The Awakened Prince

by Elise Marion

  Such questions only made her feel worse, because if the answer to any of them happened to be ‘yes’, it meant she’d wanted Serge while being married to his brother. And if that did not make her the worst sort of person, she didn’t know what did.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she lamented. “My life has been so uncertain since Lionus died. As time goes on it just becomes more and more muddled.”

  “For one thing, if you’re not going to marry him, you could start by putting an end to whatever it is that’s going on between you. If you are going to marry him, do it quickly before someone finds out or you become pregnant.”

  Pregnancy. It wasn’t something she’d thought of until now, and suddenly she felt the remnants of his mettle between her legs more acutely than ever. They’d done nothing to prevent conception of a child, and if his seed took root she’d have no choice but to marry him.

  Which might not be so horrible if not for the uncertainty plaguing her at every turn and the guilt eating her up inside.

  “You’re right,” she said. “Thank you, Vernon.”

  “At your service as always, Your Grace.”

  Sleep eluded her that night. After hours of tossing and turning, Isabelle finally threw the bedclothes aside with a resigned sigh and left her bed. Her restlessness tonight was only exacerbated with memories of what had happened between her and Serge in the Valons’ garden. She couldn’t stop reliving every moment of it—the thrill of being in his arms, of feeling pleasure again after so long, of throwing aside caution and propriety for just a few blissful minutes.

  Deciding another middle-of-the-night trip to the kitchen was in order, she located her dressing gown and pulled it on. Looking left and right in the corridor to ensure no one else was about, she lifted her lamp and tiptoed toward the staircase.

  She couldn’t help but pause on the landing of the second floor, turning toward the hallway leading to Serge’s chambers. All she needed to do was take a few steps in that direction, and she would be headed to his door. Once there, she could raise her fist to knock, and he would answer. Perhaps his night had been as restless as hers. Maybe he’d be wearing nothing but a bed sheet like the last time; or, he might be bold enough to answer the door without it. Perhaps he would grab her by the hand and pull her into the room, kicking it shut before sweeping her off her feet and tossing her onto the bed.

  Isabelle shook herself out of her very delicious daydream, and ventured onward.

  Pull yourself together! Serge is your friend, nothing more. What happened tonight was a mistake and should be put behind you.

  Satisfied that she had chastised herself properly, she continued to the kitchen.

  It would be difficult, but she would need to continue stifling her urges where Serge was concerned. She did need to marry someone—this was no longer avoidable. However, her dead husband’s brother could not be her choice. He was far too dangerous, poking and prodding at things she preferred to keep buried deep inside.

  A sticky sweet odor permeated her senses as she neared the ground floor, causing her to momentarily forget her errand. She wrinkled her nose and cocked her head, trying to discern where the smell came from. It led her to the open door of one of several drawing rooms. The room remained dark, but the double doors leading out onto the terrace had been thrown open, allowing moonlight to filter in.

  Passing through the room and to the open doors, she discovered Akira seated in a wrought iron chair outside. Garbed in her flowing black robes and turban, she studied the starry sky, a well-worn pipe clutched in her gnarled hand. Bluish-gray smoke curled up from it, proving to be the source of that cloying scent. Deciding not to intrude on what might be a private moment of reflection, Isabelle began to back away, intending to leave the way she had come.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Princess.”

  The older woman’s voice halted her in her tracks

  Akira had spoken without turning around. How had she known Isabelle stood behind her?

  She turned and pinned Isabelle with her knowing eyes, making her shiver from the feeling of being pulled apart and examined far too closely.

  “I did not mean to interrupt. I should go now.”

  “No,” the Gypsy woman replied, urging her forward with the wave of one hand. “We should talk now. There are things I must tell you, and I think you are finally ready to hear them.”

  Moving on shaking legs, she joined Akira at the round, wrought iron table at which she sat. Taking the matching chair, she set her lamp on the table between them and folded her hands before her, waiting in silence.

