The Third Son (5 page)

“You and your brother must learn bear each other,” Adare continued. “He is hard and unyielding and even a bit arrogant
b
ut he is also under a tremendous strain. The situation that awaits him in Barony is turbulent to say the least. He is taking up the crown sooner than expected and though he is capable and ready he will need good men by his side. He will need you.”

Damien nodded. He knew that Lionus would never see him as anything more than a libertine, a lazy, spoiled prince
b
ut for his father, he would try. “I will try my best, father.”

Adare nodded and smiled weakly. “That is all that I ask. Now leave me
. Y
ou tire an old man and I must be rested to attend your birthday celebration tomorrow evening.”

Damien’s eyes widened, he had nearly forgotten the elaborate birthday celebration planned for he and Serge’s twenty-fifth birthday. The party would be the start of the entertainments marking Lionus’ wedding. Damien reminded himself to find a gift for his twin brother. He rose and kissed his father’s sunken-in cheek.

“I will come and visit with you later if you’re up to it,” he said, pulling the heavy blankets up over his father’s chest. He turned in the doorway to stare at his father’s peaceful face one more time before leaving.

Damien
never knew what precious moment shared with his father would be his last. 

****

Damien preferred to saddle his own horse. The grooms and stable boys knew this and mainly left Persephone, his massive black mare, alone. She snorted and tossed her inky mane as Damien approached, reaching out to stroke Persephone’s glossy coat. His brothers would be appalled, he thought with a grin, if they were to discover him dirtying his hands. 

He also preferred to dress himself, causing his valet to complain endlessly that Damien wasn’t allowing him to do his job. Damien always relented and let the man shave him and tie his cravats, but drew the line by pulling on his own boots and trousers. He was a grown man, damn it all, pampered prince or not. He swung himself onto Persephone’s back, crooning to her softly as he led her away from the stables.

“I’ve been too long in coming to you, my love,” he whispered sweetly to his beloved horse. Persephone had grown up with him, a gift from his father when he was younger. He patted her neck affectionately. “How about a nice long run?”  

Persephone whinnied as if in response to his softly murmured words as he gently spurred her on. Soon he was galloping across the neatly manicured lawns and rolling hills surrounding Largess Hall. The palace grew smaller and smaller behind him as he streaked across the countryside, toward his favorite spot.

They made quite an impressive sight to anyone who happened to spot them, horse and rider both shrouded in black, Persephone’s hooves kicking up clumps of grass and dirt, her massive legs carrying them swiftly across the countryside. Damien’s coat flew out behind him like a banner, his blonde curls tousled gently by the wind.

He pulled up on the mare’s reigns as he neared a small, secluded pond hidden by a copse of trees. Damien dismounted, trusting Persephone not to wander off too far. The small little grove had seemed so much bigger when he’d been a boy, he mused. He, Lionus, and Serge had run through these trees with their carved wooden swords, battling invisible enemies to save the princess and earn themselves a fortune in gold from the grateful king. He walked up to the massive oak they had dubbed “king” of Largess Forest. The twisted, gnarled wood almost appeared to have the face of an old, dignified man.

“Your Highness,” he greeted the large tree as he always did when he came to this private spot. No one came here but him anymore. Grateful for the solitude, he stripped down to nothing and plunged into the cold, crystal clear water.
Damien
lay on his back and floated languorously toward the center. He missed the days of his childhood, before he and his brothers had come to understand the differences that would separate them in the coming years.

They had been equals
,
at least Damien had thought they were equals.
T
hen Lionus had turned thirteen and everything changed. Apart from the lessons learned as part of his regular schooling with his brothers, Lionus began to have separate sessions that would last for long hours after Damien and Serge had been dismissed.

Damien remembered clearly the day he had finally realized the biggest difference between himself and his oldest brother. He’d been ten years old, Lionus fourteen. He had come upon his mother outside the schoolroom, observing Lionus at work, pride glowing in her cerulean eyes. He tugged on her skirts and turned his eyes up hopefully, daring to wish for the same expression from the queen’s eyes when she looked upon him.
Instead,
he received a flicker of annoyance directed at him, before she searched the hall behind him for his missing nanny.

“Mama, how long must Lionus stay inside and study? He has promised to take me and Serge out to the pond to sail our toy boats.”

Queen Alexandra removed the child’s hands from her highly fashionable skirts and gently pushed him away. “Your brother is much too busy for such foolishness,” she said imperiously, raising her chin slightly. “He is preparing for the day when he will be king and must concentrate hard on all he needs to learn. I would not expect you to understand, you are only the third son after all.”

Damien had suddenly understood his mother’s indifference toward her younger twin sons. Her affections were enough only for the son she favored, the son who would one day be crowned king.

Damien and Serge had remained close over the years, despite the differences in their characters. But the space between them and the heir to the throne had grown considerably year after year. Damien had watched Lionus grow into the man he was today: hard and unyielding. Damien left the water, finding a sunny spot in the grass to lay and dry himself. He clenched his hands beneath his head and turned his face up toward the cloudy sky. 

He was glad to be the youngest, he told himself. Glad he didn’t have the weight of the kingdom’s responsibility weighing on his shoulders. He could do anything he wanted with his life, though his usual drinking and carousing was beginning to bore him.
Damien
had always held an interest in astronomy and botany
. P
erhaps he would spend more time in his greenhouse or in the observatory.
H
e would even consider marriage after all, though he knew such a decision could be postponed. At least he had the freedom to consider such options, he mused. He imaged what it would be like, having his entire life planned out for him like his brother. Damien shuddered at the thought.

