The Awakened Prince

by Elise Marion

  “For God’s sake, both of you shut up!”

  They grew silent, staring at her as if she’d gone mad. Good. Perhaps if they were frightened of her, they would cease making her feel like a bit of rope held in a tug of war.

  “Primus, I will most certainly consider all that you have said. I hope you will excuse me for a moment, so I can have a word with my brother-in-law.”

  Primus, brushed past them both and left, leveling a venomous glare at Serge as he went. Isabelle turned on Serge the moment he was out of sight.

  “What is the matter with you?” she screeched, poking him in the chest with her index finger.

  “Me?” he shouted back. “What about you, letting that fool kiss you? How long has that been going on?”

  “Why should it matter to you?”

  “You know why!”

  “I never agreed to marry you!”

  “You damn well will, mark my words,” he growled, taking a step closer and lowering his voice.

  She scoffed, her eyes rolling skyward. “Your arrogance is astounding. You certainly are sure of yourself.”

  “Does he make you tremble the way I do, Isabelle?” he whispered, reaching up to stroke her cheek. His fingertips traveled down to her throat, and he lowered his head until his lips hovered inches from hers. “Did you kiss him like you kiss me? Do you want him like you want me?”

  Isabelle swayed, fighting to keep her balance. Her lips tingled, and she stood but a breath away from leaning into him. His scent enveloped her and his towering presence weakened her.

  Her lips parted.

  “I don’t want you,” she said against his mouth, her voice coming out rough and hoarse.

  His lips brushed hers in a feather light caress and she trembled, unable to stifle her visceral response.

  “Liar,” he whispered.

  Isabelle jerked away from him, spinning on her heel and stomping away to put some distance between them. He’d almost had her again, and she’d nearly lost her head with nothing more than his lowered voice and his mouth hovering inches from hers.

  After a few steps she heard Serge chuckling.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  She could feel him smirking at the back of her head. When she realized what he meant, she rolled her eyes and turned around.

  “Don’t make me say it,” she begged.

  He grinned and shrugged as well. “You promised.”

  She sighed in exasperation. “Fine. You told me so.”

  “And?” he prodded.

  She glared at him, but continued. “You are the most perceptive, intelligent, devilishly handsome man I know.”

  His raucous laughter followed her all the way back to camp.

  Chapter 8

  Isabelle slowly made her way across the dark glen, through shadows and rolling fog, following the sticky-sweet odor that was so familiar to her. Night had fallen, and she was utterly alone, yet she did not feel fear. Pulling her hooded cloak tighter around her chilled body, she ventured on through the trees, spotting the faint light of a campfire nearby.

  The old Gypsy woman sat cross-legged by the fire, her gnarled pipe clenched between her teeth. She did not smile as she usually would. Clearly, she was ready to get down to business.

  Isabelle sat across from the her, the billowing pipe smoke already grabbing at the edges of her consciousness.

  “Princess,” the Gypsy woman began, “why have you not heeded my warnings? Did you not understand?”

  “I have heeded—”

  “You have not!” the Akira boomed, rising to her feet. “You may have heard, but you remain undecided on the matter, despite my warning that haste was needed. You are wasting precious time!”

  “But I—”

  She waved her hand, cutting Isabelle off before she could begin. “I understand. The memory of your lost love is still too fresh. But, you must push that aside. Your people need a king and you know who it must be. I feel that you need more convincing, so I have come to you in this dream to show you the fate of your homeland if you do not act.”

  Akira inhaled the pipe smoke once more, and blew it into the air. The smoke formed one large circle before clearing in the middle. The princess narrowed her eyes as a vision appeared in the center.

  Screaming women clutching small children ran from rebels who wielded swords and pistols. Many were cut down along with their children. Fires raged in their villages, burning their homes, barns, and fields of crops. Men fought to save their families, but were mowed down by the enemy force. As she sat there observing all this, she felt as if she experienced it all firsthand. She smelled the blood and smoke, the acrid stench of death. She felt the fall of each blade as if they stabbed through her, piercing her belly, her back, her heart.

