The Call of Duty

“You speak of the crown as though it’s a poisoned cup,” Layna said, her words muted.

“It is in many ways. But it is mine. And I have spent too many years trying to pass it off to others.”

Yes, as far as anyone knew the crown was Xander’s. It was the expectation. What he had trained for until he was twenty-one.

The truth was another matter. But it didn’t change the reality.

It didn’t change what had to be done.

“A conscience, Xander?” she asked, using his first name.

The sound sent a shiver through him. A ripple of memory.

“I’m not so certain I’d go that far. Maybe a bit of forgotten honor bred into me. Thanks to all that royal blood,” he said, his tone dripping sarcasm. “Imagine my disappointment when I realized I hadn’t replaced it all with alcohol.”

“A disappointment for many,” she said.

She sounded more like her old self now. He’d officially destroyed her serenity. Perhaps a lightning bolt would be in the offing after all.

“I’m sure. But I had thought there might be a way of softening the blow.”

“And that is?”

“You,” he said. “I’m going to need you, Layna.”

THE CALL OF DUTY

When legacy commands they must obey!

Don’t miss any of the books in this powerful trilogy by Maisey Yates!

A ROYAL WORLD APART Desperate to escape her duty, Princess Evangelina has tried every trick in her little black book. But where everyone else has failed will her new bodyguard bend her to his will? Pity the Princess who draws such a devastating gaze!

AT HIS MAJESTY’S REQUEST

Prince Stavros Drakos has ruled his country like his business: with a will of iron! And when duty demands an heir this resolute bachelor will turn his sole focus to the task …

But will he have finally have met his match?

PRETENDER TO THE THRONE

Newly returned Prince Xander Drakos was raised to sit on the throne … But was the crown ever really his to wear? One thing is certain—this prince is determined to right the wrongs of the past and do his duty for his family and his country.

But first he’ ll need the woman he left behind at his side.

Pretender to the Throne

Maisey Yates

MAISEY YATES was an avid Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance reader before she began to write them. She still can’t quite believe she’s lucky enough to get to create her very own sexy alpha heroes and feisty heroines. Seeing her name on one of those lovely covers is a dream come true.

Maisey lives with her handsome, wonderful, diaper-changing husband and three small children across the street from her extremely supportive parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of Southern Oregon, USA. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch and then heading into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic urban locales.

Recent titles by the same author:

FORGED IN THE DESERT HEAT

HIS RING IS NOT ENOUGH

THE COUPLE WHO FOOLED THE WORLD

HEIR TO A DARK INHERITANCE

(Secret Heirs of Powerful Men)

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my readers.

This book exists because you asked for it.

And I’m so very glad you did!

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

“EITHER DIE OR abdicate. I’m not particular about which one you choose, but you’d better make a decision, and quickly.”

Alexander Drakos, heir to the throne of Kyonos, dissolute rake and frequent gambler, took a drag on his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray and dropping his cards onto the velvet-covered table.

“I’m a little busy right now, Stavros,” he said into his phone.

“Doing what? Throwing away your fortune and drinking yourself into a stupor?”

“Don’t be an idiot. I don’t drink when I gamble. I don’t lose, either.” He eyed the men sitting around the table and pushed a pile of chips into the pot.

“A shame. If you did, then maybe you would have had to come home a long time ago.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t seemed to need me.”

It was time for the cards to go down, and those who hadn’t folded earlier on in the round put their hands face up.

Xander laughed and revealed his royal flush before leaning in and sweeping the chips into his stack. “I’m cashing out,” he said, standing and putting his chips into a velvet bag. “Enjoy your evening.” He took his black suit jacket off the back of the chair and slung it over his shoulder.

He passed a casino employee and dropped the bag into the man’s hands. “I know how much is in there. Cash me out. Five percent for you, no more.”

He stopped at the bar. “Scotch. Neat.”

“I thought you didn’t drink while you gambled,” his brother said.

“I’m not gambling anymore.” The bartender pushed the glass his way and Xander knocked it back before continuing out of the building and onto one of Monaco’s crowded streets.

Strange. The alcohol barely burned anymore. It didn’t make him feel good, either. Stupid alcohol.

“Where are you?”

“Monaco. Yesterday I was in France. I think that was yesterday. It all sort of blurs together, you know?”

“You make me feel old, Xander, and I am your younger brother.”

“You sound old, Stavros.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t have the luxury of running out on my responsibilities. That was your course of action and that meant someone had to stay behind and be a grown-up.”

He remembered well what had happened the day he’d taken that luxury. Running out on his responsibilities, as Stavros called it.

