The Prince's Consort (Chronicles of Tournai Book 1)

by Antonia Aquilante

  Philip rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t feel like dealing with Arnau at the moment. Owning the finest glassmaking business in Tournai did not make the man less irritating. But it needed to be done. “Where is he?”

  “The red receiving room.” Though small, it was the most formal and intimidating of the receiving rooms. The sweeping view from its large window was the one good thing about it to Philip’s mind. The rest… all the red velvet and gilt and ornate furniture were too much for his personal tastes, but they made it the perfect room in which to meet a man like Arnau.

  “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” He strode from the office, Cathal on his heels. Cathal moved ahead only when they reached the red room, pulling the door open and stepping back so Philip could precede Cathal inside.

  Arnau was already there, and he’d brought his son with him. Alban was more insufferable than his father at times. Philip bit back a groan as he walked past the two men, who had all bent into bows as soon as he stepped through the door. He sat in the chair on the small dais at the other side of the room. Cathal took up a position standing on his left as the three men straightened.

  His gaze slid over Arnau and Alban. They’d met with him more than once in the past, but the man with them was a stranger. He looked young, younger even than Philip, and—

  Philip’s mouth dried, his breath caught in his throat, and he stared. At the curling auburn hair and the slender, lithe body dressed in well-cut, well-made clothes. At the rich brown eyes staring back at him. They went almost comically wide and startled, but the young man didn’t look away, and Philip couldn’t bring himself to either. A delightful blush stained the man’s cheeks, and Philip wanted to grin. Who was this man?

  A soft noise—Cathal clearing his throat—brought his attention back to where it should be. Arnau stood in front of the dais, flanked by the two other men and slightly in front of them, a supercilious expression on his face. Philip reminded himself again that Arnau owned the foremost glassmaking operation in Tournai.

  “Master Arnau.”

  “Good afternoon, Your Highness. I am always honored to receive an invitation to the palace.” Arnau gave him another half bow, his tone an odd mix of self-important and ingratiating. As if he had been invited to the palace for a social engagement, not to give an accounting of himself. “You have met my son, Alban, previously. This is my second son, Amory.”

  Arnau gestured at the beautiful mystery man. He was Arnau’s son? Philip never would have guessed. Amory looked nothing like his father and brother. They were bulkier in build and darker in coloring. And there was something else, something less definable separating Amory from his family.

  “It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness,” Amory said. His voice sent a shiver down Philip’s spine, even as he noted the sincerity in the words. Another difference between Amory and his father. Arnau never seemed sincere.

  “And you, Master Amory,” he said before turning quickly to Arnau. He couldn’t get lost watching a beautiful man. “Master Arnau, I assume you have a good reason why the chandelier I ordered from you is now a week late.”

  Amory’s eyes widened, shock and annoyance swirling in their depths, as Arnau began to bluster. “Your Highness, the chandelier is a complex design and, as such, will take much delicate, time-consuming work to finish.”

  “A design you submitted to me, and that you assured me could be completed on the timetable you set.” Philip focused on Arnau as he spoke but kept watch on Amory out of the corner of his eye.

  “The men who work for me are artists who produce the finest glass in the world, Your Highness. A product of quality takes time.” Amory’s face was incredulous at his father’s words, but he immediately tried to hide it. Interesting.

  “I am aware of what a product of quality takes, Master Arnau. I am also aware of the quality of your workers. None of which tells me why you and your craftsmen were unable to meet a delivery date you set.” Philip held up a hand to forestall whatever excuses were going to come forth. “As you were aware when I gave you this commission, the chandelier is a gift for the king and queen of Amaranta on the birth of their first child. For the honor of Tournai and for our continued good relationship with a neighboring kingdom, the gift I commissioned from you, that I trusted you and your craftsman to complete on time, must be delivered to them before their child reaches adulthood.”

  Perhaps that last was a bit much. It had only been a week’s delay. Regardless, sending a gift late, and the delay would be more than a week by the time the chandelier was finished, would not make Tournai look good to its neighbors. They were a small principality, but their size only meant they needed to build stronger ties to their larger neighbors.

  “I do apologize, Your Highness.” Arnau’s voice was at its most ingratiating, his face an insincere mask of contrition. “We never intended to delay delivery of your gift. We are working to complete it with all due speed.”

  Philip allowed more of his annoyance to show. “If you had done that from the beginning, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, Master Arnau.”

  “Of course, Your Highness. One more week, and the chandelier will be completed to perfection. It will be the most impressive gift the king and queen of Amaranta receive. The envy of all others.” Arnau seemed to clue in to his impatience and cut short his words. The man’s face didn’t change, but a calculating gleam came to his eyes. “In the meantime, perhaps I can do something to apologize for the inconvenience we have caused you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t wait to hear what Arnau thought would appease him. A discount? If Philip hadn’t needed the highest-quality glasswork for the gift, he would never have done business with Arnau again.

  “As you see, I brought my son Amory with me today.” Amory turned a puzzled gaze on his father, who was almost… smug. “I thought you might like to spend an evening together, Your Highness. Get to know each other.”