  Tears filled Isabelle’s eyes as she beheld the fate of her people. Dear God, what could she be thinking? She was responsible for them. From the moment she stepped foot on the soil of Barony’s land, she would be walking into a destiny laid out for her at birth, decided upon by Fate as well as the people charged with making her decisions.

  Now, it was time for her to be in charge, to choose her own direction. And she could no longer avoid that one clear decision could determine the difference between life and death for those depending on her. She didn’t know why marrying Serge would prove so important in the future of her homeland, but it didn’t matter. If it must be him, then so be it.

  Her vision faded, and Akira studied her intently. She seemed unmoved by Isabelle’s tears, but satisfied that she’d gotten through to her.

  “I see that you have a full understanding now,” she said. “That is good. I trust you will make the right decision.”

  “Yes,” Isabelle said, swiping at the remnants of her tears. “I will do what I must.”

  * * *

  Isabelle fought the grasping hands of sleep, and reached for consciousness. She sat up, careful to remain as silent as possible so as not to wake Gayle, who shared her tent. Pulling her heavy blanket around her body, she peered through the opening.

  Serge had appointed soldiers to act as guards throughout the night, and she was relieved to find he had put himself on the first watch outside her tent as the others patrolled their perimeter.

  He sat a few feet away from her on a fallen log, sharpening his sword. Rising to her feet, she slipped past Gayle and stood watching him through the flap. Moonlight glinted off his hair, causing the lighter strands to gleam like gold. He’d stripped down to his shirtsleeves, the garment rolled to the elbows.

  As he sat sharpening his sword with a whetstone, the muscles in his forearms bunched and flexed, reminding her that though he’d been laid low for a time, his strength still remained. In fact, he’d regained even more of his lost weight, his shirt pulling at the seams.

  This strong, virile man was soon to be her husband. That he was also her friend offered little comfort. In truth, that only made it all the more frightening.

  But, she’d made up her mind and could not be swayed.

  Pushing the tent flap aside, she stepped out into the night, careful to avoid stones due to the limited protection of her flimsy slippers.

  He glanced up as she approached and smiled. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise. And here I thought I’d have to sneak into your tent tonight to get some time alone with you.”

  Isabelle shook her head and snorted. “You would have had to step over Gayle to do so.”

  Serge shrugged, then slid his sword back into its sheath and set it aside. “I never shy away from a challenge. What can I do for you?”

  She sank down beside him, tightening the blanket around herself to keep warm.

  “I was hoping we could talk about your proposal.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I’m listening.”

  Taking a deep breath, she plunged in before she could lose her nerve. “I’m sorry I have been so hot and cold with you. It’s just that … things have been difficult since Lionus died. It has been hard to mov
e forward, to see a future that is different than the one I’ve grown up expecting.”

  “That is understandable,” he replied. “It has been an adjustment for us all, but I believe you and Damien had the worst of it. Him being thrust into a role that he wasn’t supposed to play, you suddenly left to make a choice you never wanted to.”

  She nodded. “Yes, that’s it, exactly. And for the two of us … we’ve been friends so long, this shift in our relationship has seemed a bit daunting. I never want to ruin what we’ve always had. I value your friendship above all else, Serge.”

  “Wouldn’t you say that our friendship is the best foundation for a successful marriage? God knows most couples we know don’t even have that. If nothing else, you know that I respect and care about you. We will do well together … I truly believe that.”

  “You’re right. As I said, I am sorry that I let my fear and doubt get the best of me. I hope the offer still stands, because if it does I accept.”

  Serge couldn’t have looked more surprised if she’d splashed cold water in his face. He gaped at her for a moment, seeming to wrestle with his words.

  “Do you mean it? You’ll really marry me?”