You killed her. This is your fault. You’ve stolen something from this country, from me. You can never replace it. I will never forgive you.

Damn.

Now that that memory had surfaced another shot or four would be required.

“I’m sure the people will build a statue in your honor someday and it will all be worth it,” Xander said.

“I didn’t call to engage in small talk with you. I would rather strangle myself with my own necktie.”

Xander stopped walking, ignoring the woman who ran into him thanks to his sudden action. “What did you call about then?”

“Dad had a stroke. It’s very likely he’s dying. And you are the next in line for the throne. Unless you abdicate, and I mean really, finally, abdicate. Or you know, chain a concrete ball to your neck and hurl yourself into the sea, I won’t mourn you.”

“I would think you’d be happy for me to abdicate,” Xander said, ignoring the tightness in his chest. He hated death. Hated its suddenness. Its lack of discrimination.

If death had any courtesy at all, it would have come for him a long time ago. Hell, he’d been baiting it for years.

Instead, it went after the lovely and needed. The ones who actually made a difference to the world rather than those who left nothing but brimstone and scorch marks in their wake.

“I have no desire to be king, but make no mistake, I will. The issue, of course, lies in the production of heirs. As happy as Jessica and I are with our children, they are not eligible to take the throne. Adoption is good enough for us, but not sufficient per the laws of Kyonos.”

“That leaves...Eva.”

“Yes,” Stavros said. “It does. And if you hadn’t heard, she is pregnant.”

“And how does she feel? About her child being the heir?”

“She hates it. She and Mak don’t even live in Kyonos and they’d have to uproot their lives so their child could be raised in the palace, so he or she could learn their duty. It would change everything. It was never meant to be this way for her and you know it.”

Xander closed his eyes and pictured his wild, dark-haired sister. Yes, she would hate it. Because she’d always hated royal protocol. As he had.

He’d taken her mother from her. Could he rob her of the rest of her dreams, too?

“Whatever you decide, Xander, decide quickly. I would ask that you do so in two days’ time,” Stavros continued, “but if you want my opinion...”

“I don’t.” He hung the phone up and stuffed it into his pocket.

Then he walked toward the dock. And he wondered where he might find a concrete ball.

* * *

Layna Xenakos dismounted and patted her horse on the neck. Layna was sweaty and sticky, and the simple, long-sleeved shift she was wearing didn’t do very much to diffuse the heat.

But she was smiling. Riding always did that for her. Up here, the view of the sea was intoxicating, the sharp, salty ocean breeze tangling with the fresh mountain air, a stark and bright combination she’d never experienced anywhere else.

It was one of the many things she liked about living at the convent. It was secluded. Separate. And here, at least, lack of vanity was a virtue. A virtue Layna didn’t have to strive for. Vanity, in her case, would be laughable.

She pulled her head scarf out of her bag and wound her hair up, putting everything back in place. The only thing she could possibly feel any vanity about—her hair— safely covered again.

“Come on, Phineas,” she said to the horse, leading the animal up to the stables and taking care of his tack and hooves before putting him in his stall and walking back out into the sunlight.

Technically, that had probably been a poor use of meditation time, but then, she rarely felt more connected to God, or to nature, than when she was riding. So, she imagined that had to count for something.

She walked toward the main building of the convent. Dinner would be served soon and she was hungry, since her afternoon’s contemplation had been conducted on horseback.

She paused and looked over the garden wall, noticing tomatoes that were ready to be picked, and diverted herself, continuing on into the garden, humming something tunelessly as she went.

“Excuse me.”

She froze when a man’s voice pierced the relative silence. They interacted with men in the village often enough, but it was unusual for a man to come to the convent.

For a second, right before she turned, she experienced a brief moment of anxiety. Would he look at her like she was a monster? Would his face contort with horror? But before she turned fully, the fear had abated. God didn’t care about her lack of outer beauty, and neither did she.

And moments like this were only a reminder that she did have to worry about vanity having a foothold. That it was an impediment to the service of others.

That, in a nutshell, was why she was a novice and not a sister, even after ten years at the convent.

“Can I help you?” The sun was shining on her face, and she knew he could see her fully. All of her scars. The rough, damaged skin that had stolen her beauty. Beauty that had once been her most prized feature.

The sun also kept her from seeing him in detail. Which spared her from whatever his expression might be, whatever reaction he might be having to her wounds. He was tall, and he was wearing a suit. An expensive suit. Not a man from the village. A man who looked like he’d stepped out of the life she’d once lived.

A man who reminded her of string quartets, glittering ballrooms and a prince who would have been her husband. If only things had been different.