Chapter 3

The back hallway leading to the elegant ballroom at Largess Hall was hot and stuffy. Esmeralda Brandon fanned at herself ineffectually in the stifling warmth. She lifted masses of black, wavy hair from the back of her neck, trying to seek relief. The small crowd gathered in the narrow corridor only added to her discomfort. She peeked through the slightly parted double doors, watching the opulently dressed harpist seated in the middle of the ballroom. 

She and her group of Gypsy dancers had been waiting for their turn to perform for hours, as the King greatly favored the Gypsies and always preferred them to perform last. There were nine of them in all, including six dancers and three musicians. Her younger brother, Desmond, strummed quietly on his guitar. Esmeralda smiled
. T
his would be her brother’s first performance at the royal palace.

“Oh, Esmeralda,” squealed her cousin Tatiana
,
from behind her. “Your mother is amazing! I can’t believe what she’s done to this costume. No one would even guess that it was one of her old ones.”

Esmeralda eyed the glittering, crimson confection had
been
altered for her slender cousin. Her mother had made an old dancing costume of her own into an almost new creation for Tatiana. She nodded her approval. 

“It looks amazing. You all look wonderful.”

Morgana, another one of Esmeralda’s cousins came and stood between the two, linking her arms through each of theirs. “It is a good thing you’re dancing last Esmeralda,” she commented, peering out into the ballroom. “I wouldn’t want to have to follow your performance. You might even be a better dancer than
Aunt Raina
.”

“No one is a better dancer than my mother,” Esmeralda objected.

Raina Brandon
had been widely known, a favorite of King Adare
,
b
ut the fiery Gypsy woman had not danced for over a year. She had not danced since the death of her husband, Esmeralda’s father.

She shook herself from the saddening path of her thoughts. They had a show to put on, and she was unusually nervous. Applause resounded, marking the end of the harpists’ performance. Her dance partner, Tristan came up beside her and took her arm gently.

“You are looking most beautiful tonight, Esmeralda,” he murmured, his breath brushing at the delicate skin behind her ear. 

The whispered words were meant to enflame her, but when Esmeralda turned, she saw only the face of her childhood friend. Tristan had been most vocal about his affections for her and Esmeralda deeply regretted that she did not feel the same. Everyone they knew expected that they would one day marry, but Esmeralda could not see herself in Tristan’s arms, enfolded in a passionate embrace. She had often seen her parents this way and longed for such a companion in life for herself.

“Thank you,” she managed, tactfully pulling away from his touch. “Tell everyone to get ready, it’s our turn.”

Damien rested his chin on his gloved hand, staring around the crowded ballroom from his place at the head table.
Queen Alexandra
had planned quite an affair, complete with several entertainment acts throughout the evening. There had been acrobats, singers, musicians and even a troupe of actors. Damien had long grown bored with the lavish affair, knowing that the majority of guests had come only to see and be seen. He spotted Davina, seated with her usual group of acquaintances. She smiled warmly at him, leaning forward to give him a better view of her cleavage. Damien’s eyes lingered on the breasts barely contained by deep purple silk.

Finally, the last act of the evening was announced and Damien’s attention was drawn back to the center of the room. The Gypsy performance was the highlight of the evening for him and he knew it to be true for Serge and Adare as well. Queen Alexandra found them vulgar and naturally
,
Lionus shared the sentiment.

Three musicians entered first, standing just left of center. A guitarist, flautist and drummer struck a lively and primitive-sounding tune as the first pair of dancers took the floor. They were dressed in elaborate costumes in matching shades of royal blue. Their dance told the story of two cursed lovers, clinging to each other as the man turned the woman swiftly around the floor, her split skirts twirling about around her bare legs.

Damien found himself drawn into the tale they weaved as they danced
.
, their pace quickening maddeningly until they fell to the floor and in a puff of fragrant white smoke, they were gone. Another pair of dancers were in their place when the smoke cleared. Applause echoed from the high ceilings of the ballroom as the second pair of dancers, clothed in deep crimson, glided through the thinning smoke.

Their dance was even more sensual than the first, telling the story of a man and woman who seemed to love as well as hate one another. Over and over they circled each other, eyes locked, coming together and separating
once more
. Another puff of smoke took those dancers from the floor and in their place rose a solitary man. Dressed completely in black, a flat, wide-brimmed hat lowered mysteriously over his eyes, he seemed to glide through the smoke to the center of the floor.

The music ceased and the dancer created his own pounding rhythm by clapping his hands and stamping his feet. He turned in slow circle, pounding out his own
cadence
as the guitarist joined him. A series of small turns was followed by another puff of smoke, from which a siren dressed in white surfaced. Damien was enthralled from the moment the woman appeared His eyes took her in as she turned in wide
loops
about her partner.

Her skin was like deep bronze, gleaming in the candlelit room; deep black hair fell like a curtain down her back. Her lithe dancer’s body was controlled, stretches of taught muscle moving beneath supple skin.
A
white ruffled blouse revealed much of her stomach, and her long white skirt was slit up both sides to reveal long, graceful legs. Damien’s eye was drawn to the glittering gold jewelry that winked around her wrists and ankles. His eyes followed the delicate gold chain about her waist as she undulated sensually before them. Her face was veiled from the bridge of her nose down, but as she turned
,
he was surprised and pleased by almond-shaped eyes the color of warm honey.

Her partner pursued her around the floor, seeming to yearn for her with the movements of his body, yet she remained always out of his reach. She teased and taunted him with her dance until he could take no more and lunged for her, holding her at her waist and lifting one shapely leg at the knee in his hand. Damien’s stomach clenched as he pictured his own hand grasping that supple thigh. The male dancer dipped her backwards and leaned in as if to take her lips with his, when a final puff of smoke billowed up from the floor and they disappeared
from sight
.