  The old woman placed the pipe between her lips and inhaled, exhaling through her nostrils with a sigh of satisfaction. Then, she closed her eyes and remained perfectly still, as if made of stone.

  She remained that way for what seemed like an eternity. The only movement was that of the pipe smoke, which curled about her like thick morning fog.

  Isabelle leaned forward and studied the still woman. Had she fallen asleep? She cleared her throat, but the old woman was unresponsive.

  “Akira?”

  No response.

  “Akira, are you all right?”

  Still nothing.

  She sat back in her chair with a sigh, forcing herself to remain silent and still. Esmeralda’s grandmother was a curious woman, and if there was one thing Isabelle had learned, it was that she only spoke when she found it necessary. When she did, it was to impart wisdom or a warning. Whatever guidance Isabelle was supposed to receive, she must wait patiently to hear it.

  They sat that way together for a while before Akira’s yellow-gold eyes flew open and focused on Isabelle.

  “There is much indecision in you, Princess,” she began, her voice mingling with the blue smoke to curl about Isabelle.

  A sudden dizziness gripped her, and she grasped the arms of her chair to keep from keeling over. She blinked a few times, forcing her eyes to focus as she succumbed to the effects of the mystical smoke. A heavy blanket of drowsiness fell over her, her stomach roiling as her head began to spin.

  “It is not easy for one who has had every decision made for her to suddenly have to make so many for herself,” Akira continued. “By choosing for you, your loved ones have crippled you, making you weak and unprepared for the world outside the walls of this palace. But within you lies a strong heart and a keen mind. Heed my words, Princess … you will become far greater than you could ever have imagined; a queen to rival all those who have come before her.”

  Isabelle shook her head, the motion making her feel off-balance. “That can’t be true. I … I am unprepared. I was never meant to endure this without Lionus.”

  Akira chuckled, the sound a warm and deep rumble penetrating the haze of the intoxicating smoke. “Listen well, Princess, to know what you must do to save the people of Barony. Their fate rests upon your shoulders.”

  Isabelle leaned forward, concentrating as hard as she could on the deeply lined face of Akira. The amber eyes, so like her daughter and granddaughter’s, held Isabelle captive like twin flames.

  “What must I do?”

  “I have seen, and can tell you the only way Barony will be saved is through the joining of the warrior king and queen. Together, they will form a force so powerful, no army can rise up that is mighty enough to defeat them.”

  “Warrior king?”

  “You know of whom I speak. The one endowed with a strength that has seen him through the worst of times. Strength you will both need going forward. The one who was born to walk this path. The one who has been trained his entire life to fight, to defend the people in his care. You must choose him as your husband. Only then will the fate of Barony be sealed.”

  “I don’t understand,” she lamented. “I have always felt in my heart that Lionus and I were meant to be together. Are you telling me I was destined for Serge all along?”

  Akira smiled, accentuating the deep lines around her mouth. “Do not confuse yourself trying to understand the workings of Fate. Th
e truth is that you were meant for both. The path of your destiny led you to one brother, now it will lead you to the other. Do not fight against it; your feet have already been set upon this path. All you need to do now is walk on it.”

  * * *

  “I’m afraid I danced a bit too much today. My feet ache terribly.”

  “Perhaps there is something I can do to remedy that, darling,” Lionus murmured, kneeling before her.

  Sitting on the edge of his bed—the bed they would now share—she gazed down at the top of his dark head as he bent to grasp one of her feet. She shivered when his hands glided over the aching muscles, exerting firm but gentle pressure. When he finished with the left foot, he took the right and treated it the same way. Once finished, he gazed up at her, still clutching her ankle in his hands.

  He smiled, sending a mad fluttering through her belly like the wings of a hundred butterflies. Lionus hardly ever smiled, but when he did the warmth of it spread through his entire face, transforming him into a different man entirely. That he only ever did it when they were alone made her feel special, as if he saved all his smiles just for her.

