The Rebel King by Melissa James

Author:Melissa James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2009-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHY, why, had he eaten so much breakfast?

Stomach churning as he walked beside Jazmine through the ruined village, Charlie felt sick. He couldn’t think of her as a princess, not with the sick baby in her arms and the tears in her eyes as she greeted people with so much caring.

Though Helmanus had a similar beautiful forest-setting to others they’d passed this morning, with rolling verdant hills and trees abounding, and there was the scent of sage and lemon-grass and soft loam everywhere, not one house was whole. Each house had a part that had been burned or blasted away. The street had dark patches on the stones that cried out their memories of suffering. The graveyard had more fresh head-stones than the village had people.

Widows and orphans were everywhere, and elderly folk who had made shrines to sons and daughters who’d died trying to preserve their way of life…or had died just because they’d been there.

He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought he’d be worse than Orakis as a guardian over the Hellenican people. He’d been so focused on going home, and so appalled about the intrusions of the press, and feeling trapped by living in a palace with minders, when these people had so little…

Nothing.

No, they had Jazmine. Right now, nobody could throw the ‘Mona Lisa’ taunt at her. She held the baby with such tenderness, not seeming to care that his wet nappy and less-than-pristine baby clothes were soiling her designer suit. She spoke to the people about their needs, about what had been done and what was coming next, with thorough knowledge and complete empathy. She ignored the flashing of the cameras, refusing to answer questions on her clothing or love life, but answering the questions on conditions here with passion, conviction and vision. Her eyes still kept her secrets, but, standing close in his minder’s role, Charlie could see the stress beneath, the burdens she’d chosen to take upon herself.

A tug at his trouser leg made Charlie look down. A child stood there, her hair neatly plaited and her dress a touch too tight for her. Her sandals were broken.

She smiled as she held out her hand to him.

The confidence in her eyes shook Charlie to the core. The child expected him to give to her because he was with Jazmine. Jazmine, who was quietly pressing money into people’s hands with no fanfare. Jazmine, who’d arranged for the cars in their retinue to be filled with food. The security men were handing out flour, oil, fruit and vegetables, care packs hidden in hemp sacks.

‘Do it,’ Jazmine whispered through lips barely moving, moving the baby up to her shoulder to cover her words to him. ‘Behave as the others do, or the press will wonder why you’re different.’

At that moment, Charlie knew why she’d insisted he wear the anonymous dark suit and sunglasses of the Secret Service. In this disguise, he was invisible to the press.

Though she needed his cooperation to ensure the ongoing wellbeing of these desperate people, or even to become queen, Jazmine protected his privacy.

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