The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (10 page)

Sweat trickled down his brow. It was no wonder that his mouth was dry. He reached for the cup of water but was unable to pick it up, although his arms searched everywhere for it. Suddenly the chatter grew louder and more frantic, but still no water.

Where had he been housed? Why was he situated so close to the dining room? He could even hear the clash of dishes and the distant sounds of chatter. No doubt he was adjacent to the doctor’s quarters. Somehow he managed to will his eyes open, which immediately met checkered tiles on the floor. It made him feel dizzy as they danced about him. Blue silks swayed back and forth between large fluted columns, as if to mock him.

Through slitted eyes he saw the inhabitants of his room and their distress. Their remorse was not personal—how could it be? Only one person alive knew him personally, and he had long ago been removed from his life.

And yet Alejandro was grieved that those who surrounded him would suffer because of his inability to conquer this malady. It was inexcusable.

He was so tired
. It was near
. Not much longer and he would finally be free.

And then he heard it
. Music so enchanting, so exquisite, so deliriously beautiful that he knew he was at heaven’s gate. There could be nothing so rapturous on this earth.

His heart filled with pleasure, recalling a long-lost feeling. He had to hear more. He opened his eyes and looked around. Still the music continued, and a smile formed on his cracking lips. He heard the rustle of silk and excited, foreign mumblings.

The strangers smiled back and hurriedly lifted his head. Finally the water drifted between his lips. He swallowed, fighting the urge to cough. He opened his mouth to speak, attempting to thank the hand that assisted him, but no sound came forth.

As surprisingly as it began, the music stopped and was replaced by abrasive shouts and roars, presenting a sudden jolt to his system. Momentarily he ignored his calamity to question the raucous noise level in the dining room of the sultan.

All that concerns me is the cessation of the music.
Why did he ponder such things in his state?

Reality set in. In an instant the colors dulled before his eyes, turning everything to gray.

There would be no more music.

It was time to get back to work
.

Chapter Eight

If you wait for it no more, it is there!

All around you, quickly, quickly

It comes, it goes, then it comes back

—
Georges Bizet,
Carmen

The wheels of the French Brougham carriage made a noticeable clunking sound as it traversed over the cobblestone streets, offset by the rhythmic
clippity-clop
of four strong palominos the color and sheen of fourteen-karat gold. The cream-colored carriage might be old-fashioned, but it sported all the landmarks of elegance. Beveled glass, blue damask interior, a glazed front window that allowed the illustrious occupants seated in the enclosed carriage to see forward, top hat storage, and a speaking tube to the driver. The groom sat high on the platform while the passengers sat low inside the carriage, as befitted aristocracy.

With the disappearance of the sun, the lights were strangely brighter, and the city took on a persona of gaiety to surpass even the daylight hours, a not inconsiderable feat. They passed the Cathedral of Notre Dame, magnificent with an enormous stained-glass rosette above its entryway, then through the Arc de Triomphe to see the Eiffel Tower lit by the night sky.

“When do these gadflies sleep?” the twenty-seven-year-old crown prince of Spain asked, acutely aware of his surroundings, his eyes fixed on the scene through the carriage window.

“Indeed, the city of Paris is afire,” his companion remarked distractedly, as if he would have agreed with the prince had he been in a coma, as royalty demanded. Smoothing his tuxedo tails to prevent them from wrinkling, he lifted his opera glasses and proceeded to study the prince.

“They live for nothing but pleasure and preening in this godless city,” Prince Alejandro pronounced while shaking his head disapprovingly and stretching out his long legs before him, his black silk socks in contrast to his companion’s chartreuse silk socks, which suddenly came under his notice. He frowned at the color.

“True. It might do you some good were you to join them, Your Highness,” murmured his companion, smiling hesitantly, as if he were not confident of the prince’s response. Was he serious or making an ill-fated attempt at humor?

“I already attend confession twice a week. I wish to reduce my vices, not increase them.” His eyes rested on the fashionable people strolling along the Left Bank in the moonlight as if it were two o’clock in the afternoon. He felt a strange longing to be one of them, without a care in the world. While at the same time he thought they looked ridiculous.

“Vice and pleasure are not necessarily the same thing.”

“Paris is a necessary evil, far too liberal for my taste. Intellectualism and culture permeate daily life. The city has a multinational representation—one can, and
will
, hear any language one wishes to hear. And several one doesn’t.”

“Indeed. It is impossible to remain provincial in Paris. She embodies the fashion of the day in every arena—clothing, food, art, even
thought
. That which is fashionable here will not be seen for years in other cities.”

“Something to be thankful for,” Alejandro muttered.

“You don’t feel some amazement, Your Highness, that all this can be found in a single city when it is absent from every other city on the globe?” his companion asked distractedly, straightening the watch chain suspended from his white satin vest while momentarily admiring the charms dangling from the chain.

“I do not.”

“I am grieved.”