  “Better?” he asked, still absently stroking her ankle.

  She wondered if he knew the simple movement caused tiny tremors to run up her leg. Did he know that his every touch sparked some answering pang of longing deep within her—his hand on her cheek, his fingertips caressing the side of her neck, his mouth on hers? He did not show her affection often, but when he did she felt as if the sun had shone down on her from behind gray and gloomy clouds.

  Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded in response.

  “I am glad to hear you enjoyed yourself today,” he murmured. “It was our wedding day after all … a day to remember.”

  She reached down and stroked the hair hanging loose to his shoulders. She’d never seen him anything other than impeccably groomed and dressed, and decided she very much liked the way he looked in the intimacy of their dimly lit bedroom. He had removed his coat, waistcoat and cravat, rolling his sleeves up to the elbow. He wasn’t wearing shoes or stockings. Something about his exposed forearms and bare feet made her feel more at ease about the consummation that was soon to begin.

  “I can see that you are nervous,” he said, running one hand up her calf and back down again. “But there is no need to be. As I said a moment ago, this is a day to remember, and I promise to make this an experience you won’t ever forget.”

  He rose and pushed her gently to her back. His touch was light as he pulled at the white ribbon between her breasts. Gayle had assured her the transparent lace negligée she’d chosen was just right for her wedding night. By the way Lionus’ eyes had practically glazed over when he walked into the room to find her waiting for him, Isabelle knew she’d been right.

  Once they were both undressed, he loved her reverently, worshiping her with his hands and lips. Isabelle’s heart hammered as she surrendered herself to the only man she had ever loved. After years of waiting, wondering whether he loved her too, she finally knew.

  He’d never said it aloud, but somewhere deep inside she knew he did. She felt it in his touch, in his kiss, in the gentle way he initiated her into the intimacies of the marriage bed.

  Before she knew it, he was lowering himself between her legs. His cobalt eyes connected with hers, and he smiled as if to reassure her.

  As she braced herself for the inevitable pain of their first joining, Lionus’ face began to change. The angular planes became broader and chiseled, the mouth fuller, a cleft appearing against the backdrop of a strong chin. The shoulder-length hair lightened from almost black to golden-brown. The dark blue eyes and the slashing dark brows above them remained the same. A jagged scar spread from above the right eye all the way to the jawline.

  In her mind, she knew something wasn’t right. Serge was not her husband, Lionus was. She knew it was wrong, but she wrapped her arms around his neck anyway, lifting her head to kiss him with tenderness and acceptance. Her mind screamed that she lay with the wrong man, that she made a terrible mistake, but it couldn’t stop her body. As their lips locked, Serge buried himself in her. She gave herself up to the moment, forgetting that it was wrong, forgetting who he was.

  As he moved within her, he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You’re mine now….”

  * * *

  Isabelle’s eyes flew open as she came awake with a jolt. Once her breathing calmed and she had shaken off the clinging fog of sleep, she realized morning had come. Flopping against the pillows, she pressed her hands against her bleary eyes.

  She searched her mind for any memory of how she had ended up back in her bed. Apparently, the effects of Akira’s pipe were quite strong. She could recall nothing past their conversation and the dizzying sensation of being under the spell of the smoke. Isabelle felt certain she’d made her way back to her room alone, as Akira did not appear strong enough to carry her up two flights of stairs.

  The door to her chambers swung open, and Gayle came bustling in with her breakfast tray.

  “Good morning, dear,” she said, her voice full of cheer.

  After her eventful evening, Isabelle was famished, so she sat up and allowed Gayle to put the tray across her lap. Once she’d buttered her toast and stirred sugar and milk into her tea, she attacked her breakfast with gusto.

  “I hope you had pleasant dreams last night,” Gayle remarked.

  At the mention of dreams, Isabelle felt her face burning.

  More pleasurable than pleasant.

