The Awakened Prince

by Elise Marion

  Her stomach turned when she recalled the things Primus had told her about Barony’s state of affairs. The notion of one woman being raped, one child being made a slave, one man being killed … it proved enough to bring tears to her eyes. These were her people, and if she had to sacrifice herself for them, so be it. Besides, marriage would not have to be so horrible if she chose the right man.

  She’d decided take this one step at a time. The first, of course, being casting off of her widow’s weeds. As she’d stood before the full-length mirror in her bedchamber, some vain part of her had to acknowledge that she’d missed her old clothes. It had been so long since she’d felt beautiful, womanly. With her shoulders bared, jewels around her neck, and her hair in a whimsical coiffure, she felt every inch the princess she was.

  A twinge of sadness had clenched her heart when Gayle had a clasped a twinkling diamond wreath about her neck, a wedding gift from Lionus. Her throat had swelled and tears had splashed her cheeks, but she’d forced the emotion away. The time had come to move on with her life, and if that meant saying goodbye to those horrid black dresses and lackluster buns pulled tight at the nape of her neck, all the better.

  She had been prepared for the stares and whispers that rippled through the ballroom when she, Esmeralda, Damien, and Primus had entered. By the time she reached the buffet table, word would have reached every corner of the ballroom with the delicious gossip: Princess Isabelle was out of mourning and back on the market. With affairs such as they were in Barony, every nobleman present must know that marrying her would also make a king out of them, further sweetening the deal.

  As she spun about the ballroom with Primus, she was relieved to have a break from the young men who had spent the evening wooing her. One after the other, they’d fallen all over themselves trying to get to her, fetching her champagne, reciting poetry, preening before her like a bunch of peacocks. It was nice to engage in easy conversation with Primus for a few minutes. Besides, the man danced with the grace of one half his age.

  “I must say what a pleasure it is to see you here tonight, and looking so stunning besides,” he remarked. “May I take it from your attire this evening that you have given thought to the matter of marriage?”

  “Yes, but I do not intend to rush into anything. I am open to exploring my options, and will choose a husband when I am I ready.”

  He smiled, a flash of perfect teeth behind his neatly trimmed mustache. She found herself at ease with him, and relaxed a bit in his arms.

  “I would expect nothing less from you,” he said with a chuckle. “I do not know you as well as I would like, and we have only briefly corresponded by letter, but I can tell you are a headstrong woman.”

  Isabelle quirked an eyebrow and smiled. “Is that a problem?”

  “On the contrary, Your Grace. I believe what Barony needs is a great dose of stubborn pride and headstrong determination. I fear the people are disheartened. It will take much to restore their faith in their leaders. I believe your return will be a much-needed push in the right direction. You having a capable husband will take care of the rest.”

  “You can count on me to do what I must.”

  Primus’ countenance eased as the music ended, and he guided her through one last spin. “I never doubted it for a moment, Princess.”

  She smiled back at him as he kissed her hand. “Thank you for the dance.”

  “The pleasure was all mine,” he murmured, his lips lingering over her hand.

  Before she could reply, another hand took her elbow in a tight grasp, and she heard a familiar voice.

  “I’ve come to claim you for the next dance, if it hasn’t already been taken.”

  Isabelle turned and stared up into Serge’s sapphire eyes. They sparkled with an intensity that made her stomach clench as his gaze swept over her attire, lingering a bit at the daring neckline of her bodice and the diamonds clasped around her throat before his eyes connected with hers and held. For a long moment they simply stared at one another, the next song’s beginning refrain and conversation fading into a dull buzz around them.

  Primus cleared his throat and shifted, causing Isabelle to realize the grand vizier was still holding on to her other hand. Serge’s gaze flicked to the other man, the intensity in his dark blue irises growing harder, colder. Isabelle tensed, wondering at the sudden animosity that seemed to flare between them. To help diffuse it a bit, she gently tugged her hand from Primus’ and linked her other arm through Serge’s.

  “Thank you for the dance, my lord.”

  The grand vizier gave her a tight smile and bowed. “It was my pleasure, Your Grace.”

  Then, Serge was pulling her into his arms for a waltz and twirling her out onto the floor amongst the other dancers, moving with the same crisp grace as her previous partner. He still seemed tense, his shoulder rigid underneath the touch of her hand.

  “I had hoped to dance with you tonight,” she said, glancing up and trying to meet his gaze.

  His lips had gone tight at the corners, a muscle twitching at his jaw. His voice came out a bit clipped when he replied.

  “Did you now?”

  She nodded, still trying to get him to look down at her. “We’ve always danced well together.”

  His eyes narrowed as he stared at something across the room, over her shoulder. As he whirled her around, Isabelle caught a glimpse of Primus standing on the edge of the dance floor watching them.

  “You don’t like him, do you?”

  His laugh was dry and humorless. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Well, there was that little scene during our meeting earlier, or it could be the fact that you are staring daggers at the man when you should be complimenting me on my dress. It is my first night out of mourning attire, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Serge’s gaze snapped back to her, and a boyish smile curled one side of his mouth. His hand tightened at her waist, making her breath hitch.

