The Second Son

Elise Marion

The Second Son

Elise Marion

Copyright 2012 by Elise Marion

Edited by Christine Kirchoff

Cover Art by Mumson Designs

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or people, living or dead, is coincidental.

Dedicated to:

Kate and the Blanch girls, for being the strongest women I know.

This one is for you.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Historical Notes

About The Author

More by Elise Marion

Coming Soon

Prologue

Cardenas, 1856

The sound of highly polished boots against gleaming marble floors echoed down the seemingly endless corridor. Its cadence held a sense of urgency, impatience even and all who heard were wise enough to stand aside though they did not forget to bow or curtsy to the man moving swiftly past them. His strides were long and purposeful and his face was devoid of all outward emotion. Those who knew him best would know by looking that nervous fingers had been raked several times through his light blonde curls.

His full mouth was pressed into a grim line and his jade eyes were focused steadily ahead. He increased his speed once rounding a corner, almost to his destination. The footman that had come running into his study had brought exciting news. The news was so phenomenal, in fact, that if anyone else were privy to what was going on behind the closed door of his brother’s chambers, they would wonder why he was not leaping for joy.

It was what he had been hoping for, praying for, waiting for. Perhaps this was why he had refused to get his hopes up. The news seemed too good to be true and he wasn’t sure he would even believe it until he saw for himself. He neared the tall oak door leading to his brother’s rooms and paused. He was not sure what to expect. The footman’s message had been hurried and panted out between short breaths since the man had run across the entire length of the palace to find him.

During his short reign as king, Damien Largess had learned a lot, and one of those things was that he could not govern everything. This was a daunting thought, especially for one who could command an entire army or a fleet of ships with a single word. He had authority over much but he found that he had never been able to control the things that really mattered.

He had waited for this day for so long, and now that it was here, he was unsure how to proceed. Would his brother have his memory? Would he be angry at Damien for having to take the throne in his stead? Would he be anything like his former self, or a merely a shadow of what he once had been? There really was only one way to find out.

He lifted his hand to the knob and turned, pushing the door in slowly. He poked his head through the doorway and peered into the room.

On the bed was his brother, sitting upright with his eyes open for the first time since he’d slipped into a coma one year ago. He had lost a considerable amount of weight, and his hair had grown past his shoulders, but he was otherwise unchanged. Damien’s heart swelled and tears sprung to his eyes. Every emotion he had ever known welled up within his chest and threatened to spill forth in a chorus of prayers and cries of thanks to God.

The sound of soft sobs, a woman’s cry, alerted him to the presence of another in the room. Damien had been so immersed in studying the face of his long-lost brother and thanking the heavens, he had not even noticed that his sister-in-law was seated on the bed with Serge, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Isabelle was crying, he knew, even though he couldn’t see her face. Her shoulders shook gently with her sobs and she held on to Serge as if she did not want to let go.

Damien knew the feeling. The two of them were the only people left in the entire palace that had held on to hope. Neither of them could let themselves believe that he would not awaken someday and now he finally had.

“Serge,” he said gently, stepping quietly into the room and closing the door behind him. He did not want anyone else intruding upon this moment. Both Isabelle and Serge glanced up at the sound of his voice and smiled. Isabelle stood from the bed, her hands clasped together as if in prayer.

“He came to a few minutes ago,” she said with a sniffle, wiping at her pale blue eyes with the back of her hand. “One moment he was just laying there and the next he was sitting up in bed, looking at me.”

She grabbed Damien’s arm and propelled him toward the canopied bed, since his legs seemed to have stopped functioning on their own. “He doesn’t know how long it’s been,” she whispered before they got to the foot of the bed. Damien’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach and he repressed the urge to sigh aloud.

Serge had not yet looked in a mirror, but when he did, he was sure to understand just how long he had lain unconscious in his bed. He frowned. “I’m glad to see you Damien,” he said. “But Isabelle told the footman to go and fetch Lionus. Where is he?”

Damien turned a questioning glance at Isabelle who shrugged helplessly. “I told him to go and find His Highness immediately,” she said, and Damien understood. Serge did not yet know that Damien was now His Highness. He cleared his throat.

“There is something you should know,” he said, taking another step toward the bed. “Much has occurred that you should be made aware of.”

Serge grinned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to stand. Damien rushed to his side immediately, knowing that an entire year in bed could not have been kind to his brother’s leg muscles.

“You mustn’t try to do too much at once,” he admonished when Serge stood and fell against him. “You’ve been extremely ill and will no doubt be a bit weak for a while.”

Serge’s smile faded and he looked first at Damien and then at Isabelle, who suddenly found she could not look him directly in the eye. “Ill?” he asked, furrowing his brow in concentration, obviously trying to remember. “How long?” he asked. “A few weeks?”

Damien sighed. There was no use in holding back he supposed. He had much to say, a lot of which he was sure Serge would not be happy to hear. He knew it was better that he hear it all at once. Much like pulling a tooth, Damien would have to do it swiftly, though it would be extremely painful. The sooner it was over, the sooner Serge could begin to really heal. He took a deep breath.

.

Chapter 1

Lionus was dead. It was a fact that Serge rebelled against in his mind every moment since he’d heard the news. It just could not be true, he told himself, convinced that he was right despite the startling evidence to the contrary. When he’d been strong enough to leave his sickbed and finally dress himself and leave his chambers, Serge had left the palace with only one destination in mind.

He now stood in the royal family’s private cemetery, where generations of kings, queens, princes and princesses had been buried. Green hills dotted with lush trees surrounded the gated burial ground and the coolness of fall surrounded him in a swirl of red and brown leaves. He could hardly fathom the change. Before he’d slipped into darkness, Cardenas had been cloaked in winter.

The pain in his heart when he found his brother’s year-old tombstone, placed neatly beside his father’s, had been unreal. He knelt before the smooth stone and reached out with his hand to touch it. Despite the warmth of the afternoon sun beaming down overhead, the stone was ice cold.

Serge sighed and closed his eyes, willing himself to remember the past year. As always, he could remember nothing other than snatches of conversation that seemed more like dream than reality. He grunted in frustration and pounded his fist against the tightly packed earth beneath him. He had awakened from a year-long coma to find that there was an entire year of his life that stood somewhere in shadow within his mind, and try as he might he could recall none of it.

He turned back toward Largess Hall, looming high and proud against the clear, bright sky. Leaves crunched beneath his feet and beyond his home he could see the snow-capped mountains bordering Cardenas. Soon, the snow atop those mountains would also blanket the hills surrounding the palace and the air would go from crisp coolness to bitter cold. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and walked slowly, knowing that if he moved too quickly, he was bound to get dizzy. He may even pass out again, left lying on the grass for hours until he either awakened or was found. The prospect was not encouraging.

As he neared Largess Hall he allowed his thoughts to turn toward the changes that had occurred in the long year he had been absent from his body. Many things were the same, yet everything had changed. After his father had been poisoned by his treacherous nephew, whom no one had known was really his illegitimate son, Serge had thought that no pain could compare to the emptiness he had felt then. Adare Largess had been a great man, as well as a great king, with more love in his heart for his sons than any man could have wished for.

He could remember vividly the night they had been attacked on the road leaving the city.

While Serge, Lionus, the queen mother, and Lionus’ new bride, Isabelle, had traveled down the road toward one of Lionus’ country estates, Nicolai and his hired band of cutthroats had waited for them, their purpose sure, their intent deadly. Serge remembered that night with a bitter taste in his mouth. He and his brother had fought together, each terrified for the women that they protected, neither willing to just stand aside and allow them to be killed. He remembered with an aching flash the moment when Lionus had been felled by their half-brother’s sword. He remembered being held down by two men, stunned by a blow to the back of his head, forced to watch as his brother was run through.

He could remember the white hot fury that had struck him like lightning, and his shock and dismay upon discovering the identity of the man who had killed his father and wounded his brother. He had fought madly, with every ounce of his strength until he was bound, hand and foot and lashed to the back of a carriage. After that there had been only darkness. He could faintly recall flashes of pain so unbearable that his mind has instantly retreated back into unconsciousness. In fact, he could remember reaching for wakefulness several times, only to be snatched back into darkness when the agony of his injuries overtook him.

He continued to carry the scars that that night had left upon him. His left leg, which he was told had been broken in several places pained him still, and caused him to limp slightly. Serge had refused to accept the cane that the doctors tried to force upon him and felt that his leg had actually grown stronger once forced to bear his full weight. Only one scar was visible when he was fully dressed. It haunted him when he glanced in a mirror, or even now, when he held his fingers up to his face to trace the jagged line marring his otherwise unspoiled countenance. It ran almost the entire length of his face on the right side, slashing from just beneath his eye, diagonally to his jaw.

Every time he looked into a mirror, he felt as if he were looking at a stranger. It wasn’t just because of the scar, which had not done much to alter his appearance, nor was it because of his hair which hung loose and untamed down to his shoulders when he had once kept it cropped short and neat. Something else was there; he could see it in the depths of his eyes. There was a pain, a deeply rooted agony that he could not seem to cover up no matter how hard he tried. Even when he smiled, he knew that it never quite reached his eyes.

Serge nodded to the footman who held open the double doors leading into the main hall. He appreciated the familiarity of the space with its marble floors, high domed ceiling and towering arrangements of fresh flowers upon polished mahogany tables. He was relieved to find it quiet, save for the servants bustling about, tending to their various tasks. He knew they were all observing him from under lowered eyelids as they stopped what they were doing to bow or curtsy as he walked past. At least they weren’t dropping things or stopping dead in their tracks to stare at him as if he were a ghost. It had taken more than a week for them to become accustomed to seeing him roaming the halls again.

He headed toward the smaller dining room reserved for intimate family meals. A table just large enough to seat ten was set with an white table cloth and canary yellow lace overlay, which matched the flowing drapes. The windows were thrown open to the pleasant fall air, filling the room with the fresh scent of the outdoors. He was relieved to find it almost deserted though luncheon was being spread out on the sideboard. He took a seat across from his sister-in-law, Damien’s wife, Esmeralda.

“Good afternoon,” he said with a nod as he lowered himself into a chair.

“Hello,” she answered with a striking smile. Serge could not help but smile back. Esmeralda had an inner beauty that rivaled her outer beauty and always seemed to show through her smile. He must think of her as queen now, he reminded himself. It was hard to think of her that way. When he’d first lain eyes on her she had been dressed in Gypsy garb and dancing for the finely dressed members of the court. It was easy to see why Damien had been so entranced by her that night and Serge had been more than pleased when he’d learned of Damien’s plans to marry the girl.

They were married and had one daughter, who Serge had fallen in love with the moment he’d laid eyes on her. The child was beautiful and sweet, and she was the only person in the entire castle that did not know how much he had changed. Esmeralda’s true identity as a Gypsy dancer was a closely guarded secret, one that Serge was pleased to find had not been revealed. No one had ever guessed she would become queen, but then no one could have imagined that Damien, the third of Adare’s sons, would have become king. They seemed happy enough, he thought as they moved to the sideboard together once the footmen were done setting it with steaming dishes. No one would guess that either of them had not been born for the roles of king and queen, for they fulfilled their duties admirably.

Once they were seated again Serge attacked his food with vigor, hoping that he would soon regain the weight he had lost over the past year. His own clothes hung loosely from a frame that had once been broad and powerful. He had taken to wearing Lionus’ clothes as his brother had been much thinner than him..

“Damien has been looking for you,” she said after a few moments of silence. He looked up to find her observing him carefully.

“I went for a walk,” he said simply.

“Yes, I’m sure you needed to get away from all the whispering and staring.”

. “They act as if I’ve risen from the dead.”

“It is as if you’ve risen from the dead, Serge. No one expected you to live.” She smirked. “You sure showed them.”

Serge returned her smile. “You know, I suppose you are right. Where is Damien, by the way? I hadn’t intended to avoid him.”

She stared into the murky depths of her teacup and sighed heavily with obvious relief. “I am glad you feel that way, because he thinks that you are angry with him.” She tore her gaze away from the painted china cup in her hand, her eyes filled with worry. “He fears that you resent him for taking the throne. Even now he is petitioning the High Council, hoping to right the wrong he feels he has done to you.”

“I am not angry,” Serge said honestly. “I know that Damien did what he had to and that there was nothing underhanded about it. Hell, Damien is the last person who would ever have had aspirations toward the throne.”

“You know him well,” she said. “It has been quite an adjustment for him, for both of us really, but he has adapted well. He is a great king.”

Serge finished his plate and rose for seconds. He waved a footman over to refill his cup. “From what I have seen and heard, you are a great queen,” he remarked around a mouthful of smoked ham. Damn but he had missed the taste of food!

Esmeralda shrugged. “I have done my best. Damien and Isabelle have been very helpful in guiding me.”

“It is uplifting to see that becoming a queen has not changed you,” Serge replied. “You seem more refined, but you remain refreshingly kind and without the wiles that seem ingrained in many gently bred ladies.”

“Having my family here has helped to remind me of who I am and where I come from,” she said, allowing the footman to come and take her empty plate. She accepted a second cup of tea and relaxed in her cushioned chair. “I daresay it has been an adjustment for us all. We are used to working for a living.”

They lapsed into a companionable silence as Serge wolfed down the rest of his lunch and drained his cup with relish. He dabbed at his mouth with a linen napkin and stood. “I’ll go find Damien now,” he said, bowing over her hand and brushing a chaste kiss across her knuckles.

Esmeralda waved goodbye and Serge left the dining room in search of his brother. He walked toward Damien’s wing of the house and was a little more than halfway there before he remembered that Damien had moved into the King’s chambers. Turning on his heels, Serge set off in the right direction. It seemed as if the corridors of Largess Hall stretched on forever. Really, one could lose oneself here, never to be seen again if one truly wished it. At this point, Serge thought, it did not seem such a daunting prospect.

Serge found Damien in his study, talking with the newly appointed general of Cardenas’ army. Damien was still wearing formal court dress and Serge knew he had just come from meeting with the High Council. General Adams stood as Serge entered and bowed reverently. The man eyed him nervously and Serge forced a smile to put the man at ease. The new general had been appointed to take Serge’s place as leader of Cardenas’ armed forces and was undoubtedly nervous about Serge’s feelings on the matter.

As the second born prince, Serge was supposed to have taken his place as general when Lionus was crowned king. He had studied and prepared for the position his entire life, but that had been before. Before, Lionus was supposed to be king and he was supposed to be general. Before, he was a whole man, not only a ghost of his former self.

“Good to see you again General,” he said shaking Adams’ hand and taking a seat on the other side of Damien’s desk. Adams visibly relaxed beside him and Serge was relieved. It was hardly the man’s fault that things turned out the way they had.

“I was just taking my leave,” General Adams said with another bow. “I am glad to see that you are well Your Grace.” Serge inclined his head in thanks and General Adams left hurriedly.

“I searched for you this morning,” Damien said, shuffling a stack of papers around on his desk, signing a few and setting a few more aside for his secretary. “You were nowhere to be found.”

Serge shrugged. “I wanted some fresh air. After being cooped up in my chambers for the last year I have discovered a new love of the outdoors.”

Damien smiled. “I’m glad to see you up and about. You look as if you are feeling stronger.”

“I am,” Serge said with a nod. “Every day I feel just a bit better. I hope to be my old self again soon.”

“I hope for the same.”

“Have you just come from the council?” Serge asked, indicating Damien’s state of formal court dress.

“Yes.”

“And?”

Damien sighed and ran his hand over his tired face. He had always been the most handsome of the three brothers; everyone knew it and as his fraternal twin, Serge was even more aware of it than anyone else. Not that Serge was plain. He knew that he was attractive enough in his own way, but he was not so delusional as to think that his looks could rival Damien’s. His features were chiseled and refined and his physique was long and lean with muscle. He had often heard women say that Damien’s was the sort of face that could make angels weep.

Now, as Serge sat across from Damien, he could see what time and responsibility had done for his brother. The eyes, which had once held a limpid, heavy-lidded sort of boredom were now sharp and shrewd.Damien had chosen to grow a beard, which he kept neatly trimmed. The beard, a rich golden hue, only served to enhance his formidable stature and noble features.

It would seem that becoming king was the best thing that had ever happened to Damien. What it meant for him, he was not sure. He did not know, but he did know that he would not take back the crown from his younger brother, although it was his right as the second born son. Destiny would have to provide him with a different path. It had, after all, made him a different man.

Damien was silent for a few more minutes, silently turning over the thoughts in his head and deciding how to word them. He drummed his fingers against the desk rhythmically, staring at some point over Serge’s shoulder silently. Finally, he spoke.

