Page 3 of Twins For His Majesty (Royally Tempted #1)

No one. He was alone. His gut churned. It was how he wanted it, how it had to be, and yet the creeping sense of isolation spread through him, turning his veins to ice.

Of course, there was always Xiomara, the cousin with whom he was close, but even his relationship with her was complicated, and at times tainted by the fact that her father had been, in Octavio’s eyes, responsible for their uncle Rodrigo’s death.

He wouldn’t put Xiomara in the position of coming here, now.

‘No.’

A soft sigh. ‘Can I do something for you, sir? Would you like a tea? Coffee? Something stronger?’

His lips twisted. ‘The latter.’

‘Of course, Your Majesty.’

‘Don’t do that.’

She blinked, surprised. And no wonder. He was acting out of character yet he couldn’t stop himself.

‘Just—call me Octavio.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, I really can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘My job—it’s against protocol.’

A wry grimace tilted his lips. ‘Who is going to know?’

‘Well,’ she prevaricated. ‘No one, I suppose. But I—’

He waited for her to elaborate. ‘I am asking you to treat me like a man, not a king. When I leave here and return there—’ he nodded towards the palace, glistening like a beacon, calling to him ‘—I will be Your Majesty again. But now, I am just a man who is grieving his uncle.’ Grieving his parents, his family, all of it. ‘Treat me like a man.’

She moved towards the kitchen and removed a glass from the cabinet. He stood, striding across to her. ‘Join me.’

Again, those eyes changed colour, to almost an emerald green. Fascinating. Her lashes were long and dark, curling and soft.

‘Do you mind if I make an observation?’

One single brow lifted.

‘You do not act like any man I’ve ever met. Treating you like one would be…difficult.’

‘In what ways do I differ?’

‘Seriously?’ A small laugh escaped then but she stifled it, glancing at him with that frustratingly deferential expression of apology.

‘Yes, I am serious.’

‘Well…’ She looked around, lost for words. ‘You’re…just very regal.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means that you’re clearly used to giving commands and to having them obeyed.’

‘Is that a bad thing?’

‘Not at all. But it’s not a “normal guy” thing.’

‘I only became King two weeks ago,’ he pointed out.

‘But you were raised to be King, weren’t you?’

He was raised to be King, yes. Raised by a man who hated him, raised by a man who hired a succession of nannies to do the actual caregiving—though he used that term loosely. The only prerequisite for his nannies’ hiring, from what Octavio could tell, was that they be ice-cold, and cruel to boot.

He dipped his head forward.

‘And when you walk out of this hospital, you’ll return to the palace, where everyone will refer to you as “Your Majesty”?’

‘And I will act as though I am not feeling this,’ he said, pressing to his chest, indicating his grief. ‘Because that is what is expected of me there.’

‘But here, with me, you can be honest,’ she murmured, eyes wide, as if articulating that thought gave it more power.

‘Yes.’

‘Okay.’ She hesitated. ‘Octavio.’

His name on her lips was different; she imbued the syllables with the softness that was inherent to her, taking a name that was, by its nature and design, a symbol of strength and making it somehow more human. Just as he wished to be.

But it was more than just a softening of his name, it was the forging of a connection.

She addressed him like a man and he felt it—not normal, exactly, but powerfully aware of something between them that was transcending his rank, his title, even his grief.

Or perhaps it was because of his grief? Perhaps in such moments, where awareness of death was at a peak, people were wired to seek expressions of life.

He wanted to feel alive, and there was something about Phoebe that caused his blood to hum.

‘Tell me about your uncle,’ she invited, pouring a Scotch and sliding it across to him. He ignored the drink.

He thought of Rodrigo and his insides tightened uncomfortably. ‘Before last week, I had not seen him in a long time.’

‘He was exiled?’ she murmured, and he was surprised. The history was well-known—though legitimacy had been given to Mauricio’s actions, few understood that it was sheer self-interest that had governed his choices.

‘Shortly after my parents died, yes.’

Her expression softened. ‘Were you close?’