  Complete silence fell. Arnau couldn’t be saying what it sounded like, could he?

  “I don’t understand, Master Arnau. What are you offering?”

  Oh, yes, his expression was definitely smug. “I only hoped you might like to get to know Amory better, Your Highness. You are both like-minded men, and Amory hasn’t known any others. I thought you might get along well, if you spent an evening, or a night, getting acquainted.”

  Was Arnau really…? Arnau’s expression wasn’t just smug, it was knowing, somehow, slimy. He was. Arnau was offering his son’s virginity, or at least a night with Amory in Philip’s bed, in exchange for his allowing them extra time to work on the commission. His stomach churned with a sick mixture of horror and disgust. How could a father do that to his child? For all intents selling his child for his own gain.

  One glance at Amory’s stricken expression told him Amory had no part in Arnau’s plan. The horror and embarrassment in those big eyes caused a fire to ignite inside Philip. He opened his mouth to yell, to give Arnau the scare of his life before sending him on his way. After canceling the order that brought them there and assuring Arnau the royal family would never come to him for glasswork again.

  But then he looked at Amory again. He didn’t know the man at all, but there was something about him… and he didn’t think it was only that Amory was beautiful. There was something there, something that told him maybe Amory could be a friend at least, if not a lover. He wanted to trust that feeling, ached to be right. But even if he imagined whatever potential he thought was there, no one deserved to be treated the way Arnau was treating Amory.

  He couldn’t yell and send them away. Couldn’t send Amory away with them.

  He turned the full force of his most regal stare on Arnau and waited. Waited. There. The first hints of uncertainty in that insufferable expression. Just because he found out somehow that Philip preferred to spend his time with men, and that presumably Amory did as well, didn’t mean his little plan should succeed.

  “I think whether Master Amory and I would like to further our acqua
intance is not solely a question for me, but for Master Amory as well,” he said after a pause he judged long enough.

  “He does, of course,” Arnau said. “He would be honored to further an acquaintance with you, Your Highness, and do anything you wish for him to do.”

  Philip fought to keep his voice even. “I would much rather hear that from Master Amory.”

  Arnau none-too-gently nudged his younger son, who remained frozen at his side. “Tell the prince, Amory. Now.”

  “No,” Philip interrupted. “I will speak with Master Amory alone.”

  Amory’s mouth dropped open, and Arnau flushed and turned back to Philip. “I must protest, Your Highness—”

  “Must you? I don’t think you’re in the position to protest anything, Master Arnau.” Philip was beyond tired of hearing the man talk, and even after making his decision, he was having a hard time keeping his temper in check. The meeting had turned out to be more infuriating than he’d anticipated. “Master Amory? Would you come with me, please?”

  Amory’s dark eyes found him as the young man’s mouth snapped shut. He nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Philip rose from the hideous, uncomfortable chair and gestured for Amory to follow while he turned to Cathal. “Stay here.”

  Cathal was doing a good job of holding back his own surprise and dismay, but Philip saw it. Still, Cathal nodded and seemed to settle more comfortably where he stood. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Arnau gripped Amory’s arm as he whispered furiously in Amory’s ear. Philip barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Master Amory?”

  Amory looked up at him and stepped away from his father, forcing his father to release him. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  He led Amory out into the corridor and then gestured for him to fall in beside him. For some reason, he wanted Amory next to him, not following behind. It would be a few minutes’ walk back to his suite. He wasn’t positive Amory would make it that far before he needed to sit—the poor man was white as a sheet—but hopefully Amory wasn’t as unsteady as he looked. Philip wanted privacy for their conversation, and his suite was the best place to find it.

  He glanced at the man walking beside him. Amory was slightly shorter than he was, so Philip was eye level with thick auburn hair. His fingers itched to find out if those curls were as soft as they looked. They would be, and then he would want to nuzzle into them, rub his cheek over them. Probably not a good way to set Amory at ease.

  Shaking off temptation, he forced himself to look forward, continuing to walk through the quiet back corridors. Finally, he ushered Amory into his small sitting room and closed the door behind them, hoping to forestall any interruptions. When he turned from the door, Amory stood in the middle of the room, looking lost and more than a little mortified.

  “Sit, please.” He tried to make his smile as warm and reassuring as he could, and took Amory’s arm in a gentle grasp to lead him to a chair. Amory’s eyes went wide and startled, but his gaze never left Philip’s as Amory lowered himself gracefully into the chair.

  Chapter 2

  AMORY’S LIFE had been in some sort of a spin since the afternoon before. He’d gone through his normal routine that morning, but nothing seemed normal. The university’s spring term classes ended that day, but he couldn’t go with his friends for a celebratory lunch because he needed to make sure he was home in time to change and leave for the palace with his father and brother. Tristan barely spoke to him all morning, so perhaps not going to lunch was for the best.

  He trudged home to find Adeline supervising one of the maids in pressing and laying out his clothes, something he hadn’t given much thought. Though she was puzzled at their father’s actions, Adeline was almost vibrating with excitement for him. At sixteen, she was fascinated by the idea of the nobility and the palace. Or perhaps by the idea of beautiful gowns and handsome noblemen. Either way, she admonished him numerous times to tell her everything when he returned.