“The council was at a loss at how to handle such a situation,” he began slowly, his eyes finally meeting Serge’s. He stopped drumming his fingers and clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him. “Never in the history of Cardenas has such a thing occurred. I allowed them to argue among themselves for some time before I stepped in. I told them exactly what I thought they should do.”

Serge’s brows shot up in surprise. He wondered how long it would be before he became accustomed to this new facet of his brother’s personality. A Damien who drank, gambled and whored was a man he was most intimately acquainted with. A Damien who commanded and led with passion and strength was an entirely new person all together.

“What did you suggest?” he prodded when Damien did not continue.

“I told them that I would abdicate the throne.”

Serge had been expecting the words, but in that moment when they were spoken, something within him rebelled. He knew it was the right thing to do and yet some tiny part of him, some innate thing knew that his feet had been placed on a different path. He shook his head. “No.”

Damien lifted one eyebrow. “No?”

“Exactly. You will not abdicate the throne, Damien. I won’t allow it.”

Damien smiled. Then he laughed. He slumped forward onto his desk, his chuckles ringing out through the library, his shoulders shaking gently. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “In case you have forgotten, brother, for the time being I am still king. You have no power until I give it to you.”

“Of that I am well aware,” Serge said with a scowl, not at all amused. “But please allow me to plead my case before you refuse,” he said. “I think you are being hasty. You have been king for well over a year and from what I can see, things could not be better if I were in your place. You would have made both Father and Lionus proud.”

“Yes, except for the very obvious fact that if father and Lionus were still alive, I would not be in this position. I would still be the drunken third son. It isn’t right for me to stay in this position when you are alive and well. It is your right as the second son to sit upon the throne. I should never have allowed mother to coerce me into going to the council in the first place. I was so discouraged by the prospect of you dying in that bed upstairs, that I went against my better judgment and went to the council. They declared you incompetent, unfit to rule and named me king in your stead.” Damien buried his face in his hands. Serge rose from his seat and went around the desk to place a firm hand on Damien’s shoulder.

“You did what was necessary,” he said, knowing that he meant every word. “No one could have asked you to do any different. Cardenas needed a leader and you stepped in to fill the position. I could not be prouder to call you my brother.”

Damien shook his head. “It wasn’t right. I don’t know how you’ll ever forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. Things are they way they should be. You are king. You got to marry the woman you love and make her your queen and start a family. I won’t take that away from you.”

Damien nodded decisively and stood. He paced slowly in front of the fireplace before turning to Serge. “There’s more,” he said. “I had a feeling that you would react this way and took the time to devise another way to make things right. The council has already approved and will await word from me. If you accept this offer, it will give me an opportunity to fix this and it will take a tremendous load off of my shoulders as well.”

“I am listening.”

“As you know, the situation in Barony has become volatile. The people are terrified and angry and the rebel army has multiplied greatly in the years since Isabelle has been in hiding.”

Serge nodded. The king of Barony had negotiated a betrothal between Isabelle and Lionus, the crowned prince. Upon their marriage, Lionus and Isabelle were to have been king and queen of both Cardenas and Barony, thereby preserving the royal line through them

The two families and countries united, the rebel force would be easily vanquished and Barony would be at peace once again.

Unfortunately, Lionus’ death had complicated everything. Damien and Esmeralda were technically still king and queen of both Cardenas and Barony, but Serge knew that the people were not happy about it. They had expected their long lost princess returned to her rightful place on the throne.

“I would have thought the rebel army leader dead by now,” Serge said, joining his brother beside the fireplace. “It has been twenty years since Isabelle was sent here.”

“We are not sure if he is still living or not. In either case his son has played a great role in the rebellion,” Damien said with a scowl. “The bastard is pillaging Barony’s villages, burning down houses and taking all for his plunder. He captures and rapes women and makes slaves of children and kills the men who will not join him in his fight. I fear he is a greater foe than we could have imagined.”

“So, where do I come in?”

“As you know, Isabelle has remained here since Lionus’ death and I have allowed her adequate time to mourn him. I believe the time has come for her to take her rightful place as queen of Barony.”

“You would send her back to Barony alone?”

“No,” said Damien with a shake of his head. “I hope to send her back with you as her husband.”

Damien paused to allow this to sink in and Serge was grateful for it. Time seemed to have stopped and he felt as if he would faint or at least become violently ill. Marry Isabelle? The girl had been engaged to his older brother since birth, only to have him snatched tragically away from her after a few short weeks of marriage. Why on earth would she want to marry him?

“You want me to marry Isabelle,” Serge said, gazing deeply into Damien’s eyes carefully lest he discover a twinkle of amusement there. At least then, he would know his brother was merely joking. Damien remained sober as the grave and Serge’s heart plummeted into his stomach. “Have you spoken to her about this?”

“No,” Damien replied. “I wanted to speak to you about it first. It is the only way, Serge,” he continued, the tone in his voice turned toward pleading. “This way, you will be king as you should be, only of Barony. I would remain king of Cardenas and together we will join our forces to set out against our mutual enemy.”

“Isabelle loved Lionus,” Serge said quietly, his gaze turning toward the flickering flames of the fire. His heart ached when he said the words, for he could no longer deny the state of his own heart where Isabelle was concerned. “How can I ask her to allow me to take his place?”

“If Isabelle were to reclaim the throne in Barony, she would have to marry eventually. I would still offer her my allegiance and my army, of course. I would owe her that much as her brother-in-law. The way I see it, she would greatly benefit from marrying someone she already knows. The two of you are friends and she has known you her entire life. If she has to marry someone, I would like to think she’d be happy to have you.”

Serge begged to differ, but he was silent on the matter. Serge had seen the way Isabelle had looked at his brother. All his life he had watched her as she watched Lionus, with the light of young love sparkling in her eyes. Serge remembered the pain he always felt when he looked at her. It was worse than any pain he’d ever experienced, even worse than being dragged behind a carriage pulled by thundering horses. It was the pain of knowing that Isabelle could never be his, no matter how much he wished it, because of the circumstances of his birth.

Now she was within his reach. One part of him rejoiced and urged him to reach out and take the opportunity. Another part of him feared life with a woman who still mourned his brother. Would she ever be able to love him the way she had loved Lionus? The way he loved her?

“I need time,” he said to Damien, his eyes pleading for understanding. “Don’t say anything to her yet.”

“Take all the time you need.”

When Serge turned to leave, Damien reached out to clasp his shoulder. Serge stopped and faced his brother. “I know how you feel about her,” Damien said sincerely. “Maybe now you can have a chance at what you secretly wanted. Maybe now you will get a chance to see how things could have been had you been born first instead of second.”

Chapter 2

For most of her life, Isabelle’s future had been well planned, mapped out for her before she had even been old enough to know the difference. These plans had been so ingrained into her that they were almost a part of her personality. She had not known anything else. Now, everything had changed and for the first time in her life, Isabelle found that her life had no definite plan or course.

Now she felt aimless, even a bit purposeless, just waiting for a strong wind to come and blow her in some direction. She had been waiting for an entire year; ever since her husband had been killed, she’d been waiting. The wind never came and so she stood, motionless, always waiting for something significant enough to push her out of the daze she had been living in since the day they’d lowered Lionus’ coffin into the ground.

Isabelle closed her eyes against the rush of pain that overwhelmed her every time she thought about her dead husband. Even though a year had passed, Isabelle found that the agony was still buried deep within her heart. She did not even know how to begin to pry it loose and detach herself from it. Though it would now be seen as appropriate to put aside her black widow’s weeds, she had yet to do so. She clung to the ugly, shapeless black gowns just as tightly as she clung to her memories, afraid that once she allowed herself to become whole again she would start to forget all about Lionus. To her, that would be the greatest tragedy of all.

She had been told her entire life that she was to someday wed Prince Lionus and become queen, but as a child she had not quite understood what it all meant. By the time she was old enough to understand, she was already accustomed to the idea. She had never given any thought to what it would be like to not have her life planned out for her, and so never questioned the path that had been set down before her.

Isabelle glanced up from the canvas she’d been dabbing at with her paint brush and noticed a golden-haired figure approaching. Her talent as an artist was something she discovered as small child It was the only thing she had now that still brought her any sort of happiness or pleasure. She placed her paints and brushes aside and stood to greet Damien as he neared the sunny spot on the grass she had chosen for her day’s work.

Two of the four personal bodyguards that were always with her bowed low before the king and then stepped away a discreetly, far enough that they would not be able to hear but still close enough to protect their princess. Sent from Barony with her when she had been smuggled out of the country and charged with her safety, her bodyguards were ever vigilant and always nearby.

She curtsied smoothly and glanced up at Damien when he neared. “I was hoping to find you alone,” he said with a smile. “I wanted to have a word with you.”

“They are very discreet,” she said motioning for her bodyguards to place more space between them. “What is it you wish to speak to me about?”

“Shall we walk?” he asked, looping his arm through hers and leading her to the path towards the gardens. The bodyguards followed at a distance. “It has been some time since we discussed your future, Isabelle, and I think we have waited long enough. Don’t you?”

Isabelle nodded even though she had been dreading this conversation. Damien had graciously given her more than enough time to come up with her own plans for the future. She hated to disappoint him by telling him that she had none. Life had been at an infinite standstill for the past year and Isabelle had no notion of how to move on beyond this point.

“I know that Cardenas has been your home your whole life. Largess Hall is familiar to you, as is our family. I think we must now discuss you going back to take your rightful place in your own homeland.”

Isabelle nodded slowly. Barony, she knew everything there was to know about it. Gayle, her devoted nanny, had schooled her endlessly on her family and homeland’s history from the time she was a girl. Even now when she was too old for a nanny, Gayle, who served as her personal maid, never ceased to remind Isabelle where she really came from and where she one day would return. Yet somehow, Barony seemed as foreign as any other place she had never been. Cardenas had been her home her entire life.

“I had hoped to return under much different circumstances,” she said finally, finding her voice. “I don’t know what I will do once I return.”

“The way I see it, you have two options,” said Damien, stroking his bearded jaw thoughtfully. “If you don’t mind my being so forward, I would like to tell you my opinion.”

Isabelle smiled. “Adare was like a father to me,” she said, referring to the now deceased king, Damien’s father, “which means that you are like a brother to me. I welcome any advice you would give me.”

“The first option is that you could return to Barony as queen and rule over your people as you were meant to. Of course, I will still offer you the assistance of Cardenas’ military. Even now I am training and preparing troops to ride into Barony. It won’t be long now before we begin our campaign against the rebel army.”

Isabelle’s heart plummeted into her stomach at Damien’s suggestion. Though she had been instructed her entire life on the ways of ruling a kingdom, Isabelle had always been told that she would do so with Lionus at her side. She never would have dreamed she would have to return and rule Barony alone.

“I know that you are more than capable,” Damien continued as if he had read her thoughts. “You may not think that you are ready, but you have been preparing for this your entire life. I have already written to Lord Primus, the Grand Vizier who has been acting as steward to the throne since your parents’ death. He has assured me that he will be there to guide you in every capacity.”

“It sounds as if you’ve given this a lot of thought,” Isabelle said.

“I have been trying to think of a way to make this right,” Damien said, slowing his pace as they neared the garden maze. The scent of chrysanthemum, goldenrod and crocus greeted them as they entered. Surrounded by hedges taller than them both, they walked on slowly toward the sound of the gurgling stone fountain at the maze’s center.

“None of us would have guessed that things would have happened this way. I am trying to make decisions that will make things right for everyone.”

Isabelle patted his arm reassuringly. “I know. You are doing an admirable job. What was the second option you spoke of?”

“Well,” said Damien, clearing his throat several times before continuing. “You could…that is I was hoping maybe…you could marry.”

If the thought of ruling Barony alone had made her heart sink, the prospect of marriage caused it to plummet even farther. Isabelle stopped dead in her tracks, forcing Damien to halt abruptly. “Marry?”

Damien nodded, his expression grim. “Yes, marry. You would have to marry eventually to secure the future of your throne and your family’s royal line. You could return to Barony with your husband and rule together with him. He and I would work together to restore peace in your country.”

Isabelle sighed, reaching out to pluck a lavender crocus blossom. She fingered the petals gently as she mulled over Damien’s suggestion. How could she possibly give any thought to marriage when her heart belonged to a dead man? How could she share her life with someone else? Her bed? Isabelle shook her head. “I don’t think I’m ready for marriage.”

“I knew that you would say that,” Damien interjected. “But before you completely rule out the idea, keep in mind that I will not be choosing a husband for you, though it would be my right as king. I am leaving the choice of husband completely up to you. You could choose to marry someone here in Cardenas or perhaps you could choose a husband from among your own court in Barony. I would also be willing to make suggestions as to those most qualified for the honor of being your husband.”

“I can tell that you have put much more thought into this option than the first,” Isabelle said with a sudden burst of anger. “Why does that not surprise me? You say that you believe in my capabilities to act as queen and yet you are trying to force a husband on me!”

“Isabelle, no one is trying to force anything on you,” Damien said, still calm in the face of her anger. “I am only looking out for your well-being. It is time for you to move on with your life.”

“Oh, and I suppose you are all ready to help me do it! Who, may I ask, were you planning on suggesting for me to marry?”

“It is someone you know,” Damien replied cryptically.

“Well that narrows it down to several dozen.”

“He is of noble blood and would make an excellent ruler. Besides, marrying someone you already know would make it so much easier, don’t you think?”

“If you don’t tell me who it is already, I will not be held responsible for my actions,” Isabelle said with a huff and a very princess-like stomp of her foot.

Damien grinned and turned to walk away. “Serge,” he tossed the name over his shoulder right before disappearing behind a well-manicured hedge.

“Serge? Damien wants you to marry Serge?” Esmeralda’s tone was shrill with disbelief as she digested Isabelle’s news. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I’ve ever been about anything. He said the final decision would be left up to me, but he wasn’t shy about making sure I understood that he was strongly suggesting our brother-in-law!”

Esmeralda glanced up briefly from the beads she was organizing on the floor. She gave a handful of pale blue stones to Raina, her mother, who was fashioning a necklace. Isabelle sat beside her on the rug, helping her sort through the jumbled assortment of colorful beads. Isabelle added a few of the pale blue stones she had found to Esmeralda’s and continued searching through the pile.

“Well, he is right about one thing. Marriage to someone you already know is the easier choice. Who wants to marry a stranger?”

“I don’t see why I need marry at all,” Isabelle said, heat rising in her face as it often did when she was upset. “I have already been married once and can hardly be expected to go rushing toward the altar so soon after becoming a widow.”

“It was only a suggestion,” Raina mumbled, her head still lowered over the string of beads she was forming. “You could always go with the other option. Go back to Barony and take up your throne. It is what you were born to do.”

Isabelle nodded her agreement. “Yes. It is what I was born to do, and according to Damien the people are becoming restless waiting for my return.”

“They grow restless for a king,” said another voice from the doorway. Akira, Esmeralda’s grandmother shuffled into the room leaning heavily on a wooden cane. The old Gypsy woman fixed her yellow-gold eyes on Isabelle’s and held her gaze. As always, when in the woman’s presence, Isabelle felt a tingling awareness at the base of her spine. It was as if she was reading into her deepest thoughts. She had been told of the woman’s talent as a fortune-teller, but knew the Akira’s powers went far beyond the simple turn of a card or reading of a palm.

“I believe a woman can rule just as well as any man,” Isabelle challenged, forgetting all about the beads laid out in front of her.

“That may be, but the fate of Barony will lie within the joining of a king and queen but not just any king, no. This man has already been chosen by destiny.”

Esmeralda and Raina paused and turned toward Akira who stood framed in the doorway in her usual voluminous black robes and turban. They both knew that Akira’s words were always true, and whenever she spoke so cryptically, it was best to listen.

“The king of Barony was chosen by my parents before I was even weaned,” Isabelle countered. “And he is dead. I see no reason to go looking for another.”

Akira stepped forward until she was leaning over Isabelle and gripped her chin with one brown, gnarled hand. She tilted Isabelle’s head back until the girl was looking into her eyes. “Hear me Princess,” she said, her voice so low that Esmeralda and Raina had to lean forward to hear. “Do not let your heart become so clouded by bitterness that you lose your way on the path. Only when the warrior king and queen are joined will the fate of your country be certain. It will be a long, hard road, but in the end goodness will prevail.”

The old woman loosened her hold on Isabelle’s chin and turned to leave, leaning even more heavily on her cane. The three women sat in silence until she was gone and the door closed behind her. Isabelle let out the breath she had been holding noisily. It was as if for one moment, everything around her had ceased to exist and only the Gypsy woman’s words had penetrated the haze.

“I’d better go and check on her,” Raina said, concern wrinkling her brow. She stood from the floor and smoothed her skirts. “She gets so tired these days when she’s exerted herself too much.”