If only life hadn’t crumbled around her feet.

“Possibly, Sister. Although, I’m doubting I’m in the right place.”

“There isn’t another convent on Kyonos, so it’s unlikely.”

“I find it strange I’m at a convent at all.” He looked up, the sun backlighting him, obscuring his features. “At least, I find it strange I haven’t been hit by a lightning bolt.”

“That isn’t really how God works.”

He shrugged. “I’ll have to take your word for it. God and I haven’t spoken in years.”

“It’s never too late,” she said. Because it seemed like the right thing to say. Something the abbess would say.

“Well, as it happens, I’m not looking for God. I’m looking for a woman.”

“Nothing but Sisters here, I’m afraid,” she said.

“Well, I’m led to believe that she is that, too. I’m looking for Layna Xenakos.”

She froze, her heart seizing. “She doesn’t go by that name anymore.” And that was true, the sisters called her Magdalena. A reminder that she was changed, and that she lived for others now and not herself.

And then he started walking toward her, a vision from a dream, or a nightmare. The epitome of everything she’d spent the past fifteen years running from.

Xander Drakos. Heir to the throne of Kyonos. Legendary playboy. And the man she’d been promised to marry.

Quite literally the last man on earth she wanted to see.

“Why not?” he asked.

He didn’t recognize her. And why would he? She’d been a girl last time they’d seen each other. She’d been eighteen. And she’d been beautiful.

“Maybe because she doesn’t want people to find her,” she said, bending down to pick tomatoes off the vine, trying to ignore him, trying to ignore her heart, which was pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it.

“She’s not hard to find. Simple inquiries led me here.”

“What do you want?” she asked. “What do you want with her?”

Xander looked at the petite woman, standing in the middle of the garden. She had mud on the hem of her long, simple dress, mud on the cuffs of her sleeves, too. Her hair was covered by a scarf, the color given away only by her eyebrows, which were finely arched and dark.

One side of her face showed smooth, golden skin, high cheekbones and a full mouth that turned up slightly at the corners. But that was only one half of her face. That was where her beauty ended. Because the other side, from her neck, across her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose, was marred. Rough and twisted, her lips nearly frozen on that side, too encumbered by scar tissue to form a smile. Not that she was smiling at him. Even if she were, though, he imagined that grimace was permanent, at least on that part of her face.

This was the sort of woman he expected to find up here. Not a giggling, glittery socialite like Layna. She’d practically been a girl when they’d been engaged—only eighteen, on her way to womanhood. And beautiful beyond belief. Golden eyes and skin, and honey-colored hair that had likely been lightened via a bottle. But whether or not it was natural hadn’t mattered. It had been beautiful—shining waves of spun gold mingled with deep chocolate browns.

He’d known even then that she would make a perfect queen. What was more important was that she’d been loved by the people. And she came with wonderful connections, since her father had been one of the wealthiest government officials in Kyonos, much of his success derived from manufacturing companies based out of the country.

As far as he could tell since his return two days ago, the Xenakos family was no longer on the island. Except for Layna. And he needed to find her.

He needed her. She was the anchor to his past. His surest ally. For the press, for the people. They had loved her, they would love her again.

They would not, he feared, feel the same way about him.

“We have some old business to discuss.”

“The women who live here don’t want to discuss old business,” she said, her voice trembling. “Women come here for a new start. And old...old anything is not welcome.” She turned away from him, and started to walk into the main building. She was going to walk away from him without answering his questions.

No one walked away from him.

He started toward the garden, and blocked her path. She raised her face to him, her expression defiant, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

He hadn’t realized. Of course he hadn’t. But now that he could see her eyes, those unusual eyes, fringed with dark lashes, he knew exactly who she was.

She was Layna Xenakos, but without her beauty. Without the laughing eyes. Without the dimple in her right cheek. No, now there were only scars.

Not very much shocked him. He’d seen too much. Done too much. He and the ugly side of life were well-acquainted. And he knew well that life’s little surprises were always waiting to come and knock you in the teeth. But even with that, this wasn’t anything he’d expected. Nothing he could have anticipated.

From the time he’d left Kyonos, he’d very purposefully avoided news regarding his home country. Only recently, when his sister had married her bodyguard and when Stavros had married his matchmaker, had he read articles concerning his homeland, or the royal family.

Because he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Not then. But every time he opened the window on that part of his past, it was like scrubbing an open wound.

And it took a lot to wipe his mind and emotions free of it all again. A lot of drinking. A lot of women. Things that made him feel like a different man than the one he’d once thought he was, than the one he was trained to be. Things that created happiness. Before they created a gigantic headache.