  The green silk and velvet he wore was too heavy for the warm day, but he was glad of it when they arrived at the palace. Not for warmth, but for armor.

  Riding through the palace gates with his father and brother, he was swamped by a wave of nervous excitement, both for the trip to the palace and for a potential role in the family business. Even if he couldn’t quite understand how that would happen after yesterday’s revelation. Focusing on the palace itself was far less confusing.

  He grew up in the shadow of the palace. Tournai’s capital was not so large, and the district where his family lived not so far from the palace, that he could avoid seeing it every day. The palace was built at Jumelle’s highest elevation and separated from the city by a thick, high wall, but the main gates opened onto the city’s largest square. Many of the city’s major celebrations were centered there, swirling around an elaborate fountain. The square was as close to the palace as he’d been.

  They dismounted in a large courtyard paved in an intricate pattern of red and gray stone, and he had a moment to look up at the building itself while his father spoke to the servant who met them. Seeing it from a distance didn’t do its grandeur justice. The stone was so white it sparkled in the bright afternoon sun, almost blinding him. He got the impression of towers reaching upward toward the sky and large, arched windows set with stained glass. Some of that glass had probably been made by his own ancestors.

  The servant led them up wide steps, through a thick door crowned with the royal family’s coat of arms with its rearing cat, a reference to the legends of large, magical cats that came to Tournai’s defense in battle hundreds of years ago, and inside to an entrance hall floored in red, ivory, and gray marble. The quick pace the servant set kept him from dawdling to gawk at everything they passed. His father strode behind the servant with his chin up, not looking around him, as if he belonged in the halls of the palace. Alban emulated their father perfectly.

  Amory didn’t think he could feign that sense of entitlement if he tried, so he concentrated on not staring at the people and the rich interior of the building while committing it to memory. Adeline wanted a report, and he wanted to see as much of the art and architecture of the palace as he could.

  The servant led them to a receiving room and left them there to wait for the prince. Amory glanced around. Everything that could be decorated in the small room seemed to be, most of it in heavy red silk and velvet, and gold. His father and brother approved quite vocally of the choice of room, admiring the decor as they settled in to wait. They went to the refreshments on the sideboard, pouring glasses of wine and sampling what looked to be savory tarts of some kind.

  Amory didn’t join them. While the food and drink were most likely meant for them, no one had invited them to eat, and he felt wrong presuming. Instead, he stood there, in the too-fancy room, listening to his father and brother comment about the food and complain about the wait, as if their time was more valuable than a prince’s.

  His father and Alban put down their glasses quickly enough when the prince entered the room several moments later. As Amory took up a position slightly behind and to the side of his father, as he bowed, all of his focus was on the prince.

  He had only ever seen Crown Prince Philip Alexander Stefan Mael at a distance. The representations of him, the drawings, his face on the coins, didn’t come close to showing how handsome the prince was. Tall, broad shouldered, and narrow hipped, the prince was well built, his physique obvious in his well-tailored clothes. His dark hair was perhaps slightly too long for fashion, but somehow that endeared him to Amory. The prince was only a couple of years older than Amory, but he looked more mature than that, probably owing to his ascension to the throne at such a young age. Amory let his gaze roam over the prince’s form while the man’s attention was on his father and Alban.

  Then, with a shock that took his breath, he found his gaze caught by the prince’s. Embarrassment at being caught staring spread heat over his face, but he couldn’t look away. Those eyes drew him in, staring into his as if the
y were trying to discern everything about him. Outlined in a thick fringe of lashes, the mix of green, amber, and gold all swirled together reminded him of cat’s eyes. He supposed he was romanticizing plain hazel. Still, they captivated him, and it was a blow when the prince finally looked away.

  Amory worked on gathering his scattered thoughts and controlling his wayward, sudden attraction to the prince of all people while the prince spoke with his father. He wasn’t having much success, only barely managing a polite response to his introduction to the prince, until he heard the reason for their visit.

  The chandelier was late. He didn’t understand how it could happen. However much his father posed and postured, his business was well-run. Commissions were never late, especially important ones. And a commission from the prince for a gift to the reigning monarch of a neighboring kingdom was important. He couldn’t fathom why his father would think he could get away with insulting the prince of Tournai so blatantly.

  Saying the chandelier showcased the best of Tournai’s glasswork tradition was not a lie. It had been designed for just such a purpose. The craftsmanship would be impeccable—once the chandelier was crafted. And the design itself was both traditional and innovative. Its sinuous curves were elegant and refined, yet intricate as well. The bold blue shades of the glass did nothing to take away from that elegance, while making the piece more special. He loved it, and not only because the bulk of the design was his. He was proud of it, even if no one else would ever know. It would be given as an important gift, and people would appreciate its beauty.

  But his father had ruined everything. Any idiot could see the prince—ridiculously handsome though he was—was furious.

  Amory frantically tried to think of anything they could do to appease the prince, even though he could promise nothing were he to think of something. His father gave him no authority in the business. His father and Alban would have to find a solution.