  “How could I not?” he murmured, his voice like a warm caress against her cheek. “You are a vision.”

  Isabelle’s heart fluttered, her insides melting into mush as his words falling against her like a caress. Why was this happening again? She was not supposed to feel this way about her lifelong friend … her dead husband’s brother. Yet her knees had weakened, and heat had begun flaring within her as she realized with increasing awareness that they were pressed far more intimately against each other than they’d ever been during a dance.

  “Why don’t you like him?” she asked, desperate to change the direction of her thoughts.

  Serge’s smile faded, a scowl taking its place. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

  “How does he look at me?”

  “As if he is a lion and you are a delicious antelope.”

  Isabelle grinned, unable to help the laugh that came spilling out in reaction to such a ludicrous statement. Serge frowned at her, which only made her laugh harder.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “He is old enough to be my father.”

  “The man is as spry as I am,” Serge insisted. “He is interested in you in a way that is far from paternal. Mark my words, he will make his intentions known when you least expect it.”

  Isabelle shook her head, unable to see Primus as anything other than a dear friend of her father—a man who only had her best interest at heart. “I know you are only trying to protect me, and I think it is sweet. But, you’re wrong.”

  Serge shrugged as the dance ended, releasing her from his hold and tucking her hand through the crook of his elbow. “I could be wrong, but if it turns out that I am right you have to concede that I told you so.”

  “I certainly shall,” she said, accepting the glass of champagne he procured for her.

  “And you must also admit that I am the most perceptive, intelligent, devilishly handsome man you know,” he added.

  Her boisterous laugh caught the attention of every man present. The sound drew them in like bees to honey, heads whi
pping around and gazes finding her from every corner of the ballroom. Isabelle stifled a groan as they began to close in with eager smiles, no doubt prepared to dance with her, offer her champagne, or spew effusive compliments over her attire.

  Serge chuckled. “Had enough for the evening?”

  “Quite enough,” she replied. “For the love of God, Serge, please don’t leave me here with them. I cannot take another minute of their fawning over me.”

  “Allow me to rescue you,” he said, seizing the opportunity to whisk her toward the open doors leading to the garden. “Come, let’s escape until they lose your scent.”

  Chapter 6

  Serge took one last look over his shoulder, satisfied that no one had followed them into the garden. Then, taking Isabelle by the hand, he led her toward the hedgerow maze. Behind them the mingled sounds of music, conversation, and laughter became distant before fading away altogether as they were enfolded by the green hedges. Once they’d reached the center, Isabelle drained her champagne glass and left it on the fountain’s stone ledge with a sigh of relief.

  “Thank goodness,” she murmured. “If I’d had to endure their attention much longer, I swear I could not be held responsible for my actions.”

  Serge folded his arms over his chest with a smirk. “What do you expect when you finally come out of mourning? You look too damned beautiful in that dress not to draw the men to you in droves.”

  “I didn’t think it through for very long before acting,” she said with a heavy sigh. “But, another marriage now seems unavoidable, so I supposed I ought to take the first step in that direction.”

  “Why the sudden change of heart? Just this morning you expressed your desire to wait.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, though the weather proved unseasonably mild. Her haunted expression told him her discomfiture was not due to the cold.

  “The things Primus told us during the meeting put things into perspective. Barony’s problems are far-reaching and seemingly insurmountable. While I am confident in my ability to act as their queen, I also understand the wisdom of doing so at the side of a strong, capable king. If choosing a husband is what’s best for my people, then I will do what I have to.”

  “Become the sacrificial lamb, as it were,” he offered.

  He’d tried to keep his tone nonchalant, but his pulse had quickened at the realization that he now stood one step closer to having his heart’s desire. All he had to do now was convince her that he ought to be her husband.

  “It certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, that all depends, really,” he said, choosing each word with care. “It wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice if you were to select the right man, you know.”

  “The problem is that I am not certain which choice might be the right one. Damien has offered me a prospective list, and I haven’t even met the men from Barony that Primus recommended. How do I know which man is the right one?”

  That she hadn’t mentioned him as a prospective choice at all annoyed him. Of course, it could be due to their one and only conversation on the matter, during which he’d been opposed to the idea. But, that had been before he’d thought she might marry someone else—before he’d had a taste of her and come to see that he could not stand back and let someone else claim her.

  But, he would not let that deter him. She needed to see that he was the only option who made any sense.

  “Perhaps I could be of assistance,” Serge offered. “Tell me who you are considering, and I’ll offer my opinion on each one.”

  She raised her eyebrows, seeming both surprised and delighted by such an idea. “That is brilliant. We’ve been friends for so long, you would know which men might suit.”

  “Fire away,” he prodded, sinking onto the ledge of the fountain and extending his sore leg out before him. “I am ready.”

  She clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace, brow knit in concentration.