One thing he’d never thought to look for had been the fate of the woman he’d left behind. But obviously, something had happened.

“Layna,” he said.

“No one calls me that,” she said, her tone hard, her expression flat.

“I did.”

“You do not now, your highness. You don’t have that right. Do you even have the right to a title?”

That burned. Deeper than he’d imagined it could. Because she was edging close to a pain he’d rather forget.

“I do,” he growled. “And I will continue to.” His decision was made. Whether or not it made sense to anyone, including himself, his decision was made. He had come back, and he would stay. Though, no one knew it yet.

He’d felt compelled to come and see the state of things first. And then...and then he’d felt compelled to find Layna. Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that he had grown unsuitable to the task of ruling. And if he knew anything else, it was that no one was more suited to be queen than Layna.

He had thought it unlikely she would still be unmarried. He hadn’t counted on her being both unmarried and at a convent, but he supposed it wasn’t any less likely than what he’d been doing with his time for the past fifteen years.

No, he took that back. It was unlikely. Everything about this was unlikely. Layna Xenakos, the toast of Kyonosian society, renowned beauty and bubbly hostess, shut away in a convent, wearing a drab dress. With scars that made her mostly unrecognizable.

“I should like you to go,” she said, walking toward him with purpose. He could tell she meant to go right on past him.

He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. She froze, those eyes, so familiar, like a shot straight out of the past, locked with his. “I would like for you to unhand me as well, then leave.”

“So unhospitable, Sister, and to your future ruler.”

“Hospitality is one thing, allowing a man to touch me as though he owns me is another thing entirely.” She stepped away from him, her expression fierce. “You might rule the country, you might own the land, but you do not own me, or anyone else here.”

“You belong to God now then, is that it?”

“Less worrisome than belonging to you.”

“You did once.”

She shook her head. “I never did.”

“You wore my ring.”

“But we hadn’t taken vows yet. And you left.”

“I let you keep the ring,” he said, looking down at her hands and noticing they were bare.

“An engagement ring isn’t very useful when there is no fiancé attached to it. And anyway, I’ve changed. My life has changed. I suppose you thought you could come back here and pick up where we left off.”

He had. And why not? It would be the story of the decade. The heir’s return and his reunion with the woman the nation had always been so fond of. Except, for some reason, a very large part of him had assumed she’d simply been here in Kyonos, frozen in time, waiting for his return.

A large part of him had assumed that all of Kyonos had done so. But he had been mistaken.

There were casinos now. An electric strip by the beach. His brother Stavros’s doing. The old town had been renewed. No longer simply a quarter where old men sat and played chess, it was now a place for hipsters and artists to hang out and “be inspired” by the beach and the architecture.

His sister was not the same. Not a dark-haired, mischievous girl, but a woman now. Married and expecting a child. His brother had become a man, instead of a rail-thin teenage boy.

His father was old. And dying. His father...

And Layna Xenakos had joined a convent.

“I will be straight with you,” he said. “I am not the favored son of the Drakos family.”

She nodded once but remained silent, so he continued.

“But I have decided that I will rule. For the next generation even more than for this one.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Stavros’s children cannot inherit. And that would leave my sister’s child. The changes it would require...it was never her cross to bear. I have done a great many selfish things in my life, Layna, and I intend to keep doing many of them. But what I cannot do, when it comes down to it, is condemn my brother to a life he never wanted. Or give to my sister’s child a responsibility it was never meant to take on.” He had ruined things for his siblings already. Their childhoods had passed by while he was gone. Children who’d had no mother.

Especially Eva. She’d been so young then. It was unfair. He couldn’t continue to hurt her. He wouldn’t.

“You speak of the crown as though it’s a poison cup,” she said, her words muted.

“It is in many ways. But it is mine. And I have spent too many years trying to pass it off to others.” Yes, his. As far as anyone knew, it was his. It was the expectation. What he had trained for until he was twenty-one.

The truth, was another matter. But it didn’t change Stavros’s reality. It didn’t change Eva’s.

It didn’t change what had to be done.

“A conscience, Xander?” she asked, using his first name, the sound sending a shiver through him. A ripple of memory.

“I’m not so certain I’d go that far. Maybe a bit of forgotten honor bred into me. Thanks to all that royal blood,” he said, his tone dripping sarcasm. “Imagine my disappointment when I realized I hadn’t replaced it all with alcohol.”

“A disappointment for many,” she said. She sounded more like her old self now. He’d officially destroyed her serenity. Perhaps a lightning bolt would be in the offing after all.