Isabelle and Esmeralda were left alone as Raina left in search of her mother. “What do you make of that?” Isabelle asked after several moments of silence.

Esmeralda shrugged. “Grandmother usually speaks in riddles, but if you can figure out what she’s trying to tell you it will be easier for you in the end. She is always right.”

Isabelle sighed. “I suppose I should give some more thought to this idea of marriage then.”

“Do what you think is best,” Esmeralda said, reaching out to pat her friend on the shoulder. In the short time she had been queen, Esmeralda had found she could always count on Isabelle to be there for her. Because of Isabelle no one who didn’t know would guess that the queen of Cardenas had once been a lowly Gypsy dancer. She was glad that she now had a chance to repay her friend by being there for her. “I should think you would be glad for a chance to make your own decisions for a change.”

“That’s just the thing,” Isabelle replied, pinching the bridge of her nose to stifle the headache growing there. “I have never had to decide anything. Everything has always been decided for me. I don’t even know where to begin.”

Graceful, angelic figures stared down from the painted ceiling of the ballroom, their eyes fixed upon the mad whirl on the gleaming marble floors below. Men in silk breeches, starched cravats and snowy white linen twirled elaborately dressed ladies across the dance floor. The wide skirts of their ball gowns fanned outward like the petals of flowers blooming in spring, overwhelming the room with splashes of vibrant colors. Hundreds of glowing candles cast their light upon towering arrangements of fresh flowers and polished silver. Opulent diamonds, rubies and sapphires sparkled around the wrists and necks of the ladies and even at the fingers and throats of several men.

The eyes of painted angels all seemed to be turned toward the gently curving staircase, where the princess would soon be making her grand entrance. This was the night of her eighteenth birthday and this ball would mark not only her coming of age but the princess’ readiness to marry the crowned prince as well. The orchestra ended their lively tune with a flourish and the dancers all bowed and curtsied to one another politely. The hum of conversation could be heard over the orchestra’s next tune, and the well-dressed men wandered off in search of their next dance partners.

Before the twirling could begin again, a hush fell over the crowd. The musicians pulled their bows away from their strings and liveried footmen paused in the midst of serving bubbling glasses of champagne. All eyes turned toward the entrance to the ballroom and the staircase where a vision in white stood smiling down at them. Her beauty was legendary, and all who gazed upon her in that moment knew that the stories had not been over-exaggerated.

Princess Isabelle possessed wispy locks of blonde hair so light they glowed nearly white in the pale glow of candlelight. Tonight that hair had been curled and swept softly away from a heart-shaped face. Delicately arched brows a shade darker than her hair curved over wide, pale blue eyes fringed with blonde lashes. Without the aid of cosmetics, her skin fairly glowed and her lips looked as though they had been kissed by the pink petals of a rose.

She appeared to float right down the staircase to the waiting arm of her escort for the evening, her fiance’, the crowned prince. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered their wings wildly as she placed her gloved hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the middle of the floor for the next dance. She met his eyes only briefly before fixing her eyes on his sapphire tiepin, but then she did not need to gaze up into his face know to know how his eyes would appear.

The same rich blue of his sapphire tiepin, the prince’s eyes would be sharp as a hawk’s, and just as cold and calculating. She stole another quick look up at him and found that his long mahogany locks had been brushed neatly away from his high forehead and tied neatly at the back of his neck. He was freshly shaven and still smelled faintly of shaving soap. As the first chords of the waltz were struck, he gazed down at her and smiled.

It wasn’t quite a smile really; not one pearly white tooth could be seen. But the corners of his mouth did turn up gently and the hardness in his gaze did soften in that moment and the princess breathed a sigh of relief. He led her skillfully in the waltz before the admiring eyes of the crowd, and stood beside her to endure their applause dutifully when it was over.

Somehow, after that first waltz the evening had become a blur as the princess was approached by one elegantly dressed man after another and led into dance after dance. With each passing partner, she longed for the arms of the prince once again, and the easy grace of the waltz they had danced together.

Claiming exhaustion and begging the pardon of her next dance partner for a break, the princess edged her way swiftly along the perimeter of the ballroom, searching for a reprieve from the mad crush and stifling warmth. Fanning at her flushed cheeks with her fan, she rushed gratefully toward the open doors leading to the gardens. She turned to glance over her shoulder before making her way toward the garden maze, satisfied that no one would see her hasty retreat and follow.

Once alone in the middle of the maze, she plopped down onto a nearby bench and heaved a very un-ladylike sigh of relief.

“And here I thought that I would find myself alone.”

The masculine voice tickled the side of her neck, and the princess nearly jumped out of her skin until she realized that it was only her intended lowering himself onto the stone bench beside her.

The princess turned to meet his gaze at last and nearly gasped aloud at the warmth she found there. Her eyes widened as he smiled, a real display of teeth, and took her hand in his. She noticed for the first time that he had taken his gloves off and was gently tugging at hers. Once her hands were bare, he took one in his and raised it to his lips. She shivered at the contact; he had never before touched her other than to offer her his arm or place a chaste kiss on her hand. He had never really smiled at her before. He had never placed one hand at the back of her neck and pulled her in slowly for a kiss…

Isabelle came awake suddenly, sitting upright in her canopied bed. She fell back against the pillows with a sigh and tried unsuccessfully to fall back into sleep and recapture the poignant dream. After a few minutes of trying, she shoved the heavy covers back and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She quickly lit the lamp beside her and carried it over to the armchair where she had been reading earlier in the evening.

She wrapped herself in a thin shawl and lowered herself into the chair, but could not seem to get past a single page of her book. Soon she gave up trying to read and tossed the novel aside. She closed her eyes instead and thought back over her most recent dream. She used to dream about Lionus every night, bittersweet memories that she had clung to tenaciously ever since his death.

Now she hardly ever dreamed of him at all. Though she clung stubbornly to her memories of him every lonely night she tossed and turned in her bed before falling asleep, he now only came to her dreams once every couple of weeks. What was worse, she was starting to forget the things in those dreams at a startling rate.

As she thought back over the night of her eighteenth birthday and the ball where Lionus had kissed her for the first time, she felt tears stinging her eyes as she realized she could barely even remember what it had been like to kiss her husband. Once, she had needed only to close her eyes to recall the taste of his lips or the feel of his skin against hers. Now, try as she might, she could barely even remember his scent or the sound of his voice. It was as if those small parts of him were slowly crumbling and falling to pieces, just like her husband’s dead corpse buried in the ground.

Unable to fall back asleep and hoping to escape the depressing turn of her thoughts, Isabelle swiped at the few tears that still lingered on her cheeks and left her armchair. Deciding that a pot of chocolate was enough to heal just about any hurt, as her dearly devoted nanny had always told her, she pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and lifted her lamp. Checking the darkened hallway to ensure that no one would see her traipsing about in her nightgown in the middle of the night, she slipped quietly from her chambers. Isabelle knew her way around the palace and did not see the need to wake Gayle for something she was capable of fetching herself. She would make the chocolate and retreat back to her lonely room.

As she reached the spiraling staircase leading to the second level of the palace, she paused. A faint sound echoing down the hall toward her caused her to pause with one foot on the top step. She stared down the hall and wrinkled her brow, straining to make some sense of the distant sound. The eastern wing on the second floor of palace belonged to Serge and Isabelle was definitely sure she was hearing the sound of a man’s screams coming from his rooms.

Gathering up the hem of her nightgown in one hand and raising her lamp with the other, Isabelle hurried toward the sound. She did not stop to think what she would find when she discovered the source of the disturbance, but she recognized Serge’s voice as she neared his chambers and did not stop to consider the consequences of opening the door.

Heart thudding in her chest, she swung the door open and thrust the lamp before her, spilling the flickering light across the dark room. A shadowy form thrashed about on the bed and when Isabelle drew closer she could see that Serge was trapped in the snares of some hellish dream. Beads of sweat had broken out over his forehead where strands of his hair were now plastered. The bedcovers were tangled about his flailing legs and his voice was a hoarse cry that echoed from the walls.

Placing the lamp on the bedside table, she leaned over him and managed to grip his face in her hands.

“Serge!” she screamed to be heard above his own cries. “Serge, wake up! It’s Isabelle. I’m here Serge, wake up!”

Chapter 3

Somewhere through the fog that clouded his mind, Serge could hear a familiar voice calling his name. It was faint and distant, but he clung to it as if for dear life, reaching out for it from the darkness of his nightmare. He could hear it over the clatter of carriage wheels and the thundering of horses’ hooves. It called to him through the sound of the clash of swords and the cries of dying men.

A pair of warm hands touched his face and he stilled, sighing with relief. When he finally opened his eyes, he found Isabelle’s face looming over his. He felt something stroking his face and realized that she had taken her own shawl from around her shoulders and was dabbing at his sweat soaked face and neck with it. When she was finished, he allowed her to prop the pillows behind him until he was in a sitting position.

“Brandy,” he croaked, his throat sore and his voice hoarse from screaming. “On the table there.”

She hurried to fill a glass with a liberal splash of liquor and placed it in his trembling hand. As he drained the glass, she waited beside the bed with the decanter and then refilled it for him again. He drank gratefully, savoring the warmth that spread from his belly when he was finished.

“I’m sorry for just barging into your room,” she said once she’d taken his glass and set it aside. “But I was on my way to the kitchen and I heard you.”

“I’m glad you came,” Serge said truthfully, though he was a bit embarrassed that he had been screaming. The nightmares had been plaguing him nearly every night since he’d awakened from the coma, but he hadn’t known that screaming aloud accompanied the frightening memories that haunted his nights. “I might have awakened the entire palace if you hadn’t come.”

Isabelle sank into a chair beside the bed, one she had occupied countless days and nights while Serge lay in this very room unconscious. Seeing him now, sitting upright in bed was still a bit of a shock. “I spent a lot of my time in this chair,” she said, voicing her thoughts aloud. “Keeping you company.”

“I remember,” he said. He smiled at her puzzled expression. “I don’t remember much of course,” he explained. “But in the midst of all that darkness and pain I can recall a few things in vivid detail, as if I were wide awake. One of my fondest memories is of you sitting in that chair and your voice filling the room as you read aloud. It was as if my mind was reaching for something and it latched on to the sound of your voice. It was just so soothing. When you would talk to me or read beside the bed…” he looked away in embarrassment, realizing just how close he was coming to revealing his true feelings for her. He cleared his throat and continued. “Well, I just wanted to thank you,” he said, lowering his eyes. “Thank you for being here and not giving up on me.”

“Damien, Esmeralda, and I never gave up on you,” she said, leaning forward to clasp one of his hands. “Never for one minute did we give up on the hope that you could wake up someday.”

As he always did when she was near, Serge felt a sudden jolt of awareness and a quickening of his pulse. He was suddenly very conscious of the fact that they were alone in a dark room, both inappropriately dressed. He pulled the covers a bit higher, hoping that she would not notice that he was naked beneath the sheets and fought for composure.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” he asked, leaning back against the pillows. “And why were you going to the kitchens by yourself?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said with a shrug. “I was going to fetch myself a pot of chocolate. I didn’t want to wake anyone to get it for me.”

“Don’t let me hold you up then,” he said. “I’m sure you would like to go back to your room. I’m fine now, really.”

“Actually, I had hoped that you wouldn’t mind some company. That is if you aren’t too tired,” she added quickly, remembered how easily he grew weary these days.

“I doubt I will get much sleep tonight,” he replied. “I’d love some company.”

“Perhaps I could read to you?”

“That would be fine,” he said. “There are several books in the sitting room.”

He propped himself up more comfortably and waited for Isabelle to return from the adjoining sitting room with a book. Serge found that he could not concentrate on the words she was reading. He contented himself with watching her instead. He’d never seen her in such a state of undress, and found he could not stop staring.

Serge gazed down at her bare feet, which hardly touched the floor from the massive chair she was sitting in. With one leg crossed over the other, she offered him a glimpse of slim ankles and a bit of calf. It was enough to make him want to kneel before her and run one hand beneath her grey silk nightgown to see if her skin was a temptingly soft as it appeared.

Though she was only five feet three inches tall, her legs seemed endless, falling away from rounded hips that flared out from a slim waist. The breasts pressing against the lacy neckline of her nightgown were small but high and firm. He wondered if the tips would be the color of pink rose petals or shade of a ripe peach. He licked his lips and groaned inwardly at the thought.

His eyes traced a path up the graceful slope of a slender neck and lingered on the spot where her neck met the line of her jaw. Would she shiver if he kissed her there? Would she moan with delight if he cupped her breasts in his hands? He imagined tracing a path with his lips upward toward her mouth and gripping a fistful of her flaxen hair.

Serge became so lost in his own thoughts that he could no longer follow the story. He shifted uncomfortably beneath the sheets and adjusted them to hide the evidence of his growing arousal. Oblivious to his pain, she continued reading, but Serge knew that if he sat there with her much longer with his mind wandering so freely, she was sure to figure out that he wasn’t listening to a word she was saying.

“What will you do now?” he blurted without thinking, shattering the peaceful silence that accompanied her soft voice. She lowered the book and glanced up at him sharply, her eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.

“What do you mean?” she asked, closing the book and laying it in her lap.

“I mean, what do you plan to do now in regards to Barony? Will you be leaving us to go back?”

Isabelle shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. Although everyone seems to have some idea of what they think I should do, I have no notion yet of what decision I will make.” She heard Serge’s sharp intake of breath and noted the sudden hardening of his jaw and smiled. “I see Damien has been putting ideas in your head too.”

“Damn him,” Serge said with a heavy sigh. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything to you. I told him that you couldn’t possibly be ready to marry again and even if you were, you wouldn’t be too happy with anybody’s interference. Please don’t think I had anything to do with this harebrained scheme of his.”

Isabelle moved to sit on the bed beside him, placing the book on the bedside table. “But what about you?” she asked. “Have you decided what you will do?”

“Damien wants to abdicate the throne. He wants me to take it, as I would have if I had not been unconscious for the past year. He seems to think it will solve everything, but I’m just not sure. I’m not the same man I was before, and I don’t think my taking the throne will make things right. If anything, it will make things worse. Damien was born to be king, even if he was born last. I will not take that away from him.”

“Yes, but what about you?” she urged.. “What were you meant to be?”

He was silent for a moment before answering, “I don’t know. I suppose, like you, I’ve had enough people telling me my whole life what to do but never really had a chance to think for myself.”

Isabelle nodded her agreement. “It’s not easy, trying to decide for yourself is it? I mean, on the one hand one could simply do what they wanted to do, decide based upon pure joy or satisfaction. Or, one could rely on the dictates of duty and choose as they know they should, even if they knew they would be sacrificing their own happiness. Which do you choose?”

“The answer is quite simple, really. Whenever we have the choice, we choose the thing that will bring us the most joy or satisfaction.”

“Yes, but as a person who is in a position to effect the lives of so many other people, would it not seem selfish of me to make a decision based on pure happiness?”

“A happy ruler rules well,” he replied with a shrug. “At least, that was what my father used to say. He may not have loved my mother very much but he doted on his sons, and therein laid his happiness. He was one of the greatest rulers Cardenas has ever seen. You will find that a crown rests much easier upon a head that rests easy upon its pillow at night.”

“Must that pillow rest beside the pillow of another then?” she asked, clearly enjoying baiting him with her questions. She had forgotten how easily conversation and banter had been between them.

“Only if you wish it,” he replied quickly. “When you do marry, it should be of your own free will. You should marry because you want to, not because you feel as though you have to.”

“I am told that Barony needs a king.”

“I have also heard that it needs a queen.”

Isabelle smiled. “You seem to have an answer for everything,” she said with a laugh. Serge’s laughter mingled with hers and he wiggled his eyebrows at her mischievously.

“Haven’t I told you often enough that I know everything?”

Isabelle rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, the arrogance of men! I don’t know why we women bother with you in the first place!”

“You need us around to protect you and lift heavy things,” he said with a decidedly manly grunt. “You also need us to sire children upon you.”

“You are incorrigible,” she said with a giggle. “But I am thankful for it. It’s nice to have you around to laugh with again.”

“Anything I can do to help,” Serge said. “I am always at your service.”

“Well, I think you’ve done enough for one night. I should be getting back to my own bed before one of my guards comes looking for me. They peek in to check on me periodically at night.”

“Yes, perhaps you should. It would be highly improper for you to be found in my chambers so late at night dressed so scandalously.”

Even though the tone of his voice was a teasing one, Serge knew just how intimate their situation would appear. She was sitting in his bedroom, which was lit by no more than a lamp, wearing a nightgown that bared her arms and shoulders and no shawl. Aside from that, his chest was bare and he was completely naked under sheets that rested just around his hips. Serge felt her eyes upon his chest and abdomen and knew that she was trying to decide if he was wearing anything beneath them.

