The Most Powerful Of Kings - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,1
before him as she did before the altar in church.
The king.
Of course it was the king. She’d read up on him in the guidebook and it had to be said that the pictures of him, grim-faced and utterly impassive, looking as if he hadn’t ever smiled one day in his life, didn’t do him justice. They didn’t capture that aura of power.
He looked as if he’d been born wearing a crown.
Her mouth had dried and her palms had got even sweatier, and she was a little appalled at herself and her ridiculous burst of fear. Because, though he might look as if he was more suited to the battlefield on the tapestry behind her than he was to a throne room, he wasn’t going to do anything to her.
She bobbed a graceless curtsey. ‘Um, sorry, Your Majesty. I was just admiring the...um...tapestry.’
He said nothing, his granite features utterly expressionless, his blue eyes glacial. He wore a conventional yet immaculately tailored suit of charcoal-grey wool, black business shirt and a tie of dull gold silk.
How strange. She’d been positive it was armour he’d been wearing when she’d first looked at him.
Don’t get carried away.
No, of course not. She was flighty and prone to an overactive imagination, as the Reverend Mother had always said in kind yet slightly disappointed tones, and she needed to work on controlling her impulses and passions, since those only led to trouble.
Then again, it had been years since she’d been that young, wild girl who used to sing too loudly in the choir, talk too much at mealtimes, accidentally knock over the communion wine, and get grass stains on her habit.
She’d made a decision a year ago that it was a life of contemplation and prayer that she wanted, and had asked the Reverend Mother to approve her taking her vows.
The Reverend Mother had had other plans for her, however, such as a visit to Axios and ‘some time away in the secular world’, before making her final decision.
Anna had been frustrated because she didn’t need ‘time in the secular world’ but, since she couldn’t take her vows without the Reverend Mother’s approval, she’d had no choice but to do what she was told.
Which meant comporting herself as befitted a nun rather than an untried novice.
‘Anna Fleetwood, I presume?’ the king said.
Anna inclined her head. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
He eyed her dispassionately for a second then raised a hand, indicating one of the armchairs near the couch. ‘Please, sit.’
She supposed the ‘please’ was for form’s sake, since it didn’t sound like a request. More like an order.
She’d never been particularly obedient—something else that concerned the Reverend Mother—but she went without even her usual irritation at being told what to do, moving over to the armchair the king had indicated.
It was a heavy piece of furniture, covered in dark leather and not particularly comfortable. Anna perched on the edge of the seat, clasping her hands together in her lap, watching as the king went to the couch and sat down. For all his height and muscular size, he moved with a kind of lethal, animal grace that she found oddly mesmerising.
The Lion of Axios, that was what they called him, and that was what he reminded her of: a great, predatory beast.
Which makes you a gazelle.
Anna didn’t much like that comparison. She didn’t want to get eaten and she didn’t want to be hunted. What she wanted was to do the job the Reverend Mother had assigned her and then return to England to take her vows. Easy.
‘So, Sister,’ the king said in his deep, harsh voice, his English perfect and uninflected. ‘I assume the Reverend Mother told you what is required for the position you’ll be taking?’
Actually, the Reverend Mother had been frustratingly opaque about it, merely assuring Anna that she would be perfect for the position no matter her inexperience and that the king—or more probably one of his staff members—would give her all the details.
But, on arrival at the palace, no one had given her any details. She had simply been ushered straight into the receiving room to wait for the king without a word.
Nervousness fluttered in her gut.
She hadn’t much experience with men, still less with men who looked like him, and none at all when it came to royalty. And he was so very royal and so very...male.
He made her uncomfortable.
‘A little,’ Anna said, forcing the feeling away. ‘The Reverend Mother mentioned teaching the princess.’ And then, because she was incurably honest and wanted