him beyond control. It was exactly what Lucian had expected—what he’dwanted—to happen. In front of the world.
‘Please continue with your wedding, Anders,’ Lucian said coolly.
‘If you think I’m going to marry this frigid bitch now, you’re crazy!’ Anders snapped.
It wasn’t a collective intake of breath this time, the entire congregation gasped in shock. Then there was a smattering of boos while a few people called out Anders’s name in reproach. But the cretin stormed out of the cathedral. Not stopping to bow to Lucian as protocol dictated he should. Lucian didn’t turn. He didn’t savour the moment as he’d imagined he would so many times. He just watched the woman’s face whiten and felt terrible.
‘Get down. Give me that!’
The orders Anders gave to some hapless soldier outside the cathedral echoed within it. Then a cracking sound as a horse was whipped. More shouts.
She blanched.
No one would be able to deny what they’d just witnessed. Anders was cruel. Unfit to be King. He always had been. His jilted bride remained a single step away from Lucian, absorbing the murmurs and condemnation of the crowds. For the briefest moment she closed her eyes and the knife of remorse twisted inside him.
‘I apologise for my cousin,’ he said. ‘He always lacked manners.’
‘And yours are any better?’ She barely moved her lips as she spoke in a response so soft that not even those amazing acoustics nor the myriad microphones would pick it up. It was a miracle Lucian heard it. But he did.
Was she angry with him? His gaze narrowed. Naive little fool. Surely she knew the rules of public life? There was a glimmer of pride in the way she kept her head high. The smattering he knew about her came back to him. She was the youngest princess of a much smaller realm across the Baltic that had removed all power from the royalty. She hadn’t ever been on the social circuit, though she had two older sisters who were. Rumour had it her parents were desperately clinging to their regal nomenclature and still in denial about the disintegration of their aristocracy despite it being years since they were deposed. She’d met Anders only a couple of months ago. She might not appreciate it right now but Lucian had just done her a massive favour.
‘May I have your permission to leave, Your Highness?’ Chagrin glowed in her eyes but there was more than a glimmer of defiance too.
‘Go with the bishop,’ he muttered and nodded beyond the altar. ‘That will give you more privacy.’
She turned her back on him and walked to the nave—her head high, those jewels still glittering. Lucian’s gut twisted as he grimly watched her go. The bishop swiftly guided her to the small side door. In that sanctuary she could escape all the cameras. He would never see her again and that could only be for the good.
He waited until that side door closed before taking the last few steps to the altar himself. Then he turned to face the cathedral full of people. As he bowed before them he drew on that old, cold anger. It restored his determination and discipline. He would devote his life to becoming the King they deserved—to being better than the man he was. There would be no distraction, no decadence.
While providing heirs would be an imperative part of his future, he would not marry for a decade at least. He owed his country. Giving it his undivided attention for the duration that he’d been absent would ensure Monrayne was settled and secure. Even then his marriage would be a formal exercise, based on duty. He’d prioritised his private life in the past and he would regret it always. There was no room for personal indulgence, Monrayne would be his primary concern for ever, and of course the first item on histo-dolist was to change the succession—Anders could not remain Crown Prince a moment longer than necessary.
He met Garth’s rigid gaze. The fury that had accompanied him for what felt like all eternity coursed through his veins more strongly than ever.
‘I am King Lucian of Monrayne,’ he said clearly. ‘And I am here to serve for as long as I live.’
CHAPTER THREE
ZARACLOSEDHEReyes and tried once more to unfasten her wretched wedding dress. She’d managed to rip the veil from the intricate hairstyle but the rest—the bobby pins, the earrings and the millions of tiny buttons down her back were all too much. Contortionist she was not.
Hourshad passed since those horrific moments in the cathedral in front of millions, in which her fiancé had brutally rejected her. Hours since Prince—King—Lucian Monrayne had returned from the dead.
The very distracted bishop had shown her to a tunnel and promptly abandoned her. To her amazement, the tunnel had emerged within the palace walls. After a couple of wrong turns she’d passed that portrait and finally found the suite she’d been staying in. Since then she’d been transfixed by the constant televised coverage. All those efficient palace assistants had vanished—presumably too fascinated by the return of the long-lost King to bother with an unwanted bride. She truly didn’t blame them.
But while she’d appreciated the chance to be alone, she’d not expected it to be this long. Why hadn’t her mother and sisters come to check on her—to take her home, even if it were to be in disgrace and mortification? She’d been rejected by her fiancé, dismissed from the King’s presence and instantly forgotten by everyone. No one had knocked on the door in eons.
But then the world had plenty to occupy its collective mind. King Lucian’s declaration at the front of the cathedral only moments after she’d left had been everything. It had been on repeat for hours and caught her attention every time it replayed—hecaught her attention. Completely. In the cathedral when she’d stood before him the rest of the world had disappeared. All she’d been aware of was him—those ice-blue eyes, the scarred, angry, visceral strength of him. He was so cold. He’d been utterly expressionless as he’d personified the grenade which had decimated not just the day but obliterated the expected succession with a short couple of sentences.
Most of the foreign dignitaries had abruptly left. There was an endless series of private jets flying overhead, stoking an air of danger and political uncertainty. The world was agog with curiosity as to where Anders had fled. But the crowds outside the palace had continued to swell. Any citizens who’d not bothered to line the streets for Anders’s wedding were now out in force for the return of Lucian. There was continuous chanting, cheers and revelry. It seemed the public were pleased.
The King had issued a statement asking everyone to go home and rest. That there would be formal televised announcements over the coming days, together with a full explanation of what had happened all those years ago and where he’d been for all of this time.
It didn’t seem as if Garth had been altogether pleased to see Lucian, despite his acknowledgment of him. Zara’s doubts about Anders intensified. She had the horrible feeling some of those more outlandish conspiracy theories about Lucian’s disappearance all those years ago might not have been so outlandish after all.