Heat rising in her face, Isabelle swallowed noisily and cleared her throat. “You’re right. I should be going now.”

Before she could rise from the bed, Serge’s hand reached out for hers. She froze as he leaned forward to press a kiss against the back of her hand. He had done it before, a gesture that should have been quick and chaste, yet somehow was not. His lips lingered a bit too long and he felt her shiver as the warmth of his breath tickled her skin. His grip on her hand was firm but loose enough that Isabelle could have pulled it away if she had wanted to. But when Serge raised his eyes up to gaze at her and placed another kiss on the inside of her wrist he saw indecision in her eyes and knew that she didn’t want to.

Instead she inched closer, shivering when he kissed the inside of her wrist again. This time he caressed it with the light rasp of his tongue. He ran both hands slowly up her arms until they were resting on her shoulders. Just the slightest bit of pressure, a gentle tug, and he was lowering her toward him slowly, giving her ample time to resist before she was practically lying on top of him.

He held her there for a moment, his arms wrapped around her waist, pressing the upper half of her body against his. Her breasts shifted and moved against his bare chest with every breath she took and he could see the rapid cadence of her pulse at the base of her throat. Serge wanted to grasp the back of her head and pull her swiftly down to meet his lips, but he didn’t. He laid there and held her and waited, watching the play of emotions flickering through her eyes. She went from arousal to confusion to fear and back to arousal again in the span of a few short seconds.

Just the slightest pressure of his hand on the nape of her neck was all the convincing she needed to lower her head toward his and then she was melting into him, pressing her open mouth against his with a barely audible sigh.

Kissing her was everything Serge had ever imagined it would be, sweet and soft and perfect. One hand was still pressed gently against the back of her head, toying with the silky wisps of hair there. The other hand clutched the bed sheet, as he did not trust himself to put it anywhere else. His hands itched to touch her, to pull her hair loose from its braid and run his fingers through it. He wanted to rip the straps of her nightgown away from her shoulders and touch her in places that were sure to make that attractive pink blush at her cheeks spread even further across her body. He did not want to give her any reason to pull away from him, not now, in this moment he felt like he’d been waiting his entire life for.

Then everything changed. Suddenly she wanted more, more than just his lips pressed against hers. She ran her fingers through his hair, now long enough to sweep his shoulders and pulled his face closer to hers to deepen the kiss. He allowed her to take the lead, still fighting to keep control over his own raging desires by keeping a firm hold of the sheets. Just when he thought he could take no more, her velvety tongue rasped against his and he was lost.

Before he knew what was happening, his hands were spanning her waist and moving upward over her ribcage in a slow caress until his palms were filled with her breasts. She moaned softly into his mouth, but did not pull away as he massaged them with gentle hands. He rose to a sitting position until she was straddling him, the hem of her nightgown bunched up around her thighs. With a swift tug, he had her nightgown down to her waist and fastened his mouth to one exposed breast. She gasped when he flicked his tongue over the sensitive tip of one nipple, then groaned and grew limp in his arms as he bit down playfully with his teeth. He leaned her back until she was arched over his supporting arm and continued his assault.

She shook and quivered in his arms as he moved his hot open mouth over her neck and shoulders before moving back to her aching breasts. Her hips bucked wildly against his, the evidence of his rampant arousal pressed intimately against her. His hands travelled down her waist toward her hips, hips that he was sure she thought were much too wide but he found that they fit perfectly in his large hands. He grasped her firmly and pressed her even closer against his throbbing desire, seeking to ease the ache he felt there against her.

Then he suddenly realized what he was about to do as if someone had doused him with a bucket of cold water. He reluctantly snatched his mouth from hers and despite her desperate cry, pulled his hands away from the hem of her nightgown. He felt like the worst sort of person as she gazed down at him with confusion in her eyes, her lips pink and swollen from his kisses.

“We have to stop this,” he managed between ragged, uneven breaths, his chest heaving with the effort it took just breathe.

She nodded silently, a jerky movement, but said nothing. His eyes traveled downward from her mussed hair to her love-swollen mouth and down to her body almost fully exposed to his view. He must be a damned saint, he told himself, to be able to resist the temptation she presented while sitting astride his hips with her nightgown lowered down over her breasts and hitched up around her hips. The only thing stopping him from thrusting upward into her was the sheet around his waist. With a pain-filled groan, he tore his eyes away from her and fixed them on a spot on the wall over her shoulder.

“Please, for the love of God, cover yourself before I forget all of my good intentions and do something we may both regret.”

As if snatched out of a trance, Isabelle suddenly leaped away from him before jerking her clothes back into place. She sat on the edge of the bed, her back turned to him, her shoulders still trembling.

After several minutes of sitting in silence, she finally rose to her feet and took up her lamp once again. “I should be going now,” she said, her voice a choked whisper. “I hope you will be able to find some rest tonight.”

Serge did not know what to say, but found that he did not have to say anything. Within seconds, she was out the door, leaving him alone in the darkness of his room. When she was gone, he flopped back against the pillows with a sigh, one arm thrown over his closed eyes. What on earth had he been thinking? He had been seconds away from making love to her. Isabelle. His brother’s widow.

Serge had dreamed of such moments with her for most of his adult life, but had never allowed himself to contemplate the possibility of those dreams becoming reality. Isabelle was off limits to him for several reasons, all of which came screaming back at him now. It didn’t matter that his brother was dead or that Isabelle could possibly be looking for a husband. It didn’t matter that he loved her so much his chest ached when she was in the room. It didn’t matter that she had responded so eagerly to his kisses and caresses. Wanting her, the way he did was wrong and he would not forget himself again.

Turning to his side and closing his eyes in an effort to find sleep again, Serge realized he could still smell her scent in the room. Some sort of feminine, flowery smell enveloped him as if she were still in his arms. Pounding his fist against the pillow in frustration, he shifted his position only to find a handful of some strange material in his hand. Lifting it toward the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the nearby window, he realized it was her shawl. She had used it to wipe the sweat from his brow, and left it beside him on the bed by mistake.

Raising it to his face, he inhaled deeply before flinging the shawl away. Never again, he told himself sternly. He could never allow what had happened tonight to reoccur. The whole thing was inappropriate but then, he wondered just before falling back into sleep, why had it felt so damned right?

Chapter 4

“Wake up, damn you!”

Serge’s raised voice preceded him into the king’s chambers. The heavy door swung wide and slammed noisily against the wall as he shoved it aside and limped through the doorway without knocking. As it was not yet eight in the morning, he fully expected to find Damien still snoring beneath the bedclothes even though he had been out of bed and fully dressed for hours himself.

He had been unable to stop thinking about Isabelle. Her smell was still clinging to him, his sheets and that damned shawl she’d left behind. His fingertips tingled when he remembered the curve of her breasts against his palms and his mouth practically watered for another taste of their rosy pink tips.

He’d lain awake for hours, unable to push the erotic images from his mind. He had even allowed himself to think of all the things that could have possibly happened if he hadn’t stopped himself before doing the unthinkable. What if he hadn’t stopped at a few kisses and caresses? What if he’d allowed himself to succumb to his desires and made love to her? Would she still be lying in his arms even now, her cheeks tinged pink and her lips curved in a satisfied smile?

Then, for lack of anything better to do, he began to mull over Damien’s preposterous suggestion. The more he thought about it, the more hopeful he had become.. Now he had made the mistake of tasting her lips, of touching her skin. What made things worse was that she had responded. Oh, how she’d responded.

He couldn’t stop himself from wondering if Damien was right. Maybe there was possibility there. After all, when he’d kissed her she’d kissed him back just as feverishly. When he’d touched her, she had wordlessly begged him for more. If they married, perhaps someday the desire he had been able to make her feel could transform into love. It’s not a foolish hope, he asked himself, right?

Wrong! By the time the sun lightened the sky outside his window, Serge had come to his senses. He leaped from the bed and rushed to the washstand to splash his face with water. With that frigid splash in his face came a cold dose of reality. What the hell was he thinking? He had been beyond foolish for contemplating marriage to Isabelle for even an instant. This was why he was storming into Damien’s bedchamber at eight o’clock in the morning.

He stomped up the three steps leading to the platform where the massive bed was located and yanked the tapestries aside roughly. He was about to open his mouth again to deliver a scathing lecture, but came up short when he realized that the bed was empty, though recently slept in.

“In here,” called a voice from the dressing room. Serge followed the voice through the open door of where he found Damien with Hopkins, his valet. Reclining in a chair wearing only his dressing gown, Damien lay back with his hands folded over his middle while Hopkins snipped meticulously at his beard with a pair of scissors. Serge’s brows snapped together in confusion.

“You’re awake before noon,” he snapped, for lack of anything better to say with Damien’s valet in the room. Hopkins was practically family and had been serving the royal family for several years, but Serge was still ill at ease about discussing such a delicate topic in front of him.

“A great many things have changed over the last year,” Damien said, careful not to move his head, though his eyes did connect with Serge’s across the room. “You bellowed?”

“I need to discuss something with you. Privately.”

As if on cue, Hopkins straightened and pulled the scissors away from Damien’s face. With a satisfied nod, he replaced the scissors on the nearby washstand and handed his master a gilded hand mirror. “All done, Your Highness.”

Damien studied his reflection in the mirror and nodded. “Excellent work as usual, Hopkins. You are dismissed.”

With an elegant bow, the valet left the room quietly and closed the door behind him. Damien turned his back to Serge, removing his robe. “You don’t mind if I dress while we talk, do you? I have a rather pressing appointment this morning.”

“Why did you do what I specifically asked you not to do?” Serge exploded, ignoring Damien’s question and jumping straight to the point.

“I assume you’re referring to the conversation we had yesterday about Isabelle.”

“The one where I asked you not to mention anything to Isabelle about your asinine ideas about marriage? Yes, the very same.”

Damien tucked his starched white shirt into the waistband of his black breeches and sighed. “What was I supposed to do? Wait for you to declare your undying love? I’m sorry brother, but I am not a patient man and we are running out of time.”

“I never intended to declare anything!” Serge practically shouted, pressing his fingertips against his throbbing temples. “And what the devil do you mean, ‘we’re running out of time’?”

Buttoning his powder-blue waistcoat, Damien turned back toward Serge. “Isabelle needs to make a decision, for the sake of her country and herself as well. I’ve given her more than enough time to consider her options and come to some sort of reconciliation. Marriage is inevitable. It’s going to have to happen. I know it, you know it and she knows it. I was giving her the courtesy of allowing her what little time we have left to consider you as a possible husband. You are the perfect choice.”

“Why? Because my marrying Isabelle and becoming king of Barony would soothe your guilty conscience?”

Serge was purposely trying to needle him, but Damien refused to take the bait. He remained calm as he turned toward a full-length mirror and proceeded to tie his neck cloth. “No. Because you love her and will take better care of her than anyone. You have been trained in military leadership and strategy and have the necessary skills to aid me in bringing the rebel army under control and I trust you more than I would trust anyone else.”

“She’s Lionus’ wife, Damien.”

“She was Lionus’ wife. Lionus is dead.” Damien turned away from the mirror and placed a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I know that I have had more time to adjust to the idea than you have, but Isabelle is no longer Lionus’ wife. She needs a husband. Barony needs a king. I believe you are the man for the job.”

Everything Damien said made sense. It was certainly tempting, especially now that he knew that he and Isabelle would have no problem crossing over that tricky territory between friendship and intimacy. She had fallen so easily into his arms that Serge had no doubt they would deal well together as lovers as well as friends.

“She doesn’t want to marry anybody.”

“Give her time,” Damien said with a secretive smile. “I think she may come around.”

“You are so sure of yourself and your little scheme, aren’t you?”

“Yes I am.”

“Your arrogance is astounding.”

“So I’ve been told. Now, I have an important guest from Barony arriving today and much to do before my meeting. I was hoping you could join me.”

“Who is the guest?” Serge inquired, his curiosity piqued.

“Lord Primus, the Grand Vizier of Barony. I wrote him several weeks ago and asked him to come. We will be meeting with General Adams this morning after breakfast and I think you should be there. You should have some idea of what you’ll be getting yourself into if you marry Isabelle.”

Serge relented, giving up on convincing himself that marrying Isabelle was not what he wanted. He shrugged and followed Damien from the dressing room.

****

Isabelle flung one arm over her eyes to block out the sunlight streaming through her windows. Gayle had flung aside the tapestries at both the windows and her bed in an attempt to coax her out. She had even set a breakfast tray on the nightstand, knowing that Isabelle would not be able to resist the smells of food for long.

Isabelle did not want to get up for the rest of the day. Maybe even for the rest of the week. She did not want to face the reality of what she had done last night in the harsh light of day. Her plan was to avoid contact with a certain brother-in-law and she knew that they only way to do that was to stay nestled safely beneath the blankets. As big as Largess Hall was, she knew there was still the small chance she could encounter him and would be too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

“Still abed?” scolded Gayle as she re-entered the room for the fifth time. “Your breakfast will be cold if you don’t eat it soon.”

Isabelle rose into a sitting position and grudgingly allowed Gayle to place the tray in her lap. “I suppose I could at least eat,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the short, heavyset woman who shook her head with disapproval as she moved toward the dressing room. “Don’t bother laying out a gown for me, Gayle. I don’t intend to leave this bed today.”

“And why not?” asked Gayle with a concerned frown. She turned on her heels and doubled back, pressing a cool hand to Isabelle’s forehead, her soft brown eyes filled with concern. “You are not feverish. Are you ill?”

Isabelle stuffed an un-ladylike portion of toast into her mouth, forcing Gayle to wait while she chewed and came up with a suitable excuse. She couldn’t very well tell Gayle that she had almost made love to her dead husband’s brother in the middle of the night and was now too embarrassed and ashamed to face him, could she? No, she thought as she forced the dry toast down with a forceful swallow. Gayle would probably drop in a dead faint on the floor and Isabelle would feel even guiltier.

“I started my monthly courses this morning,” she said quickly, relieved when the words were out of her mouth. It was a good enough excuse as any since Gayle knew that Isabelle sometimes suffered debilitating stomach pains on the first day of her courses.

“Well, you don’t seem to be in an excessive amount of pain,” said Gayle, eyeing her critically. The nanny turned ladies’ maid, who was really more like a mother to Isabelle, had been caring for her all of her life. The day Isabelle had been smuggled from Barony under the cover of darkness, she had been tucked into Gayle’s arms and entrusted to her for safekeeping. Isabelle felt guilty for lying to Gayle, but her sense of self-preservation won out over honesty.

“You can rest till noon, but you really cannot stay in bed much longer than that,” Gayle continued, moving back toward the dressing room. “Have you forgotten that Lord Primus will be arriving today? It would be rude of you not to greet him. Once he has finished with his meeting with the king, he will most certainly be expecting to meet with you.”

Isabelle stifled a groan and turned her eyes back down to her tray. She really had forgotten about Primus’ visit, even though the man had written her weeks ago himself to inform her of his travel plans. An old friend and most trusted adviser to her father, Primus had been acting as steward to the throne in Isabelle’s absence. He’d assured her in his letters that he was greatly looking forward to vacating the position as soon as she was ready to take her place as queen, hopefully with a king at her side, he hadn’t forgot to add.

Gayle was right, unfortunately. She would have to get out of bed and prepare to receive the Grand Vizier. “Very well,” she relented. “Get out the best black bombazine for today, Gayle. You know, the one that’s not as ugly as the others.”

Gayle paused in the doorway, her hands on her hips, disapproval clear in her expression. “Do you think it entirely appropriate to greet the Grand Vizier dressed in black?”

“Primus will understand,” Isabelle replied, before taking a sip of her tea. “He knows that I am still in mourning my husband.”

“You have long passed the time to move out of mourning clothes. Perhaps you should consider half-mourning instead, since you’re obviously not ready to come completely out of mourning,” she suggested gently. “I grow weary of watching you shroud yourself in those hideous black gowns.”

“The black will do for today,” she answered sharply, not lifting her eyes from her tray. Gayle had been pushing her for weeks to put aside her mourning clothes. Isabelle had even been about to relent, but after last night it would just feel wrong. She had allowed herself to be kissed, touched by another man. She had enjoyed it, more than she had enjoyed anything for a long time. Therein lay the problem.

Isabelle had never kissed another man; no one else had come before or after Lionus. She never would have thought anyone else could cause her insides to melt in that same mysterious way, yet somehow she had experienced it with Serge. She felt like the worse sort of traitor for it.

This morning she would don her mourning attire once again. There were more important things to be worried about.