  Where on earth had that dream come from? The beginning had been all too familiar to her. Since Lionus’ death, she must have dreamed about their wedding night at least a dozen times. Of course, he had never transformed into his younger brother just as he was about to take her in the other dreams. The very thought of it made her skin tingle and her stomach flutter.

  As she chewed, staring absently out a nearby window, she forced herself to consider what the dream might mean. She had loved Lionus her entire life; had counted the days, weeks, months, and years until their wedding day, breathlessly anticipating the wedding night. She would never have thought she could feel that way for anyone ever again. With him had died a part of her.

  Now these new feelings for Serge were bubbling to the surface and she hardly knew what to do with them.

  With a shake of her head, Isabelle pushed the empty tray aside. She would not allow herself to continue down that particular path of thought. It was ridiculous, really. The explanation of her dream was simple; Serge had all but proposed to her, and because of what they’d done in the garden she had dreamed of a wedding night with him. That she had mingled the idea with her wedding night with Lionus was something she couldn’t bear to consider.

  “Have you heard a word I’ve said dear?”

  Isabelle shrugged and smiled apologetically at Gayle, who stood in the doorway of the dressing room frowning at her, one hand braced on her hip.

  “Sorry, Gayle,” she said. “I’m afraid my thoughts ran away with me again. You have my full attention now.”

  The maid sighed and handed Isabelle her dressing gown as she pushed the coverlet aside and rose from the bed.

  “I was saying, since the weather is so lovely, perhaps you would consider taking Lord Burnham on a tour of the palace grounds. It would be the perfect chance for you to put on that green riding habit you’ve never worn, now that you’re donning color again, thank the Lord.”

  Isabelle smiled. “I think that is a grand idea, Gayle. Why don’t you have a servant carry a message to Primus? Tell him I will be ready in an hour if he is available.”

  As Gayle left to carry out the task, Isabelle wandered to the window and pulled the drapes aside, staring out into the bright morning. The crisp days of fall would not last much longer. Soon, the harsh winter characteristic of both Cardenas and Barony would be upon them, bringing ice and snow with it.

  Across the rolling fields that stretched out before Largess Hall, Isabelle spotted a lone figure
walking toward the palace. Her heart leaped up into her throat, and her pulse quickened. She could not see his face, but something in her just knew. The golden-brown, windblown hair, and long-legged stride with just the hint of a limp told her exactly who she watched.

  When Gayle returned from her errand she turned away from the window and snapped the drapes shut. Today was a new day, and she was determined to forget about what had taken place between her and Serge. They had been friends their whole lives, so surely things would go back to normal in time. Until they did, she would just have to feign indifference.

  Chapter 7

  Two weeks seemed to pass them by in a blur, and before Serge knew it they were setting out for Barony. As he stood outside Rothchester Hall watching a convoy of carriages being loaded down with Isabelle’s belongings, he made sure to stay well away from the wheels. After that terrifying night on the side of the road, he remained wary of the vehicles. He was grateful he would not have to ride inside one, as he would be in command of the contingent of soldiers coming along for protection, riding at their forefront on horseback.

  The soldiers were all at the ready, armed to the teeth and mounted up—half in perfect formation at the head of the convoy, the other half at the rear. Lord Burnham sat astride a horse as well, a pistol in his belt and a sword at his side. The weather had turned out perfect, and he hoped it remained so for their week-long journey to Barony. They would be able to stop to rest and eat at inns for the first part of the journey, but then came the three-day trek across nothing but empty plains. On these nights, they would make camp.

  Damien stood by alongside General Adams to see them off. Both would join them in Barony within a few weeks. Serge and Primus would lead this convoy together, with Isabelle between them like a juicy side of beef between two hungry dogs.

  Serge frowned in annoyance at the woman in question as she, Gayle, and her bodyguards joined them in the courtyard. He had hardly seen her since that night in the garden, and when he did she was infuriatingly cordial. When he’d attempted to speak to her, she’d held him off with stiff answers composed of single words or short, curt sentences.