  “Well, there’s General Adams. I know he has only been recently elevated to the position, but before his appointment he spent most of his life in service to Cardenas.”

  Serge scowled, thinking of the man who had replaced him as leader of the kingdom’s military forces. While he bore no ill will toward Adams for accepting the position, thoughts of him touching Isabelle, kissing her, laying claim to her in any way at all, made Serge want to strangle him with his bare hands.

  “The skills needed to command an entire army would serve Barony well, would it not?” she prodded when he did not respond.

  Serge narrowed his eyes, his frown deepening as he thought over the rumors he’d heard about General Adams. The man was a brilliant leader on the battlefield but had his share of vices.

  “What is it?” she prodded, seeming concerned by his silence.

  “Nothing … that is, unless you mind a husband who gambles.”

  “Every man enjoys a few turns of the card, Serge,” she said, waving him off with a laugh. “Even you.”

  “Naturally,” he replied. “But he’s known for being seduced by the thrill of it. There are more than few men of the court who’ve become cross with him over unpaid debts. You don’t want to have to worry about your husband losing the royal jewels in a game of Hazard, do you? Such a weakness would allow him to make a spectacle of the crown—which you cannot afford while re-establishing the Guthrie monarchy.”

  “Hmm … yes, I see your point,” she conceded. “We’ll have enough to concern ourselves with in Barony; we do not need a king who could bleed our coffers dry.”

  “Quite right. Well suited for his current role, for certain, but not fit to rule.”

  “Well, there is always General Stombol of Barony,” she offered. “One could argue his military career has been even more stellar than Adams’. Aside from that, he is of Barony as I am … the people will welcome him more readily than a foreigner. I don’t suppose he gambles, too?

  Serge winced, thinking of the talk he’d heard of General Stombol over the years. The man had journeyed to Cardenas frequently, requesting aid in the form of manpower and funds while they waited for Isabelle and Lionus to return with the might of the entire Cardenian army behind them.

  “While what you say is true, and he is not a known gambler, there is one very important reason you should not marry him.”

  Bracing her hands on her hips she paused, turning to face him. “And what reason would that be?”

  “You need heirs, do you not?”

  “I do believe that continuing the royal line is one of the most important reasons I must do this.”

  “Then you’d best forget about Stombol. The man has been known to frequent a certain type of brothel … one catering to a very specific sort of gentleman.”

  Isabelle wrinkled her nose and puckered her lips in distaste. “It is not ideal, but in a marriage of convenience I could hardly fault a man for doing what most other men of rank do. Besides, who is to say he might not mend his ways once he has settled down with a wife?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, both amused and baffled that she did not seem to understand. “No … what I mean to say is … well, have you never wondered why a man of his age and rank has never married? Why he has never been seen courting a woman?”

  Her frown deepened, and she looked at him as if he were out of his mind. “He is not the only confirmed bachelor—”

  “Men, Isabelle,” he interjected. “The brothel he goes to caters to men who prefer other men. The reason he’s never been married or seen courting anyone is because he has no interest in women. Thus, the complication of producing heirs. Perhaps it would not be a problem if the man is made aware of his duty, but truly … is it a risk you’d want to take?”

  “Oh,” she whispered, one hand coming up to her throat. “Oh, well … I certainly wouldn’t want … we’d make one another absolutely miserable.”

  “We wouldn’t want that.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured, stroking her chin. “Lord Gundry of the H
igh Council has expressed his interest. He has helped your father and your brother make many decisions of import, and I have heard he is decisive and fair. He’s also quite handsome, and I happen to know he loves women.”

  He came to his feet, ignoring the protestations of his leg. Hands curled into fists, he approached her, steel strengthening his voice when he replied.

  “That man has certain … appetites in the bedroom that are best not discussed in a lady’s presence. Things that would send you screaming from him in a panic. If he dares to come near you, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

  With a scoff and shake of her head, she gave him an exasperated look. “Is there anyone who could possibly meet with your approval? At this rate, I’ll never find a husband!”

  “I am just trying to keep you from marrying someone you’ll detest. Even though you’re sacrificing yourself for your people, you deserve to be happy. You deserve someone who will respect you and treat you well. Someone you could one day grow to love.”

  Her mouth curved into a mischievous smile that caused his knees to turn into jelly. Never mind that he knew such a smile meant trouble; it never failed to wreak havoc on his senses.

  “I know of a man you won’t object to. There is no way you could possibly find anything wrong with him. In fact, he is quite perfect.”

  “Try me,” he challenged, raising his chin a notch.

  “Lord Burnham.”

  Serge’s smile melted away, and he felt the beginning of something ugly unfurling in his chest. His fists tightened until his fingernails dug into his palms, and the brutal clench of his teeth made his jaw ache.

  “Primus?” he ground out.

  She had him there. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the man, as much as he wanted to protest. Besides Serge, he was the next most obvious choice. He had already been ruling Barony in her stead and had advised her father for well over a decade. He knew the people and the land. In short, he had the advantage.