Gayle busied herself with laying out the ugly black gown and the necessary undergarments before setting a pair of black slippers beside them. She took Isabelle’s empty breakfast tray and placed a kiss on the girl’s forehead. “I’ll give you a moment to dress and then I’ll be back to fix your hair.”

Isabelle took her time getting dressed and suffered through Gayle’s ministrations at the dressing table. She sat perfectly still while Gayle combed through the tangled masses of her waist-length hair and pulled it back into an elaborate style composed of several twists and braids. She pulled a few locks of hair loose at her temples and curled them to soften the severity of her attire.

Deciding that she had stalled long enough and that she was ready to face the inevitable, Isabelle stood and prepared to leave her room. Two of her guards were waiting outside the door. “Good morning boys,” she said before turning toward the stairs. They fell in step silently behind her. As she neared the landing of the second floor, the flurry of activity she encountered told her that the Grand Vizier had arrived. Isabelle hoped to greet him before he went into his meeting with Damien and invite him to take tea with her afterwards. Noticing that Thomas was carrying her sketchbook and pencils, she decided to indulge in bit of sketching while she waited.

She stepped off the bottom stair onto the ground and swung to the left. She nearly lost her balance after colliding with something solid. It took her a moment to realize that her nose was buried against the rough fabric of a man’s waistcoat and that a pair of large hands had shot out like a pair of steel bands to clamp down on her arms to steady her.

“Oh, forgive me! I wasn’t watching…” she trailed off as her eyes traveled upward to connect with a pair of familiar dark blue ones. Serge stared down at her, his mouth set in a grim line as if he had been dreading bumping into her as well. Oh well, Isabelle thought with an inward shrug. It could hardly be helped, best to get the unpleasantness out of the way early.

“It’s all right,” he said once he had set her away from him and snatched his hands back swiftly. “I wasn’t exactly paying attention either.”

“I trust you are well this morning?” Isabelle asked, her voice quavering only slightly on the last word. She lowered her eyes when a flicker of something she could not name flashed in his expression. She knew he was thinking of the night before just as she was. She felt the familiar heat rising in her cheeks and knew they were probably beet red.

“Very well,” he answered politely, not missing a beat. “I trust you have come down to greet Lord Primus.”

“Yes,” she said, worrying her black skirts with nervous fingers. What was wrong with her? This was Serge, one of her very best friends. Surely one kiss and intimate embrace hadn’t changed that. “I assume he’s arrived.”

“He has just finished taking breakfast and should be in Damien’s study. I was just on my way to join them.”

Isabelle finally gave in to curiosity and asked the question that had been burning in the back of her mind ever since she’d received Primus’ letter. “What is this meeting all about, Serge? No one thinks to tell me such things, but since I assume the matters being discussed concern the welfare of my homeland and my people, I ought to at least be privy to what is going on.”

“Primus can give Damien a clearer picture of what is really happening in Barony. He can give us more details on what the rebel army has been doing and possibly even where they are hiding themselves when they aren’t burning villages to the ground.” At Isabelle’s gasp, Serge’s expression softened and he reached out to clasp one of her hands in his own. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that.”

Isabelle shook her head. “No. I appreciate your honesty. Perhaps I should be sitting in on this meeting. Do you think Damien would mind?”

Serge shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out.”

He offered his arm to her and Isabelle placed her hand on it reluctantly, though she kept her gaze lowered. As they walked toward Damien’s wing of the palace, Isabelle was all too aware of Serge’s flexed bicep beneath her hand. Even though he was still a great deal slimmer than he had been, he had gained quite of bit of weigh over the weeks since he’d awakened and Isabelle knew for a fact that he exercised at least twice a day in an effort to regain his former figure. His efforts were working, she noticed as she walked with her hand on his arm. The fabric of his coat, which had been tailored to fit his newly thin frame, was stretched to the point of straining across his shoulders and chest.

She could smell whatever he had used to wash his hair with and noticed that his tresses hung loose about his shoulders, waving slightly and gleaming in the morning sunlight. He hadn’t shaved, she noted, and decided that the rough sprinkling of stubble suited him.

What in God’s name was she doing? She shook her head to clear her thoughts and lowered her wandering eyes to the carpet, watching the intricate pattern as she walked. Isabelle had been gawking over him like some silly, love-struck girl. This was Serge, she told herself with another inward shake. He was her friend, her brother-in-law, she reminded herself. She had no business noticing such things about him.

Isabelle was relieved when they arrived at the closed door to Damien’s study. “Perhaps you two should take the morning off,” Isabelle said, turning to Thomas and Nicholas, who had been following close behind. “After this meeting I intend to take tea with Lord Primus. I will send for you should I decide to step outside later.”

Bowing silently before retreating, the guards disappeared back the way they came. They were more than comfortable leaving her in the care of Serge and Damien, who could protect her as well as they could should the need arise.

Isabelle reached for the doorknob but halted when Serge loosely gripped her arm. She turned to find him looking down at her, that grim expression once again pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“We might as well get this over with while we’re alone,” he said, his voice lowered. “There’s no need for us to feel uncomfortable around each other. I apologize for what happened last night. I have not been near a woman in some time, as you well know, and I fear I may have lost my head for a moment.”

Isabelle nodded slowly. Yes, what man wouldn’t lose his head with a half-dressed woman traipsing about his chambers in the middle of the night? Obviously, she had made too much of what had happened. Serge certainly wasn’t making much of it. “There is nothing to forgive,” she said. “I am certain the incident will soon be forgotten.”

Serge nodded and turned to open the door to the study and usher her inside. Isabelle fought against the tiny flutters she felt in her stomach at the touch of his hand at the small of her back.

Lord Primus was not what Isabelle had been expecting. She had never laid eyes on the man and had only corresponded with him by letter for years. She knew that he’d been her father’s most trusted adviser and best friend. She also knew that he was the reason she had not been killed along with her parents when she was just an infant.

Isabelle had been expecting an elderly, white-haired man, perhaps leaning heavily on a cane. What she found instead when she entered Damien’s study was a tall, well-built man who was elegantly dressed and meticulously groomed. His dark hair sported only a light sprinkling of gray at the temples and his equally dark eyes were set in a pleasantly handsome face. A few lines around his eyes were the only hint at his age, which Isabelle had to say was a few years above fifty if not more though the man didn’t look a day over thirty.

He stood when she entered the room, along with General Adams and Damien. A brilliant smile spread across his face and he strode forward quickly to greet her. He was on one knee before her in an instant, pressing his lips to her hand reverently. Tears were shining in his eyes when he gazed up at her.

“My lady,” his smooth baritone voice choked with emotion. “I have looked forward to this day for some time. It is such a joy to look upon your face. The last time I saw you, you were just an infant though I can see you have blossomed into a rare jewel of beauty much like your mother.”

Isabelle smiled and bid Lord Primus to rise. She found as she looked up at him that smiling back was easy. Something about him put her immediately at ease. “I am glad to finally meet you face to face as well,” she said. “I am anxious to hear your report.”

Primus nodded in agreement. “There is much to discuss. Perhaps we should all sit down and get right to it.”

The men all waited until Isabelle settled herself in a high-backed chair before taking their own seats. “As Isabelle said, we are most anxious to hear what you have to say,” said Damien, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk. “From your last few letters I assume that time is of the essence here.”

Primus nodded. “I’m afraid things have just become worse than we thought. You see, just before I left Barony I was informed that Silas Winthrop is dead.”

Isabelle frowned at the bleak expression on the three men’s faces. “That is good news, isn’t it?”

Silas had been one of the senior members of Barony’s High Council when her parents were still living. Gayle had told her the story of how impending war with another province had caused her father to establish an absolute monarchy and disband the council. When he found out that Silas had been aiding Barony’s enemy behind his back, he’d become suspicious and unable to determine whom he could trust.

In order to protect his family and his people, her father had had to make the hard decision to remove the influence of his council, many of whom he counted as friends. Silas retreated into the mountains bordering Cardenas and Barony in order to avoid punishment for his crimes and was never found. Meanwhile, the war that many had feared claimed the lives of many citizens and consumed almost all of Barony’s resources. Famine and disease brought in by the invading armies took even more lives, and by then the people were frightened and angry. Questioning the king’s ability to rule under the laws of absolute power, the people soon grew bold enough to demand that the king reinstate the council.

Isabelle’s father had refused, still stinging from Silas’ betrayal and uncertain about who to trust. It was then that Silas had reappeared. Promising them an end to the war and a council elected by the people, Silas urged them toward rebellion, hoping to claim the throne once all was said and done.

Silas eventually led his rebels in a siege against the castle. The battle had not gone according to Silas’ plans, and even though he succeeded at killing her parents and many members of her family, Isabelle had been smuggled away from the castle and a handful of her relations had managed to escape though they were never heard from again.

Silas had also underestimated the strength and number of Barony’s remaining forces and had to retreat before claiming the ultimate victory. Another thing the rebellion leader hadn’t counted on was the fierce loyalty of the people to the king and queen. Their violent, public murders had caused the citizens to rise up against the rebels, resulting in a string of bloody battles. When Isabelle came of age, she would marry Cardenas’ oldest son and return to her rightful place. In the meantime Primus had acted as steward to the throne, and had been able to keep peace in Barony for some time after the bloody siege.

But Silas, not one to back down easily, had reappeared many years later with a force even greater than the one he had began with. As he took his revenge on Barony by ravaging her cities with sword and fire, his aims were made clear to all. He would not stop until the crown was surrendered to him. It was for all this that Isabelle could not understand why the news of Silas’ death had been so grimly received. Surely everything would be set to rights now that the rebel army leader was dead.

“Why do you all look so bleak?” she asked when no one answered her first question. “Surely that means that this will all be over soon.”

“I’m afraid not Your Grace,” Primus said finally. “Silas’ death means that his son has now risen as the new leader of the rebels.”

“His son?”

“Lucius Winthrop is a dangerous man,” said Damien in response to her puzzled expression. “He is even more bloodthirsty and ruthless than his father. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he had something to do with his father’s death.”

“Of that we are not certain,” said Primus. “But we do know that he has been planning another attack against the castle and at this point I’m afraid we haven’t the manpower to fight him off. He has grown most aggressive in the recruiting of soldiers.”

“We have heard that he rides from village to village, killing every man who will not fight alongside him,” said General Adams, his expression grave. “The women and children he takes for servants for himself and his men and children not old enough to work are slaughtered or left to starve.”

Isabelle gasped and clapped one hand over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. These were her people. She must do something to end this conflict once and for all or she feared they would all meet the same unbearable fate. Primus reached across the space that separated them and clasped her hand tightly in his. Isabelle looked up into his smiling eyes and immediately calmed. With his other hand, he offered her a crisp, white handkerchief. She accepted it gratefully.

“I know that these things are hard to hear Princess,” he said in the gentlest of tones, his voice like a soothing balm. “But His Majesty and I have been working diligently at finding the best solutions for these and many other problems. You mustn’t worry yourself over these things; we will not fail you.”

“How can I not?” Isabelle asked, slightly irritated at being told not to ‘worry herself’, although she knew that Primus meant well. “These people are my responsibility. I am soon to become their queen and they will look to me for guidance. I know that I am not a man and cannot ride into battle as man would, but there must be something I can do.”

Isabelle did not miss the nervous glances that Damien and Primus shot each other before turning their attention back to her. She knew what they both would say and had been dreading this part of the conversation. Isabelle had known it was coming and braced herself for it now, squaring her shoulders resolutely. Primus finally broke the uncomfortable silence. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “there is one thing.”

Chapter 5

Serge did not like Primus. He was usually a very reasonable person and had never been the type to judge a man so soon after meeting him. Usually, he was content to allow a man to prove himself before he drew any of his own conclusions. When Serge had led Isabelle into Damien’s study and watched the handsome older man fall at Isabelle’s feet and press his lips to her hand a shade longer than was proper, extreme dislike immediately blossomed within him.

Because he was so reasonable and often prided himself on being of even temperament, he sat silently while the others talked and ran through his mind all the reasons he did not like Primus.

For one thing, the man was entirely too handsome for one his age. Isabelle’s breathless sigh when she’d first seen him told him she thought the same. No man who had held her as an infant should be able to make her sigh like that. Yet there he stood, tall, regal, and infuriatingly spry, kissing Isabelle’s hand as if he were some young swain come to call on her.

For another thing, the man was too charming. It was practically oozing from his pores. Even now, as he sat across from Isabelle, holding her hand and extending his monogrammed handkerchief graciously, Serge could not deny the man’s magnetism. The very sight of him touching Isabelle, even if just on her hand, the same one that he had so intimately pressed to his own lips the night before, made him want to leap up and shove himself between them. Isabelle merely sat there, her wide blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, the perfect picture of innocence and untouched beauty. Serge knew better.

Serge remembered how those tear-filled eyes had darkened and widened when he’d pressed his lips to the most sensitive spot on her neck. He remembered how her back had arched to thrust her breasts more fully against his open palms. He remembered the wild strands of her carefully knotted coiffure loose and unbound down her shoulders and back. Serge knew like no one else in this room just what lay under the surface. He wished to God he didn’t; it was all he could think about.

Serge tore his mind away from the images that he had vowed to forget. He even managed to forget listing all the reasons he did not like Primus for the time being and refocused on the conversation at hand.

“Like his father, Lucius is after the throne,” Primus was saying. “He will stop at nothing. Until the security of your throne is certain, I fear you will be in great danger.”

“How exactly can we ensure that the throne is secure?”

Primus cleared his throat noisily and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Well, Your Grace,” he stammered, “we have spoken of this in our letters and His Majesty assures me he has discussed this with you as well. I’m afraid the only way to ensure your safety and security of your throne is in marriage…and also… there would need to be, er…production of an heir.”

Serge did not miss the irritation that flashed in Isabelle’s eyes as she pressed her lips tightly together. “Yes, we have spoken of this,” she said slowly and calmly. “And I see no reason to talk about it again. You both know where I stand on this issue.”

“With all due respect Your Grace, I had hoped that you would reconsider,” said Primus. “If you were to take a husband and produce an heir as soon as possible, the future of the throne would be certain. As of now, taking the throne without a husband or child leaves you quite vulnerable.”

“Then protect me!” she snapped, finally losing just a bit of her carefully held control.

“We will do everything within our power to ensure your safety,” Damien interjected. “You know that but a husband can only aid in our efforts to keep you safe. You know that as well as we do, despite your protestations.”

“Princess, you must make a decision,” Primus urged. “You wondered if there was something you could do, something to aid us. I am telling you the only thing you can do.”

Isabelle took this in silently, her eyes lowered. Serge felt sorry for her. He knew her heart was still aching over Lionus, but he also knew that his brother was right. Isabelle would eventually have to marry, and as bad as he felt about her being pushed toward that inevitable decision, Serge could not help but hope that she would choose him for her groom.

“I must think on it a bit longer,” she said after a long silence. “Surely you cannot expect me to rush into such a decision.”

“Of course not,” Primus said with another one of his infuriatingly charming smiles. “In the meantime we can make plans to journey to Barony. The sooner you are ready to leave, the better. We must ensure that all is in readiness for your coronation and get you settled into your new home. His Majesty and I must also see to the training of new soldiers and see about adding to the number of your personal bodyguard.”

Isabelle seemed overwhelmed by all of this but she just nodded in agreement. “I can be ready to leave immediately. Just inform me when all is in readiness.”

“It will take a few weeks,” said General Adams. “Traveling from here to Barony will be dangerous for you and we must be sure that you are adequately protected.”

“I will see to her safety on the journey,” Serge found himself saying before he had a chance to think about it. Three pairs of eyes all swiveled in his direction, surprised, as if they had forgotten he was there. “Place a small contingent of men under my command, including her four personal body guards. We will ensure that she and Lord Primus reach Barony safely.”

Primus fixed him with a narrowed, dark stare, coolly assessing Serge and obviously finding him lacking. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” he said, his contempt undisguised, “but I am not certain that you are the right man for the job. You are only recently recovered and while I am glad for your miraculous improvement, I would hope that you would allow yourself more time to recuperate before volunteering your services for something for which you are obviously not ready.”

In an instant, Serge’s dislike of the man blossomed into something else entirely. If he’d been gripping the arm of his chair any harder it might have broken beneath the strain. No one noticed, however, because as always Serge was the consummate mediator, the one in the situation who always possessed a level head. He forced a smile that he knew did not quite reach his eyes. “While I appreciate your concern Lord Primus, I can assure you that I am completely rehabilitated and am more than fit to protect the princess.”

“Of course,” Primus replied politely. “I did not mean to imply that you were not. It is just that I have had much experience in these matters...“

“Well of course,” Serge interjected, “I cannot hope to compete with the experience of a man of your advanced years...,” Primus winced but was otherwise silent, “however, as Cardenas’ second son I have been well trained in strategy and weaponry and am more than up to the task.”

