Reign of a King (Kingdom Duet #1) by Rina Kent

I lift my head slightly and my smile disappears when my gaze collides with sinister grey eyes.

Killer eyes.

His presence rips me from the now and slams me to eleven years in the past.

I’m back to that day, catching my breath at the side of the road. I broke to pieces and I’m still unable to pull myself together again.

He is one of the reasons I never will.

Jonathan King.

A ruler in this world.

An actual king who holds more power than the queen herself.

My worst enemy.





2





Jonathan





Ghosts are supposed to stay where they belong.

Dead.

So why the fuck is that ghost looking at me as if she’s ready to drag me with her to the grave?

In my world, it’s the other way around. I’m the one who drags things — and people — to wherever I please.

It’s bad enough that I have to be in Ethan’s house to celebrate my son’s marriage to his daughter — which I still don’t think is the brightest decision Aiden’s made.

I don’t need the situation made worse with this…ghost.

If I hadn’t seen Alicia dead with my own eyes, I would believe she’d somehow resurrected.

Perhaps she’s returned for vengeance. Perhaps it’s time for her to serve justice.

Only, what’s justice? If everyone’s perception of that word is different, whose truth is the real truth?

For me, justice doesn’t exist. It’s a useless word the politically correct folk have picked up to put their little minds at ease.

Justice is a delusion in a world where the likes of me grip the reins of power with ruthless hands.

I don’t believe in justice. My father did, and he died still searching for it. What did justice give him? Fucking condolences, that’s what.

Since then, I’ve built my kingdom with merciless methods and brought justice to its knees right in front of me.

That’s where everyone who defies me belongs. On their fucking knees.

Alicia — or her doppelgänger — stands around a table with Ethan, drinking from a flute of champagne. Her dainty fingers painted red surround the glass with infinite elegance.

She’s the same. From her dress and uptight posture to the curve of her neck and the softness of her cheeks. Her inky black hair and her petite nose. Even the contours of her full mouth.

It’s all a replica.

One thing is wrong, though. Or more accurately, two.

One, the red lipstick. Alicia would never put that on.

Two, the colour of her eyes. It’s like dark blue skies right after a war.

Or right before a storm.

As it seems, wars and storms are my specialities. If there’s a chance to disturb someone’s peace and grab what’s there for the taking, I don’t hesitate.

Contrary to common belief, I’m not heartless. I’m relentless. I don’t stop until both the war and the storm end in my favour.

If they don’t, they might as well go on until they fall to their knees in front of me – like everyone else.

For the first time in a decade, I don’t act first.

I stop.

I watch.

I savour the moment and the shock value of it.

She surprised me, I’ll give her that.

I don’t like surprises — unless I’m the one who issues them.

It takes me a moment to separate what’s in front of me from what I already know.

The reality from the past.

The truth from the imagination.

And it is her.

Not Alicia.

But someone so close, she managed to slip from under my radar for years.

Fucking years.

I thought she died in a hole somewhere, or that she pissed off to another corner of the world.

Turns out, neither are the case. She’s here in my empire. Right under my nose.

She appeared out of thin air like a fucking ghost.

Does she think she’ll slip between my fingers this easily? Or that she can escape me in my own territory?

Now that I’m past the haze and thinking more rationally, I recall the first and last time I met her.

It was at my wedding to Alicia.

A little girl with barely brushed hair ran into me, lifted up her huge sparkling eyes and her mouth formed into an ‘O’. Her first words to me were, “I’m sorry, sir.”

She’ll be more than sorry now.

She’ll wish she’d stayed far away from my kingdom.

That lowlife Ethan must’ve played a part in this, but he’ll also pay. And it’ll be by using her.

The ghost.

The sneak.

My dead wife’s little sister.





3





Aurora





Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He wasn’t supposed to come now, of all times.

My gaze is held captive by his darker, grim one. He doesn’t even blink or show any reaction.

Jonathan stands a small distance away, but he might as well be wrapping his hands around my throat in a tight noose.

A sharp tux flatters his broad frame and highlights his long legs. It’s almost as if he’s in his late thirties instead of his mid-forties. His appearance is taut, hard, and fierce — like everything about him.

His midnight-coloured hair is styled back, revealing a strong forehead and an angular jawline that could cut me in half if I get any nearer. A slight stubble covers his face, giving him an older, harsher, and untouchable feel.