  Isabelle smiled and nudged him with her shoulder. “Who better to marry than my best friend?”

  He used one arm to pull her into his side, holding her tight. Then, he kissed the crown of her head. “You will not regret it.”

  Thinking of her dream, she shook her head. “I am certain that I won’t.”

  “How about a kiss to seal our agreement?” he teased, leaning in.

  She arched away with a laugh. “Don’t push your luck.”

  He chuckled and released her, though she read the clear promise in his eyes. Once she became his wife, she would no longer be able to put him off.

  “All right, I’ll settle for a verbal agreement for now. We certainly will have plenty of time to seal the agreement the other way once we’re married.”

  “Serge!” she exclaimed. “Behave.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows at her with a smile. “For now. I make no promises for after the wedding.”

  * * *

  The rest of their journey passed without incident. Now that he had obtained Isabelle’s promise to marry him, Serge allowed himself to relax and concentrate on arriving at what he could now think of as his new home. By the end of the day, they would be in Barony. Guthrie Hall, the imposing stone castle built into the side of a mountain, stood tall and proud against the clear blue sky and frothy white clouds. Beyond it lay villages filled with Barony’s citizens, farmland, and long stretches of forest.

  Barony spanned almost twice the size of Cardenas, which meant the rebels would be that much harder to find. From what Primus had told him, it seemed the marauders came and went as they pleased, in and out of the villages, before disappearing without a trace. Serge could hardly wait to begin squashing their so-called revolution—his first act as the new king.

  For now, he felt at peace, more than he had been since waking from his coma. As soon as he could arrange it, Isabelle would be his wife. Turning in the saddle, he found her riding behind him, flanked on both sides by her bodyguards. Those four would be the first things to go, he decided, ignoring Vernon’s pointed glare. No one knew about their engagement, as they had decided to keep it a secret until they’d arrived in Barony.

  Serge smiled, relishing the idea of ruining Primus’ plans. The moment would bring him nothing but joy.

  He watched her as she rode, sidesaddle with a firm hold on the reigns. Deciding to let her ride for a while had been a good idea. The journey had been quiet thus far, and he was sure it would continue to be. She seemed to enjoy herself as she scanned the horizon, free from the carriage for a time. Her stare locked onto Guthrie Hall, filled with equal parts awe and pride.

  His gaze roamed over her delicate features and the curvaceous figure beneath her riding habit. A small, plumed hat sat tilted at an angle over her upswept hair. He imagined pulling the hat from her head, scattering hairpins across the ground and filling his hands with her silken locks. He pictured yanking at the collar of her jacket until buttons went flying in every direction, then lifting her skirts and … good lord, he couldn’t wait for the wedding night. Their hurried encounter in the garden didn’t even come close to the things he really wanted to experience with her. Now, he’d have a lifetime.

  Isabelle met his gaze and returned his smile. Their eyes locked for several moments before her smile faded. Her face slowly transformed until her eyes grew wide and round with fear, her jaw slack, mouth hanging open. He frowned, wondering what could be wrong. Within seconds, he realized the faces of Primus and her bodyguards reflected the same emotion. She dropped the reigns and lifted one shaking hand to point toward the horizon.

  Serge whipped back around in the saddle, muttering a string of profanities when he saw the dark silhouette of riders approaching. There were no trees, no rocks, nothing between them but flat ground and open air. There was nowhere to hide.

  He squinted, trying to assess the group of rapidly approaching men on horseback.

  Friend or foe?

  Deciding that they would be treated as foes unless they identified themselves otherwise, he motioned for Primus to join him. The grand vizier spurred his mount forward until they rode abreast.

  “Are you expecting anyone to ride out and meet us?” he asked.

  Primus shook his head, one hand clutching his reigns and the other gripping the hilt of his sword. “No, Your Grace.”

  “I didn’t think so. Get Isabelle into the carriage.”