“Actually, I see no reason why you cannot work together,” Damien said before Primus could respond, reminding them all who was really in charge. “With your mutual training and experience I’m sure you will have no problems getting Isabelle home safely.” He turned to the general. “Have fifty men readied to escort the princess, her servants, Prince Serge, and Lord Primus to Barony two weeks from today. I trust that will be enough time?”

Everyone nodded their agreement.

****

“Your Grace, a word if you please.”

Serge tore his eyes away from the mirror where he had been watching a reflection of himself trying to tie his own cravat and failing miserably. He sent his valet away, hoping to have a few moments alone with his thoughts but was now thinking that it was a stupid idea. Serge could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d had to tie his own cravat, and in the process of dressing for the evening had completely botched it four times. He snatched away the offending linen and tossed it toward the small pile he had going on the floor. His valet was sure to be annoyed at him for not having the sense to call for help and for ruining four perfectly clean and starched neck cloths, but Serge would not be bested. He had just chosen another cravat when he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

He turned to find one of Isabelle’s personal bodyguards standing in the doorway of his dressing room, arms crossed over his chest. For the life of him, Serge could not remember which of them was which. They were all effective at blending in and most times one usually forgot they were even in the room. This was a remarkable talent, one that left Serge flummoxed when he tried grasping about his mind for the man’s name. Virgil? Timothy? Serge gave up and turned on his most polite smile.

“Certainly,” he replied, motioning for the bodyguard to enter. “Hope you don’t mind if I continue this while we talk,” he said, turning back to the mirror. “What can I do for you?”

“I saw Princess Isabelle go in to your room last night.”

Serge’s hands froze, the cravat hanging limp in his hand. His stomach turned violently and he could have sworn he felt tiny beads of sweat popping out along his brow. He swallowed and forced his breathing to slow= and continued tying the cravat, speaking slowly as he responded.

“And this concerns you because…?”

Irritation crossed the bodyguard’s features, his eyebrows snapping together in annoyance. “I think you know why. We’ve noticed how you look at her.”

“We?”

“You forget at least one of us is near the Princess at all times. She obviously did not know I was following her, but I couldn’t very well allow her to go traipsing about the palace alone in the middle of the night without protection.”

“And you think she left her room for the sole purpose of seeking me out in the middle of the night?”

“So it would seem.”

“You’re wrong.” In his state of annoyance, Serge ruined yet another cravat. He tossed the cloth into his growing pile with an annoyed huff. Before he could reach for another, the bodyguard crossed the room.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” he said with a sigh, snatching up a new one. Before Serge could protest, he was tying it with quick and efficient hands. “Hold still. Don’t you have a valet to do this for you?”

“Certainly but I’m out of practice and thought to do it myself for a change.”

“Getting back to the matter at hand,” the bodyguard said, his eyes focused on Serge’s cravat. “I just came to tell you that as long as it doesn’t happen again, I won’t be telling anyone what I saw last night.”

“And who are you to question me about my actions?”

“We are responsible for the Princess’s protection, even from you.”

“I have been her friend since we were children. How could you possibly think I mean to hurt her?”

“Whether you would mean to or not isn’t the point.” The bodyguard finished tying the cravat and stepped away from Serge, crossing his arms back over his chest. “Just see to it that whatever took place in that room last night doesn’t repeat itself. I know that a marriage between you has been discussed, but unless a betrothal is agreed upon then you would do well to keep your distance.”

“You would do well to remember your place,” Serge snapped, hating the arrogant undertone behind his voice but unable to stop it from creeping in. “My behavior is not subject to your approval. You can go back and tell your friends that I said so. You may leave now.”

The bodyguard, clearly angry but intelligent enough to remember that he was in the presence of royalty, turned and left silently. Guilt washed over Serge as he turned back to the mirror. As much as he wanted to look Isabelle’s bodyguard in the eye and tell him that nothing had happened between them, he could not. As much as he wanted to promise himself he would never do it again, he could not.

They may have agreed that afternoon that the whole thing was nothing to dwell on, but he was having a hard time forgetting. When he allowed his thoughts to wander, they automatically strayed in her direction. The taste of her lips, the smell of her hair, the feel of silk over softly rounded curves; all were ingrained upon his memory. Try as he might, he could not pry those memories loose.

Was she thinking about him too? When she was alone and her thoughts wandered, did she think about his hands touching her in places they never should have been? Did she wonder what could have happened if he hadn’t stopped when he did?

Serge had been so sure that marriage to Isabelle was out of the question, but the longer he allowed himself to consider it, the more he wanted it.. He wasn’t so sure anymore. One thing he was sure of, as he stuck a ruby tiepin into the snowy white linen at his throat, Isabelle’s bodyguard would make one hell of a valet.

Serge and his beautifully tied cravat, entered the ballroom just a little bit past fashionably late. Of course, his being a prince ensured that anyone who noticed would keep their mouths shut about his tardiness. Lord and Lady Valon, members of the court and his hosts for the evening, materialized out of nowhere to greet him.

“Your Grace,” said Lady Valon with a wide smile and a low curtsy, “how lovely to see you this evening. You are looking quite well. I see the rumors about your miraculous recovery are indeed true.”

Serge took her hand and kissed the air above it before turning to acknowledge Lord Valon who was bowing respectfully. “So it would seem,” he replied.

“Indeed, the court has talked of nothing else the past few weeks. It is almost as if we have invited a ghost to our little gathering.”

Lady Valon realized her error before the words had even finished coming out of her mouth. Even though everyone knew Prince Serge had always been the most easygoing of the Largess brothers, she had just crossed the line into the territory of inappropriate conversation. However, Serge found it hard to be annoyed with the charming woman who was refreshingly honest. Besides, she was right. The room had gone eerily silent, and at least three hundred pairs of eyes were boring into him shamelessly. As soon as they all realized that he was staring back at them, they all turned away quickly, the buzz of conversation continuing just as quickly as it had ended.

He gave Lady Valon a genuine smile and watched her nearly deflate with the breath she must have been holding waiting for him to give her the cut direct. “Enjoy the evening Your Grace,” she said graciously with another curtsy as he entered the ballroom. Sidestepping the wide skirts and trains of colorful ball gowns, Serge scanned the ballroom for his family. He stopped every few seconds to acknowledge friends and acquaintances, trying his very best to ignore the open-mouthed stares of some. It was, after all, the first time he’d made a public appearance since leaving his bed.

Serge spotted Damien first, as his blond head tended to stand out in a crowd. He was conversing easily with Primus, Esmeralda on his arm. Serge couldn’t control the frown that crossed his features at the sight of the Grand Vizier from Barony. For some reason the man infuriated him to no end and he couldn’t help but wish that Damien had left him at Largess Hall for the evening.

“Ah, here at last,” Damien remarked as he approached. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

“I got held up,” Serge replied with a shrug before procuring a glass of champagne from a passing footman. Damien was eyeing him with something akin to amusement in his eyes, but Serge wasn’t sure why.

“Will you dance tonight, Serge?” he asked.

Serge frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. Surely he would be expected to since he usually did and enjoyed it, but he hadn’t given any thought to how hard it would be to dance on his bum leg. “I doubt it,” he replied, deciding to walk on the safe side. His leg had been feeling fine earlier but he did not want to take any chances at embarrassing himself and having some young miss staring at him with sympathy in her eyes. “I was thinking I’d head to the billiards room and find a friendly game to join.”

“That’s really too bad,” Damien said with a shrug, pointing toward the dance floor with his champagne flute. “You’ll miss out on dancing with the belle of the ball.”

Serge followed Damien’s gaze with disinterest until his eyes fixed on a figure in powder-blue satin. His tongue suddenly felt like a piece of cotton in his mouth and his belly clenched with longing. Isabelle, out of mourning attire and looking like some sort of heavenly vision, was being twirled around the dance floor by a strapping young courtier. She smiled with polite interest at something he was saying and then laughed freely. The sound caused tingling at the back of his neck.

The song that had been playing ended, the last few notes giving way to polite applause. Isabelle allowed her white-gloved hand to be kissed and exchanged a few more words with the courtier before turning to converse with an acquaintance. Serge decided that he could definitely be coaxed onto the dance floor, even if only for one dance. One dance was all he wanted. A murmur of appreciation sounded off beside him and Serge remembered that Primus was present. Before he could set off in Isabelle’s direction, Primus excused himself and headed toward her, leaving a fuming Serge behind.

Damien laughed, smacking Serge playfully on the shoulder. “You’re not just going to lie down and let him beat you, are you?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are referring to,” Serge said through clenched teeth. Despite his carefully constructed mask of control, Serge felt his hand curling into a fist at his side as he watched Primus’ lips linger too long on Isabelle’s hand before he led her to the dance floor.

“Pretend indifference if you want,” Damien whispered close to his ear, suddenly serious. “But you and I both know what Isabelle’s coming out of mourning means. Primus is in the perfect position to offer his suit to Isabelle and if you don’t do something he’s going to ruin all of my carefully laid plans.”

Before Serge could form an appropriate retort, Damien had taken Esmeralda by the arm and twirled her onto the dance floor.

Damn him, but he was right. In the moment that he had seen Isabelle from across the room, Serge had come to his decision. He could no longer pretend not to want her more than anything. He could no longer sit idly by and wait for her to make a decision, hoping secretly that that decision would be him. He’d been lying to himself, but now he was through. Serge knew he had to have her, and if a kingdom just so happened to come along with her, then so be it.

That decision made, Serge began moving toward the dance floor at a leisurely pace, keeping his eyes on Primus and Isabelle as they twirled together across the floor like a panther stalking its prey. Like a helpless gazelle, he had Isabelle in his sights and was determined to move in on her before it was too late. He found a comfortable place to wait near the dance floor’s perimeter and took up another glass of champagne. Sipping slowly, he waited.

What had she been thinking? She’d thought that she was ready to come out of mourning. Now that she was twirling in the arms of Primus in the Valon’s glittering ballroom, Isabelle wasn’t so sure. When she had asked Gayle to prepare her pale blue satin gown for tonight’s soiree, the woman had nearly suffered an apoplexy. Isabelle had decided after her meeting with Primus that afternoon that she would at least consider marriage. The fate of the people of Barony hung in the balance. Her stomach turned when she thought about the things Primus had told her. Just the thought of one woman being raped, one child being made a slave, one man being killed… it was enough to bring tears to her eyes. These were her people and if she had to sacrifice herself for them, then so be it.

She would take this one step at a time, she decided. The first step was of course the most obvious. It was time to put away her widow’s weeds. As she’d stood before the full-length mirror in her room, some vain part of her had to acknowledge that she’d missed her old clothes. This shade of blue matched her eyes almost perfectly and she couldn’t help but admire her trim figure enveloped in the smooth satin. It had been so long since she’d felt this way, like a woman. With her shoulders bared, jewels at her neck and her hair in a whimsical coiffure, she felt every inch the princess she was.

A twinge of sadness had crept in when she clasped a twinkling diamond wreath about her neck, a gift from Lionus on their wedding night. Her throat had swelled and tears had splashed her cheeks, but she forced the emotion away. It was time to move on with her life and if that meant saying goodbye to those horrid black dresses and lackluster buns pulled tightly at the back of her neck then all the better.

She had been prepared for the stares and whispers that rippled through the ballroom when she, Esmeralda, Damien, and Primus had entered. Isabelle knew that by the time she reached the buffet table word would have reached every corner of the ballroom with the delicious gossip: Princess Isabelle was out of mourning and back on the market.

As she spun about the ballroom with Primus, Isabelle was relieved to have a break from the young men who had spent the evening trying to woo her. One after the other they nearly fell over themselves trying to get at her, fetching her champagne, reciting poetry, preening before her like a bunch of peacocks. It was nice to engage in easy conversation with Primus for a few minutes. She was already starting to consider him a friend.

“I must say what a pleasure it is to see you here tonight and looking so stunning besides,” he remarked as he lead her expertly through the steps of the dance. Isabelle was impressed. He danced with the athletic grace of a man half his age. “May I take it from your attire this evening that you have given thought to my suggestion that you choose a husband?”

She nodded. “Yes, but I would like to take this opportunity to make it known that I do not intend to rush into anything. I will choose a husband when I am I ready.”

Primus smiled, a flash of perfectly straight teeth behind his neatly trimmed mustache and charming mouth. He really was very handsome and easy-going. Isabelle found herself at ease with him and relaxed a bit in his arms.

“I would expect nothing less from you,” he said with a chuckle. “I know I do not know you very well and we have only briefly corresponded by letter, but from what I gathered I could tell you are a very headstrong woman.”

Isabelle quirked a blonde brow and smiled. “Is that a problem?”

“On the contrary, Your Grace. I believe that what Barony needs is a great dose of stubborn pride and headstrong determination.” His smile faded and he was instantly sober. “I fear the people are disheartened. It will take much to restore their faith in their leaders. I believe that your return will do much to restore that faith. Your taking a capable husband will take care of the rest.”

Isabelle nodded. “I will do what I must for my people. You can count on me, Primus.”

Primus’ countenance eased as the music ended and he twirled her elegantly into one last turn. “I never doubted it for a moment, Princess.”

She smiled back at him as he kissed her hand. “Thank you for the dance.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” he murmured, his lips lingering over her hand, his facial hair tickling the sensitive skin. Before she could reply, another hand grasped her elbow lightly and she heard a familiar voice.

“I’ve come to claim you for the next dance if it hasn’t already been taken.”

Isabelle turned and stared up into Serge’s midnight eyes. They were sparkling with interest as he gazed down at her daring décolletage and something she could not quite fathom as his gaze flickered toward Primus who reluctantly released her other hand.

She linked her arm through Serge’s and waved to Primus who turned away with a frown. Before she had a chance to mull over the man’s sudden change in mood, she was being whisked across the floor by Serge who moved with just as much grace as Primus had.

“I had hoped to dance with you tonight,” she said as they moved.

She noticed a muscle twitch in his jaw. His full lips were tight at the corners. “Were you now?”

She nodded. “We’ve always danced well together. Besides, you and I always have such great fun together.”

Serge’s eyes narrowed as he stared at something across the room, over her shoulder. As he whirled her around, Isabelle caught a glimpse of Primus standing at the edge of the dance floor watching them.

“You don’t like him, do you?” she observed.

Serge’s laugh was dry and humorless. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Well, there was that little scene during our meeting earlier or it could be the fact that you are staring daggers at the man when you should be complimenting me on my dress. It is my first night out of mourning attire in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Serge’s eyes snapped back to her in the blink of an eye and a boyish smile curled at one side of his mouth. “How could I not notice?” he murmured softly, his voice a warm caress against her cheek. “You are a vision,” he continued, his grip at her waist tightening.

Isabelle’s heart was fluttering madly in her chest. Why was this happening again? This was Serge, for God’s sake! She was not supposed to feel this way about her life-long friend, she was not supposed to feel this way about her dead husband’s brother.

“Why don’t you like him?” she asked suddenly, desperate to change the direction of their conversation. Serge’s smile faded and his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

“The way he looks at me?”

“As if he is a lion and you are a delicious antelope.”

Isabelle could not hold back her laughter. Serge frowned at her, which only made her laugh more. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “He is old enough to be my father.”

“The man is as spry as I am,” Serge insisted. “Mark my words, he will make his intentions known when you least expect it.”

Isabelle shook her head. “I know that you are only trying to protect me and I think it is sweet. But I think you’re wrong.”

Serge shrugged as the dance ended, releasing her from his hold and then tucking her hand through his elbow. “I could be wrong but if it turns out that I am right you have to concede that I told you so.”

“I certainly shall,” she said, allowing him to lead her toward the refreshment table and offer her a glass of champagne.

“And you must also admit that I am the most perceptive, intelligent, devilishly handsome man you know,” he added with a wicked grin that made her insides do a little flip.

Her boisterous laugh caught the attention of every man present. The tinkling sound drew them in like bees to honey. Isabelle stifled a groan as they began to close in. Serge chuckled. “Heard enough poetry for the evening?” he asked as her admirers drew closer.

“Quite enough,” she said. “One of them waxed poetic for near fifteen minutes about the back of my neck. For the love of God Serge, please don’t leave me here with them. I cannot take another minute of their fawning over me.”

“Allow me to rescue you,” he said, seizing the opportunity to link his arm through hers and whisk her toward the open doors leading out to the garden. “Come, let’s escape to the garden until they lose your scent.”

Damien smiled as he glided across the dance floor with Esmeralda, chuckling softly under his breath.

“What on earth could be so funny?” she asked, gazing up at him curiously.