Memories blurred at the edges of his mind.

Rodrigo catching him in his arms and tossing him into the air, his eyes crinkling with laughter, the way he played piano and sang along and played cards until far too late.

The sense of safety and security he had, in those days, taken for granted—and never known again since.

‘At one time, yes.’ His voice was gruff.

He cleared his throat. ‘It was a long time ago.’

‘Does that matter?’

His eyes met hers, burned through them. ‘No.’

‘How come you didn’t see him, after he was exiled?’

‘Until I was eighteen, I had very little autonomy. And after that, I didn’t have the resources required to find him.’

‘He disappeared?’

‘He took the exile hard, apparently. I have learned a lot since my coronation. His life was far from a bed of roses.’

‘In what way?’ she asked, coming around from the kitchen and standing close to him.

So close he caught a hint of her perfume again, and this time when his gut rolled, he understood the feeling.

Desire. Physical need. While he was an expert at maintaining relationships that were emotionally contained, he was still a red-blooded man with physical needs, and he indulged those needs as and when required.

‘When he was exiled, he was cut off from his assets as well. He had some cash, but it wasn’t enough to start a new life. He scraped by, but it was difficult for him.’

‘And then he got sick?’

‘He had AIDS,’ Octavio murmured. ‘And didn’t realise.

Medication now is so effective, he could have been treated, he could have lived a long life, but he didn’t know and he didn’t get help.

So by the time I became King and launched a search for him, the disease had progressed and nothing could be done. ’

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I still don’t understand why he was exiled?’

Octavio’s lips curled into a derisive smirk. ‘That would require an explanation into the darker side of human nature and I’m not sure either of us want to go there tonight.’

She tilted her head a little, as if digesting his words. ‘You don’t want to talk about it?’

‘There’s no point. It’s ancient history—nothing can be done now to right that wrong.’

‘But you do think his exile was wrong?’

‘Oh, I know it was.’

‘And you couldn’t do anything?’

‘My uncle—my other uncle—had all the power of a king until I ascended the throne. It was his will, his way.’

‘But we’re talking about his younger brother?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t understand. Why would he want him sent away? They’re siblings.’

‘Do you have a brother or sister?’

She shook her head. ‘I always wished for one, but I was an only child.’

His expression shifted. ‘As am I.’

‘No spare to your heir?’

‘No.’ He didn’t elaborate; it wasn’t necessary.

There was no need to go into the fact his parents tried for years after his birth, without success, to conceive another baby.

Even as a young boy, he’d come to understand the vulnerability of his position.

He’d always known that he would have to marry and have children—a reality he grappled with even now, because he would have preferred a solitary existence.

An arranged marriage, though, offered some reassurance.

‘Did you want a brother or sister?’

He’d never been asked that before. Then again, this was probably the most real conversation he’d had in a long time with anyone other than his cousin Xiomara.

‘Not as a boy, but once my parents died, I wished for someone who understood what I was going through.’

‘What about your other uncle?’

He bristled visibly. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘We weren’t close.’

‘Weren’t? Aren’t?’

‘Both.’

‘Because of the darker side of human nature?’ she prompted.

His eyes scanned her face, studying her. She was different. Unusual. Though she’d insisted on using his title initially, she didn’t seem at all nervous around him. She wasn’t speaking to him with the exaggerated deference he was accustomed to, and he liked that.

‘Yes.’

She expelled a small sigh. ‘Would you like me to go?’

He frowned. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘You’ve clammed up.’

‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. I mean, if you’d rather be alone.’

He would always rather be alone. Except now, when his heart was splintering from the loss of his uncle and he wanted the distraction of this. A beautiful, warm, vibrant woman, keeping his mind occupied.

‘I don’t want to be alone.’

Her lips parted.

‘I just don’t want to talk about my family.’

Her smile was wry. ‘I understand the feeling.’

He didn’t push her. ‘Have you worked here long?’

She shook her head. ‘Just a couple of weeks. So you could say we both changed jobs around the same time,’ she quipped.