Alejandro tapped his gloved fingers on his muscular thigh in disapproval of his escort’s extravagant attire. He, too, was wearing formal dress, but he avoided jewelry outside of pearl cufflinks, the necessary gold pins, and a sapphire ring belonging to Ferdinand VI, which he wore in homage to his ancestors. When the occasion called for it, he wore his royal heirlooms and medals. His naval career had proven his bravery and resulted in one medal after another until his father pulled him from the service, calling his behavior “reckless.”

Thankfully, this evening was not an affair of state requiring that he flaunt his awards—he never liked distinguishing himself from others with his accoutrement, fidgeting far less with his attire than did his companion. He utilized an exquisite tailor, his dress formed to his athletic build perfectly, and, beyond that, he didn’t dwell upon it.

“One has to be seen in Paris, that is all there is to it,” he responded absently. It increased his popularity both at home and abroad to be seen, and it was necessary to increase his popularity—nothing that he cared for himself, but he had always to think of his future reign and the stability of his country.

“Your misfortunes are great, Your Highness.” His companion nodded sympathetically.

“I prefer vacationing in Rome. Rome is at least Catholic.” Alejandro tapped the window with his ebony cane. “Catholicism is the religion of the people.”

“Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but France is a Catholic nation.”

“One would never know it from Paris. Rome honors its traditions. Paris has no traditions. Yesterday is yesterday’s news.”

“Most astute, as usual. Paris is all about progress.”

“
Progress
. Do you recall the World Exhibition in 1900, my friend?” Alejandro cleared his throat. “The greatest collection of frivolity the world has ever seen.”

“Your Highness, I regret to inform you that you are, let us be clear on the point,
arrogant
,” his companion pronounced matter-of-factly.

Alejandro redirected his attention to stare at the speaker with a haughty disdain that would have made another fear for his future, but the elegant gentleman, nonplussed, returned the prince’s stare with resolve. His short, pointed beard, thin moustache, and strong, angular features added emphasis to his stare.

Suddenly the prince broke into laughter, catching Señor Esteban Xalvador off guard, who joined in his laughter, unable to resist. As Esteban shook with laughter, so did the wild, disheveled curls that danced down his neck.

The picture of health, Señor Esteban Xalvador looked much younger than his thirty-nine years.

Alejandro forced himself to wink at Esteban. He did not feel the amusement he knew he had conveyed, but he loved his friend, and he sensed his anxiety.

“And yet, I find your conceit endearing, Alejandro. You are so charming in your disdain, so debonair, and so witty, that one cannot help but be drawn in.” Esteban made a show of studying the prince. “In addition, you have good reason to be arrogant. You have a poet’s heart, a warrior’s physique, and you are destined to become the king of Spain.”

“God willing, and with your help, Esteban.” Upon reaching his majority, Alejandro had employed Esteban Xalvador as his personal fencing master and bodyguard, but many knew him to function more as a confidant and close advisor, to the extreme jealousy and distrust of members across all of Spain’s political parties.

“I cannot help you where you most need it,” Esteban stated softly.

“And where might that be?”

“I cannot give your spirit an openness to life,” Esteban murmured.

“No doubt you would want me to think less of myself and more of the scintillating toad-eaters with whom I must surround myself,” Alejandro added with the misleading smile he had utilized on many occasions to woo sworn enemies on the opposite of the political spectrum. He had, by necessity, been acutely aware of complex political undertones for most of his twenty-seven years.

“No, I would not, Alejandro! And do not waste your charm on me!” he pleaded. “It is
me
, Alejandro, your friend.”

“Who else might you be, Esteban?”

“And who are
you
, Alejandro? You do not allow others into your heart or your mind. I come the closest, and even I cannot penetrate the structured fortress.”

“That is quite the oddest thing you’ve ever said, my good Señor Esteban!” He laughed with a hint of bitterness. “No one is less complicated than myself. Discretion is necessary, but there is no complexity underneath the role.”

“I blame myself.” Esteban sighed, shaking his head. “I was not the father to you I should have been when it would have made the most difference. I always loved you as a father, but to treat you as such would have meant an immediate dismissal rather than the seven years it took.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Esteban! You sacrificed everything for me. You were far better to me than my own parents.” Alejandro cleared his throat. Why could he not make Esteban understand how much he owed him so that they could move on to more important matters?

“My greatest wish is that you would find pleasure in the life you have been given, Alejandro. With less thought to both yourself and to others.”

“To myself, certainly. But not to others.”

“Less
thought
. Not less feeling.” Señor Esteban sighed. “The heir to the throne of Spain counts each day as drudgery, as if it were something to be endured instead of embraced, savored…
lived
. Your life should be a source of rapture. You, who have everything anyone could want, feel life to be a burden.”

“It is a burden. A great burden. If you have not noticed that truth, you have not had your eyes open, Esteban.”

“You have a job to do, but that does not mean you cannot enjoy yourself along the way, Alejandro.”