Damien’s smile widened as he watched Serge disappear through the open double doors with Isabelle on his arm.

“Nothing love,” he said, turning his attention back to his beautiful queen. “It’s just that I so love it when a plan comes together.”

Esmeralda’s eyes widened knowingly. “You are being naughty again, aren’t you?”

Damien wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. “I do not know how to behave any other way.”

“I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I am willing to stake my brother’s happiness on it, aren’t I?”

Esmeralda shrugged in answer. Damien’s smile widened. “Trust me love, I know exactly what I’m doing. They’ll be married within one month.”

Chapter 6

Serge took one last look over his shoulder and sighed with relief, satisfied that no one had followed them out into the garden. He grasped Isabelle firmly by the hand and led her toward the hedgerow maze. They were silent as he guided her through the various twists and turns that they both knew led to a fountain at the center. Once there, Isabelle drained her champagne glass and left it on the fountain ledge, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Thank goodness,” she said. “If I’d had to endure their attentions for much longer I swear I could not be held responsible for my actions.”

Serge shrugged. “What do you expect when you finally come out of mourning? You look too damn beautiful in that dress not to draw the men to you in droves. Not to mention the fact that your being a princess only sweetens the deal.”

Isabelle sighed. “I am already starting to regret my decision. I didn’t think it through for very long before acting. Now I’m not so sure I did the right thing.”

“Why the sudden change of heart? Just this morning you expressed your desire to wait.”

“The things that Primus told us at the meeting this morning really got to me. If choosing a husband and king is what’s best for my people, then I will do what I have to.”

“Become the sacrificial lamb, as it were.”

Isabelle nodded. “It certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?”

Serge saw his opening and decided to slip right in. “Well, that all depends really,” he said, choosing each word carefully. “Wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice if you were to choose the right man, you know.”

“I have so many choices,” Isabelle lamented, pacing slowly back and forth. Serge followed her with his eyes. “And I haven’t even met the men from Barony that Primus recommended. How do I know which man is the right one?”

“Perhaps I could be of assistance,” Serge offered casually, pretending to inspect his coat for lint as her gaze snapped up and locked on to him. Her eyebrows shot up.

“That is actually not a bad idea,” she said with a little smirk. “You know me so well. You know who would be a good match.”

Serge stifled the urge to grab her by her shoulders and give her a rough shake. He wanted to yell at her that he loved her, that she needn’t look any further than him for a man to love and cherish her forever. Clamping down on his emotions ruthlessly, he turned back to the matter at hand. He intended to woo Isabelle, but slowly and gently lest he scare her away. Stick to the plan, he reminded himself.

“Why don’t you let me know who you have in mind and we will take it one man at a time,” he suggested, watching her continual pacing. She placed her hands behind her back and nodded, continuing to walk back and forth.

“Well, there’s General Adams.”

Serge nearly choked. “General Adams?”

Isabelle nodded. “Yes. His military experience makes him a perfect candidate, don’t you think?”

Serge nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes as he pretended to seriously consider General Adams. When he didn’t respond fast enough, Isabelle stopped and stared at him with a frown. “What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” said Serge, forcing himself to keep a straight face. “That is, unless you don’t mind a husband who gambles.”

“Every man enjoys a few turns of the dice Serge,” she said, waving him off with a laugh. “Even you.”

“Naturally,” he replied. “But one must be sure it remains a form of entertainment and not a vice. Wouldn’t you agree? Of course, one must consider this when one has an entire province to worry over. Wouldn’t want to worry about losing the royal jewels over a hand of faro would we?”

“Hmmm, yes I see your point,” Isabelle conceded. She resumed her pacing. “Well, there is always Lord Fallow,” she continued. “He is said to be descended from royalty on his father’s side. His manners are impeccable and he is quite handsome and fashionable.”

Serge couldn’t stifle his laugh this time. Fallow was beyond fashionable; his taste crossed the line over fashionable and landed somewhere near foppish. “You want heirs don’t you?” he asked.

“I do believe that is the whole point of my getting married.”

“Then you’d best forget about Fallow. The man’s a sodomite.”

Isabelle halted, her jaw nearly scraping the ground. “Are you telling me that he prefers men?”

Serge shrugged. “Some men do. Though for the life of me I cannot imagine why,” he said with a suggestive nod toward her low neckline. Barely noticing his scrutiny, Isabelle continued marching back and forth.

“Not to worry,” she said determinedly. “I have several more on my list. You will approve of one, I’m sure of it.”

“Fire away,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest with a grin. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Let’s see, there is Lord Blackwater.”

“He has certain appetites in the bedroom that are best not discussed in a lady’s presence. If he even dares to come near you I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

“What about Roswell?”

“He’s a drunk.”

“Tuttle?”

“Practically lives in the brothels.”

“Carnell?”

“The man constantly smells like garlic. Do you really think you could stomach going to bed with him?”

Isabelle stopped pacing and stamped her foot impatiently. “Is there anyone that could possibly meet with your approval?” she practically shouted. “At this rate, I’ll never find a husband!”

“I am just trying to keep you from marrying someone you’ll detest. Even though you’re sacrificing yourself for your people, you deserve to be happy. You deserve someone who will respect you and treat you well. Someone you could maybe one day grow to love.”

Isabelle’s mouth curved into a mischievous smile that caused his knees to turn into jelly. “I know of a man you won’t object to,” she said. “There is no way you could possibly find anything wrong with him.”

“Try me.”

“Lord Primus.”

Serge’s smile melted away and he felt the beginning of something ugly unfurling in his chest. He tamped it down before it could spread. “Primus?” he said, forcing a laugh that did not quite reach his eyes. She had him there. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the man. Besides Serge, he was the next most obvious choice. He had already been ruling Barony in her stead for two decades. He knew the people, the land; in short, he had the advantage. “The man’s old enough to be your father!” he declared, grasping at straws.

“That’s ridiculous!” Isabelle countered. “Primus is actually perfect. I can’t believe I did not think of it before.”

Serge frowned. This conversation was not going at all as he’d planned. His eyes narrowed as she continued to yammer on, oblivious to his darkening glare.

“He’s handsome, he’s charming and he has been ruling Barony all this time as steward. He has military experience and there is the added bonus of his impressive lineage.”

Serge finally recognized the ugliness that was expanding in his chest for what it was. Jealousy. Raw, undeniable, jealousy. “Isabelle,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Having not heard him, Isabelle continued listing Primus’ attributes. Serge continued calling her name, but got tired of being ignored somewhere between Primus’ ‘regal bearing’ and his ‘concern and love for the people’. His control finally slipped from his grasp.

“Damn it Isabelle, you cannot marry him!” he shouted, taking a step closer to her. Isabelle nearly leapt a mile high at Serge’s sudden outburst. She placed a hand over her speeding heart and wrinkled her brow.

“Why on earth not?” she challenged, brazenly daring him with her eyes to find fault with her choice of groom. “Because you have irrationally decided not to like the man?”

“No!” Serge practically screamed, not caring how irrational or desperate he sounded. “The Plan” was unraveling quickly and he scrambled desperately to pull it all back together. “You can’t marry him, Isabelle. You just can’t!”

“You still haven’t told me why!” She exclaimed, flailing her arms in frustration like a bird about to take flight.

“Because as good as all those reasons that you just listed are, I can think of one good reason to trump them all.”

“And what reason is that?” Isabelle challenged, her hands on her ample hips.

Without thinking and without hesitation, Serge practically leaped across the space between them before yanking her against his body with one strong arm. Isabelle’s surprised exclamation was quickly stifled as his lips collided with hers. She stiffened for a moment in surprise, but just as quickly melted in his embrace.

He pulled away just enough to allow him the space to speak, his lips still pressed lightly against hers. “Because I want you to marry me,” he murmured before pressing his lips to hers again. Serge could practically feel the wheels turning in her head, could almost hear her reasoning with her inner self to snap out of it and pull away from his embrace. Not willing to concede defeat just yet, he increased the ardor of his kiss, pressing his free hand insistently at the nape of her neck so that she could not easily escape him. By the time his tongue slipped in to taste hers, she did not want to.

Her arms came up to hook around his neck, pressing her even more tightly against him. Serge knew then that there was no turning back. It was all or nothing and it had to be right now before she changed her mind. He knew he was taking advantage of a moment of weakness, but decided to feel guilty about it later. In that moment all that mattered was that she was in his arms, ready and willing. He tilted her head at a better angle so that he could more fully explore her lips, tasting of the milk and honey of paradise.

Serge had never tasted or felt anything more intense in his life, at least he thought he hadn’t until he moved his open mouth to the slender column of her throat. Her knees buckled and she fell against him as he nibbled lightly at the side of her neck, working his way down to the gentle curve of her shoulder.

“Isabelle,” he whispered against her ear before taking the delicate lobe between his teeth. “I can’t…I need…oh God, please tell me you want this too,” he murmured as he reached down to grasp her hips. He pulled her flush against him, shuddering at the feel of her suppleness against his solidity.

“Yes,” she sighed, the one word igniting something in him that had lain dormant for so long. Serge had longed to hear that whispered, impassioned plea from her lips for as long as he could remember and now was his chance. He did not care that they were in the middle of the garden with only a few planted hedges to conceal them,  or that someone would come upon them at any moment.

That single word was enough to work them both into a frenzy. She tore at the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt until his chest was exposed to her touch. As she covered his chest with hot kisses, he reached up and yanked down the top of her dress until her small, firm breasts filled his palms. Her head fell back to expose the alluring curve of her neck as he massaged her gently and bent to taste one of the upturned peaks.

When it became clear that neither would be able to stand much longer, they sank as one to the ground. With one mouth still working at her breast, he busied himself with lifting her skirts and unbuttoning his breeches. He’d waited for this moment for too long; he could not wait any longer.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he surged forward and plunged into heaven. Isabelle cried out against his shoulder; he moaned against her neck and began to move against her, pressing her against the hard ground.

Their loving was rough and swift, their urgency heightened by the fear of discovery. His thrusts were neither gentle, nor graceful, pounding out a rhythm against her in the same cadence of his drumming heart.  Isabelle didn’t seem to mind, her cries against the fabric of his coat indicating her pleasure.  All the while, Serge prayed that no one would come upon them, knowing that he couldn’t stop now even if they did. Pleasure culminated at the base of his spine, hinting at the fulfillment that was only seconds away. The sensation became even more overwhelming when she tightened around him in climax. Her breathless and cries and the torturous throbbing of her wet, swollen sheath around him was all that it took to push him over the brink. Capturing her mouth to muffle her cries, he closed his eyes and spilled his hot seed inside of her. With deep, ragged breaths, be braced himself up on his elbows and willed his racing pulse to slow.

When Serge’s heartbeat returned to normal, he lifted his head to stare down at her. Her heavy lidded eyes stared back at his shyly. Her cheeks were tinged pink as were her lips from the pressure of his lips. He stroked a lock of hair the same shade as moonlight and kissed her forehead tenderly.

He pulled the top of her dress back into place and yanked her skirts down before helping her to her feet. Feeling a bit embarrassed about lifting her skirts and taking her on the ground so callously, he turned his back to button his own clothes. Serge wished to high heaven he could see her face as she was silent and still as death for several minutes. He kept his back turned, giving her a chance to pull herself together.

When he turned around, she was her composed self again; every hair miraculously in place, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Serge took a step toward her and took one of her hands with his. He felt it trembling and realized that she was not as composed as she was letting on. He smiled and placed a kiss on the back of her hand.

“I know we said we would try to forget what happened last night, but we both know that is not possible after what we just did. This thing between us isn’t going to go away.”

“I thought you said it was a mistake,” she said, her voice trembling almost as much as her hands. “What about what you said about not being near a woman in so long?”

“Forget what I said. I was only trying to make sense of this attraction we seem to have for each other. I’m done trying to rationalize it. I want you, Isabelle. After what we just did, you cannot honestly say you don’t want me back. Choose me for your husband. At least you know I’ll be good to you”

She opened her mouth to deny it, but then clamped it shut. After what they’d just done, there was no way she could pretend his words weren’t true. “I need time,” she said, her eyes focused on his now rumpled cravat. “Please don’t make me decide now.”

Serge smiled that devilish smile of his that no woman was immune to. “I know. Just don’t keep me waiting too long,” he said before grasping her chin gently and pressing his open mouth against hers one last time. Forcing himself to turn away and not look back, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and made his way back through the hedgerow maze. Serge smiled triumphantly as walked back to the ballroom. He might not have secured a promise from her as he’d hoped, but he had definitely taken a step in the right direction. He wouldn’t stop until Isabelle was his in every way.

Isabelle waited until she could no longer hear Serge’s footsteps against the cobblestones before she relaxed. Her shoulders slumped and her face buried in her hands, she sank down onto the ledge of the fountain, trying to sift through her muddled thoughts.

She and Serge had just crossed the line from friendship over into…what? She shook her head, still unable to believe what they had just done. Worse than that, she could not honestly say that it wouldn’t happen again. Something had changed when she’d gone to Serge’s room last night; her soul been touched by his kiss. Now the very thought of his nearness sent chills racing down her spine. Her lips still tingled from his impassioned assault, and her knees were still weak. She knew that despite her attempt at forgetting and moving past their first romantic encounter, this night’s incident would ensure that she could never look at Serge the same again.

When she was absolutely certain that her weakened knees would hold up, she stood and made her way back through the hedgerow maze. Relieved that no one else was about, Isabelle made her way toward the ballroom doors.

After only a few minutes of mingling and attempting to make idle chatter, Isabelle decided that she could take it no longer. Serge was always within her line of vision, seemingly calm and content after their tumultuous encounter in the garden. Isabelle couldn’t stop watching his hands as they reached for another glass of champagne, knowing that the fingers wrapped around the delicate glass stem had been moving expertly over her body only a few minutes earlier. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his lips as he took a drink, couldn’t stop her tongue from creeping out to lick her own as he drank, remember his mouth pressed hotly up against her breast.

When he looked up at her from where he was talking with a friend and smiled slyly, she could take it no longer. She searched for Damien and found his head hovering above most of the others. “I’m not feeling very well,” she said once she’d reached his side. “I believe I’ll go home now.”

Instead of turning to her with concern, Damien chuckled and smiled widely like the cat that ate the canary. “Certainly,” he said, the corners of his mouth quivering with suppressed laugher. Isabelle’s cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. Damien knew what had happened between her and Serge in the garden. She glanced down at her satin slippers.

“I just want to go home,” she said, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“Why don’t I find one of your bodyguards? I am sure once I tell them you’re feeling poorly they will make sure you get to Largess Hall safely.”

“Find Vernon please,” she said. He was the one of the four body guards Isabelle was closest to. When it came to discretion, Vernon was the most reliable person she knew.

Within minutes, she was safely tucked into a carriage with Vernon, speeding toward home. They rode in silence for several minutes, but Isabelle could feel him staring at her in the dark. She avoided his gaze, waiting for the inevitable lecture. The four of them watched her too closely for them not to have seen her exiting the ballroom with Serge. It remained to be seen what conclusions they’d drawn.

Vernon’s voice shattered the silence. “Would you mind telling me what in hell you could be thinking?”

Isabelle sighed, turning to meet Vernon’s intense gaze. His mouth was drawn into a frown and his jaw was tense. She pretended not to notice. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you are talking about.” she said, drawing her cloak more tightly around her body.

Not put off by her avoidance, Vernon plowed on. "I think you do.”

“He wants me to marry him,” she blurted before she could stop herself. She had always been able to talk to Vernon. He was one of the few people who truly understood her.

“Are you going to?” he asked plainly.

Isabelle shrugged. “I don’t know. Everything is moving so fast. One day I am in mourning and off limits and the next every man I know is out to win my hand.”

“Including your dead husband’s brother, who also happens to be your best friend.”

Tears filled Isabelle’s eyes and she nodded, swiping at them in frustration. “I don’t want to feel this way about him, Vernon. He’s Lionus’ brother. It just feels wrong.”

Vernon nodded his understanding. “Quite a problem you’ve got yourself into. And now you’ve gone and made it even more complicated by becoming intimate with him.”

Isabelle didn’t deny it. She could never insult Vernon’s intelligence that way. “I don’t know what to do,” she said as they arrived in front of Largess Hall. “My life has been so uncertain since Lionus died. As time goes on it just becomes more and more muddled.”

Vernon hopped down from the carriage and offered his hand to assist her. “For one thing,” he said, draping a casual arm around her shoulders as they walked inside, “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.”

“You’re right,” she said. He led her up the stairs to her chambers, and stood watching her as she opened the door. “Thank you Vernon.”

“At your service as always, Your Grace.”

****

“We need to talk.”