He was surprised to feel a smile flash across his face.

‘What did you do before this?’

She swallowed, and something crossed her features that made him wonder about more than just her vocation. He wondered about her. Her life, her history, what brought someone from a foreign country to Castilona, to work in a hospital as a cleaner.

‘I was a receptionist at a school,’ she murmured, but her voice was strangled, her features tight. ‘Back in New Zealand.’

‘Touchy subject?’

She grimaced. ‘Not really.’

But he saw through her. ‘Phoebe?’

‘Okay, a little.’

‘What brings you to Castilona?’

She hesitated a moment. ‘My birth father is from here.’

He waited for her to continue.

‘I never knew him. He was on holiday in New Zealand when he met my mum. He never knew about me and she didn’t know anything more than his name. She put him on my birth certificate but had no way of contacting him. All I know is that he may be here, somewhere.’

‘And you want to find him?’

She nodded. ‘I was raised to speak the language. My mum even tried to cook some of the more traditional meals. It was important to her that I have access to this side of my heritage even though I never met my father.’

‘She must be happy you’ve travelled here then?’

‘She passed away a few years ago.’ Her voice was carefully controlled, but he could feel the emotion coming off her in waves, and his own grief was so close to the surface that he did something he wouldn’t usually contemplate.

He stepped closer and lifted a hand to her cheek.

As soon as his fingertips connected with her skin, he realised he’d been wanting to do this from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her.

She had reminded him of gossamer silk, and in the back of his mind he’d wondered if she’d feel so soft to touch.

She did. Her skin was flawless and as he allowed his fingers to glide lower, she closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

‘Octavio,’ she murmured, and now his name was soft with a plea, as though she were floating and asking him to catch her, to bring her back to Earth.

Only his body was driving him now, making him want to forget his grief, to live in the most vibrant of ways, to exist purely for feeling. His fingers shifted towards her mouth, so he could smooth his thumb across her lower lip. She let out a soft moan.

‘This isn’t a good idea,’ she groaned, but her eyes met his and they were awash with the same sense of out-of-body need that was vibrating inside of him.

‘Do you want me to stop?’

She lifted a hand to his chest, curling her fingers in his shirt as she stared up at him, totally bewildered. ‘I didn’t say that.’

His smile now was tight, his gut rolling with a visceral need. ‘Do you want me to start?’

Her throat shifted as she swallowed. ‘I—want—’ Her teeth pressed into her lower lip and her eyes dropped to his mouth, lingering there so long he began to feel his skin tingle.

‘Would you like me to kiss you, querida ?’

Anguish flashed in her gaze, and surrender, too. She nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I think I’d like that.’

He didn’t need to be asked twice, but caution was ingrained in Octavio. It came innately to him, and his position as heir presumptive and now King meant he had always focused on ensuring discretion with his private life. He wasn’t an ordinary man, no matter what he wished.

‘You understand I will leave for the palace tomorrow?’

She nodded softly.

‘That my role will require me to disappear from your life?’

Her eyes narrowed. It was hardly the stuff of romance, but he knew from experience that it was better to be upfront about what he could offer.

‘I know that.’

‘It’s only fair to be honest,’ he explained.

‘I agree.’

‘I would appreciate it if you kept our interaction private.’

‘But I have so many tabloids on my speed dial,’ she responded archly. ‘And I’m just itching to be known as a king’s one-night stand.’

‘Point taken. I’m sorry. I’m not myself tonight.’

Her features softened, sympathy gleaning in her eyes. ‘That’s understandable.’ She lifted up onto the tips of her toes. ‘Kiss me, Your Majesty.’

‘Now who’s being bossy?’

‘Is that a complaint?’

His response was to crush her mouth with his own, his body rejoicing in the instant contact and connection and yes, vitality.

He was alive. His blood rushed through his body, strength gathered in his muscles, and kissing her made every cell in his body reverberate with brilliant awareness.

Best of all, death and loss and grief were nowhere now—there was only this.