  Primus wheeled his horse around to do as commanded. Serge slowed until he rode closer to the men surrounding the carriage with Gayle inside.

  “Formations,” he commanded, unsheathing his sword and pulling one of two revolvers from his belt. “We will treat this as a threat until we know otherwise. We’ve prepared for any contingency, so you know what to do. Protecting the princess is our highest priority.”

  A commotion had him whipping around in the saddle to discover the source. Isabelle’s shrill voice demanded to know what was going on, grating against his nerves as Primus seemed to try to placate her and make explanations.

  “Isabelle, get in the goddamned carriage!” he bellowed, then leveled a black scowl in Primus’ direction. “Must I do everything myself?”

  Clenching his jaw, he took his place at the head of the phalanx surrounding the vehicle. He turned once more to ensure Isabelle was safe inside before turning his attention back to the approaching riders, who had gained speed and closed in fast with swords drawn.

  He had been training to become general of Cardenas’ army since he was fourteen; now knowing he would become King of Barony made his success all the more imperative. He could not let Isabelle down.

  Urging his horse into a trot, he instructed his men to follow. When they did, he spurred the stallion even faster. The men followed suit without hesitation. For the breath of a few moments, all that could be heard echoing across the flat plains were the pounding of horse’s hooves as the space closed between them and the assumed rebels.

  “You will show them no mercy,” Serge called out to his men. “These men are traitors to the crown and deserve nothing more than the edge of your blade or a bullet to the head!”

  Metal clanked against metal as one force met the other, gunshots ringing out overhead in unison. Serge raised his pistol and fired at the chest of one rebel, before swinging his sword in a wide arc to catch the throat of another.

  Then, he leaped from the saddle of his horse, swinging his blade to the right to catch the legs of a passing enemy’s mount. The animal went down with a tortured scream, taking its rider with him.

  He raised his pistol and fired again, bringing down one rather large rebel who had been swinging a battle-axe at Vernon. The bodyguard nodded his thanks before lifting his arm to hurl a dagger in his direction. The blade whirred over Serge’s shoulder, and found its way between the eyes of another rebel who�
��d been sneaking up behind him with his sword raised.

  “Knife throwing?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “You aren’t completely useless after all.”

  Vernon gave a good-natured chuckle. “Perhaps I could teach you a thing or two, Your Grace.”

  They laughed together before turning back to back, raising their weapons once more. Serge soon found himself battling two or three opponents at once, baffled by the sheer number of his enemy. He could never have imagined the rebellion had grown so much, these faceless enemies in black swarming them like a cloud of wasps. They seemed an endless sea of sword-swinging, gun-toting waves, washing over him and his men with unrelenting force. The cries of fallen men from both sides echoed over the endless plains.

  As he caught sight of the carriage, still surrounded by soldiers fighting to protect it, a sinking sensation began in his gut. He remembered the night he had fought to protect a carriage with the woman he loved inside. Ironically, his brother, who loved the same woman, had fought for her as well. That night had changed all their lives forever. Would this day prove to be just as pivotal?

  Just as he was about to turn away from the carriage and back to the fight, one of the doors swung open and a feminine figure in a navy blue riding habit come flying out. She ran toward one of her bodyguards—Francis, who lay wounded nearby—her hand extended as if ready to grasp something. His throat constricted when her hand wrapped around the hilt of the man’s sword.

  “No, Your Grace, don’t!” the bodyguard cried as she lifted the weapon.

  Serge ran his blade through the rebel in his path, leaping over his body before breaking into a run toward Isabelle. Fear squeezed his lungs until he felt incapable of drawing breath. His legs pumped faster than he ever thought they could as he ran toward her, unable to do a thing from this distance as she swung the sword wildly at an approaching rebel. She had placed herself between him and Francis, and obviously had it in her head to protect her wounded bodyguard. No other soldiers were close enough to save her, and even if they had been, they were all too busy taking on two or more rebels at once and fighting for their own lives.