Damien paused at the foot of the stairs, his foot poised at the bottom step. He was just about to retire to his bedroom for the night, where he knew Esmeralda was waiting for him wearing nothing but her wedding ring and a smile. He nearly groaned in frustration at the interruption. His late night meetings with General Adams had been keeping him from his bed until well after his wife had gone to sleep. Tonight, he was planning to make up for his neglect.

He turned to find Serge striding determinedly toward him, limping a bit harder than usual, his face drawn. Damien sighed. “Can’t it wait?”

“No,” Serge answered simply, gesturing toward the open door of the grey drawing room. Damien entered behind his brother, who immediately flopped onto a dark grey chair and propped his injured leg up on a nearby footstool. Damien remained on his feet, a clear indication that he did not intend to stay for long.

“Were you unsuccessful with Isabelle tonight? Is that the reason for this little meeting?

Serge shook his head, absently rubbing his aching leg. “I just wanted you to know that I have decided to take you up on your offer. That is, when Isabelle accepts my proposal.”

Damien nodded, stroking his golden beard with a smile. “To what do I owe this sudden change of mind?”

“I cannot bring myself to just stand by and watch her marry some other man. She was considering Blackwater as a potential husband for Christ’s sake!”

Damien grimaced. “Over my dead body.”

“My sentiments precisely. I can’t stand the thought of some other man having her. I still have my reservations but the alternative is unspeakable.”

Damien nodded his agreement. “I take it you have already approached Isabelle?”

Thinking of their time in the garden together, Serge smiled. “In a manner of speaking.”

“And?”

Serge could see that Damien was rapidly losing his patience so he waved his brother off dismissively. “Suffice it to say I have the situation well in hand. She may need a little convincing, but I am more than up to the task.”

Damien chuckled and turned to take his leave. “Good luck!”

Isabelle however, was finding it damned hard to fall asleep. After nearly an hour of tossing and turning, she finally threw the covers aside with a resigned sigh and left her bed. Deciding that another middle-of-the-night trip to the kitchen was in order, Isabelle located her dressing gown, put it on and tightly belted it at the waist. Looking left and right in the corridor and ensuring that no one else was around, she lifted her lamp and quietly 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, all she needed to do was raise her fist to knock and he would open the door. Maybe he would be wearing nothing but a bed sheet like the last time; maybe he would be bold enough to answer the door without it. Maybe he would grab her by the hand and pull her into the room, kicking it shut with his foot before sweeping her off her feet and tossing her onto the bed.

Isabelle shook herself out of her very delicious daydream and ventured on toward the stairs. Pull yourself together, she told herself. 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 on toward the kitchen.

A sticky sweet odor permeated her senses as she neared the bottom floor. Wrinkling her nose, Isabelle cocked her head to the side, trying to discern where the smell was coming from. She finally followed her nose to the open door of one of several drawing rooms. The room was completely dark, but she could see that the double doors leading to the terrace were thrown open.

Curiosity led her toward those open doors until she could make out a figure in black. As she neared she recognized Akira, Esmeralda’s grandmother. 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 the pipe, and Isabelle knew this was where that sweetish smell was coming from. Deciding not to intrude on what might be a private moment of reflection, Isabelle began to back away slowly, intending to leave the way she had come.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Princess.” The old woman spoke without turning around. Isabelle froze. Had she heard correctly? How had the old Gypsy woman known she was there when she had not even turned around?

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said as Akira turned to face her. “I should go now.”

“No,” the old woman replied, reaching out to grab Isabelle’s hand with her bony one. “We will talk now, you and I. There are things I would tell you, but only if you are ready to hear.”

Isabelle allowed Akira to lead her to the wrought iron table and chairs at the corner of the covered veranda. She sank into a chair across from Akira, placing her lamp on the table between them. Akira placed the pipe between her lips and inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly through her nostrils with a sigh of satisfaction. She sat with her eyes closed 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 closely. Had she fallen asleep? Isabelle cleared her throat loudly but the old woman was unresponsive.

“Akira?”

No response.

“Akira, are you all right?”

Still no response.

Isabelle sat back with a sigh and waited. Esmeralda’s grandmother was a curious woman and if there was one thing Isabelle knew about her it was that she only spoke when necessary. When she did it was something important. Whatever wisdom she was supposed to receive, Isabelle would wait patiently to hear it.

They sat that way together, in silence, 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 slowly fell under the effects of the mystical smoke. Akira continued.

“It is not easy for one who has had all decisions made for her to suddenly have to make so many for herself. By choosing for you, those around you have crippled you, making you weak and unprepared for the world outside the walls of this palace. What they and you do not know is that there is a strong heart within you. 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. “That can’t be true. You are wrong about me.”

Akira chuckled, the sound a warm and deep rumble penetrating the haze of the intoxicating smoke. “You must 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 do I do?”

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

“Warrior king?”

“You know of whom I speak. You must choose him as your king. 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 that I was destined for Serge all along?”

Akira smiled, accentuating the deep lines around her mouth. “Do not confuse yourself with trying to figure out the workings of fate. The truth is that you were destined for both. The path of your fate lead 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 said gently, kneeling before her. Sitting on the bed, she gazed down at the top of his dark head as he bent to grasp one foot in his hands. She shivered as his hands glided over the aching muscles, exerting firm but gentle pressure. When he was finished with the left foot he lifted the right and treated it the same way. When he was finished, he gazed up at her, still clutching her ankle in his hands. He smiled. He hardly ever smiled but when he did, the warmth of it spread through his entire face. Isabelle couldn’t help but smile back.

“Better?” he asked, his hand still absently stroking her ankle. Isabelle wondered if he knew the simple movement caused tiny tremors to run up her leg. She nodded in response, not trusting herself to speak.

“I am glad to hear that you enjoyed yourself today. It was our wedding day after all; a day to remember.”

Isabelle reached down and stroked the hair hanging loosely to his shoulders. She’d never seen him anything other than impeccably groomed and dressed and decided that she very much liked the way he looked in the intimacy of their dimly lit bedroom. Lionus had removed his coat, waistcoat and cravat, and rolled 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 being completely alone with her husband for the first time and the inevitable consummation that was soon to begin.

“I can see that you are nervous,” he said, absently 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 it 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 that the practically 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, Isabelle knew she’d been right.

When they were both undressed he moved slowly, reverently, worshipping her with his hands and lips. Isabelle’s heart hammered wildly in her chest 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. Oh, he’d never said it aloud, but somewhere deep inside she just knew. Lionus loved her. He commenced to showing her just how much. Before she knew it, he was lowering himself between her legs. His cobalt eyes connected with hers and he smiled as if to assure her that he wouldn’t hurt her.

As she watched his face and braced herself for the inevitable pain of their first joining, Lionus’ face began to change. The angular planes became more broad and chiseled, the mouth became fuller, and a cleft appeared 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 beneath the right eye all the way to the jawline.

In her mind, she knew that 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 up to kiss him tenderly. Her mind screamed that she was with the wrong man, that she was making a terrible mistake, but it couldn’t stop her body. As their lips locked, Serge pushed forward until he was buried 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 and she shot into a sitting position on the bed with a jolt. Once her breathing calmed and she had shaken off the clinging fog of sleep, she noticed that it was morning. She flopped back against the pillows and pressed her hands against her bleary eyes.

She searched her brain for any memory of how she had ended up back in her own bed. Apparently, the effects of Akira’s pipe smoke were quite strong. She could remember nothing past their conversation. Isabelle was sure that she made her way back to her room alone as Akira did not look strong enough to carry her up two flights of stairs

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

“Good morning, dear,” she said, her voice full of cheer. Gayle was a morning person. Isabelle was not.

Still, she 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, Isabelle attacked her breakfast with gusto. This must be another side effect of the smoke, she told herself.

“Hope you had pleasant dreams last night,” Gayle commented as she bustled over to the dressing room. At the mention of dreams, Isabelle felt her face burning. More pleasurable than pleasant, she thought in response to Gayle’s comment.

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

As she chewed slowly, staring absently out of 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 and breathlessly anticipated the wedding night. She would never have thought that 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. Could the dream be an indication of a secret desire she hadn’t even known about? Was her subconscious trying to tell her something?

With a shake of her head, Isabelle pushed her 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 had followed in the garden she had dreamt of a wedding night with him. That she had mingled the idea with her own wedding night with Lionus was something that 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 young charge, one hand on her hip. “Sorry Gayle,” she said. “I’m afraid my thoughts ran away with me again. You have my full attention now.”

Gayle sighed in annoyance and handed Isabelle her dressing gown as she pushed the covers aside and rose from the bed. “I was saying that since the weather is so lovely, perhaps you would consider taking Lord Primus on a tour of the grounds. It would be the perfect chance for you to wear that green riding habit you’ve never worn, now that you’re wearing 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 over 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 that was characteristic of both Cardenas and Barony would be upon them, bringing with it several feet of snow.

Across the rolling fields that stretched out before Largess Hall, Isabelle spotted a lone figure walking toward the palace. Her heart leapt 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 was watching.

When Gayle returned from her errand, Isabelle was still staring at him. 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, 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 of Largess Hall, watching as a convoy of carriages was loaded down with the Princess’ belongings, he made sure to stay well away from the carriage wheels. After that terrifying night on the side of the road, he remained wary of the vehicles. He was grateful that he would not have to ride inside one, as he would be in command of the contingent of soldiers coming along as protection and would be leading them on horseback.

The soldiers were all at the ready, armed to the teeth and mounted up. Lord Primus was in the saddle as well, a pistol in his belt and a sword at his side. The weather was perfect and Serge hoped it remained so for their week-long journey to Barony. They would be able to stop 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 have to make camp with the opulent tents they were bringing along. Honestly, the princess wouldn’t even notice that she was sleeping outside.

Damien stood by, alongside General Adams. Both would be joining them in Barony within a few weeks. Serge and Primus would be leading this operation together, alone, with Isabelle between them like a juicy side of beef between two hungry dogs. Serge frowned in annoyance as Isabelle, Gayle, and her four bodyguards joined them in the courtyard.

Serge had hardly seen her since that night in the garden and when he did she was infuriatingly cordial. He tried several times to get her alone so that they could talk, but one of those damned bodyguards was always nearby, watching him suspiciously. With each passing day his frustration grew, until he was just about ready to grab her by the arm and pull her off to his chambers where they could be alone, bodyguards be damned.

Serge needed to know if she had been thinking about his offer. He wondered she’d been thinking about him at all. God knew he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Every night he tossed and turned in his bed, unable to put her out of his mind. Now that he had tasted and touched, he wanted more. He didn’t know how much longer he could wait.

She smiled pleasantly at Primus, nodded slightly at Serge and said goodbye to Damien.

“You are in the best of hands,” Damien said, handing first Gayle then Isabelle up into the carriage. “My brother has chosen the best soldiers to ride along for your protection. You should reach Barony promptly and safely. General Adams and I are preparing the remaining soldiers for the journey and should only be a few weeks behind you. Hopefully once I arrive, you will be engaged?”

Serge did not miss that she glanced at him guiltily out of the corner of her eye. She regained her composure quickly and nodded. “I am considering my list of potential candidates quite carefully. I hope to make a decision soon.”

That decision would be him, Serge told himself firmly. He hadn’t been beaten yet. Au contraire, he had only begun to fight. If Isabelle thought that a few weeks of ignoring him would be enough to erase what happened, she had another thing coming. She would be completely at his mercy for the next week, enough time to win her over he was sure. There was, of course, the small matter of Primus and the bodyguards, who would be there every step of the way. No matter, Serge dismissed the man from his mind with a mental shrug. It was a small wrinkle in his plans, but one he could work around. There would be plenty of opportunity for him to get Isabelle alone. Besides, he was the leader of this little expedition. He signaled the men to surround the carriage in the formation they had practiced. Leading his horse to the front of the pack, Serge signaled the men to move out.

****

“You have been ignoring me.”

Isabelle could have kicked herself for being caught alone. When she turned to find Serge behind her with a mischievous glint in his eyes, she could have groaned aloud in exasperation. They’d stopped at an inn half a day’s ride from Largess Hall for lunch. The men were all crammed into the inn’s small dining room. Isabelle excused herself to use the ladies’ retiring room. When she came out, she nearly collided with Serge, who had obviously been waiting for her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she responded, folding her arms defensively across her chest.

“Did you enjoy your meal?”

For a moment, she was taken aback by the sudden shift in their conversation. In the few seconds that it took for her to regain her composure, a boyish grin crept slowly across his face.

“You seemed to enjoy it very much,” he continued before she could respond. He leaned in close and Isabelle realized too late that he had literally backed her into a corner. The corridor was dark and no one seemed to be near enough to hear or see them. “You seemed to particularly enjoy the strawberries and cream.”

Isabelle nodded, trying to pretend they were having an everyday conversation, and that he wasn’t pressing her into the corner with seduction radiating from his eyes. “Yes, I adore fresh strawberries as you know.”

“Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully, stroking his chin, his fingers moving over the deep scar slashing across the side of his face. “You know, I didn’t get any,” he said thoughtfully. “Do you think there’s any left?”

Isabelle shrugged, becoming angrier by the second. She was two seconds away from telling him to get on with it and tell her what he wanted. “I don’t know Serge,” she said tightly, “perhaps you should go and see.”

His grin widened and he rested one hand on the wall beside her. “I am certain the men have all had at it by now. I suppose I shall have to make do with this.”

Much too late, Isabelle realized his intent. She was helpless as he leaned in swiftly, covering her mouth with his before she could protest. In a final effort at defending herself, Isabelle lifted her hands to push against his chest. Big mistake. Tightly corded muscles met her palms as he wrapped his arms around her waist to mash her against him. He pressed her up against the wall, his heart thudding wildly against her palms as he took her mouth with his.

Isabelle went limp in his arms, opening her mouth to him. They both knew that resistance was futile. He had won and the spoils of his victory were sweet indeed. He tore his mouth from hers, but did not move his hands from her waist. He leaned in until his mouth was pressed hotly against her ear. “Just think Isabelle, if you marry me it would always be this way between us. Our night in the garden was just a taste of what we could have.”

She shook her head, mostly to clear her thoughts before his whispered words and his breath tickling the delicate shell of her ear stole away all of her logic and reason.

“You deserve someone who will care for you, Isabelle,” he continued, his hands lightly stroking her back as he nuzzled her ear. “You should marry a man who knows you. A man who knows how much you love strawberries and that your favorite color is yellow. Someone who knows that cat fur makes you sneeze and that nothing dazzles you more than watching the sunset. You deserve to be happy again and to be with someone who truly understands you. When you stop fighting it long enough to realize that that man is me, I’ll be waiting.”

With one last kiss, he let her go and turned to walk away. Isabelle leaned back into the corner and pressed her hand to her burning lips. How had she ever thought things could ever go back to normal between them? They would never be the same again.

After she regained her composure, she returned to the dining room and went back to the table where Gayle sat waiting for her with Vernon and took her seat.

“Is everything all right, dear?” asked Gayle, concern on her face.

“Of course,” she said without tearing her eyes away from her tea cup. Thankfully, she had already eaten, otherwise the churning in her stomach would have surely caused her to lose her appetite.

Vernon gazed across the room where Serge sat conversing easily with a small group of soldiers, his smile wide. He looked back at Isabelle and shook his head.

****

The first few days passed uneventfully. The closer they got to Barony, the more danger they were in, but Serge was keeping a close eye on their surroundings. His main concern was the three day stretch with nary another person in sight. It was too easy for someone to come across their caravan out on the open plains or attack from any side. Serge had devised a rigid guard schedule, ensuring that there was constant protection around Isabelle’s tent. He decided to take the first watch himself if for no other reason to be close to her.

Tonight would be the first night they made camp and Serge found he was actually looking forward to it. Isabelle had gone back to avoiding him as much as she could, which was easy when she was in a carriage and he was leading the front of the caravan on a horse. When they stopped to eat or rest the horses she was forced to abide his company, something he looked forward to with a great deal of amusement.

She wanted him. That much he knew after the way she’d nearly melted in his arms at the first inn they stopped at. He had caught her watching him a few times. Serge would smile and she would turn away quickly, embarrassed. He knew Isabelle well enough to know that she was only avoiding him to keep from facing the truth. He knew that having to choose a husband was making her uneasy; the thought of choosing him was probably just as nerve-wracking. Serge just knew that they would be perfect together, if only she would give him a chance.

“How much longer before we make camp, Your Grace?” asked Primus from his left side. Serge’s hands tightened on the reigns and irritation pulled at the corners of his mouth. Primus had been second-guessing him at every turn, questioning the route he’d chosen, their pace, the inns he chose to stop at. He was only a few seconds away from leaping off his saddle and taking the arrogant older man down.

“An hour at least,” Serge snapped. “I know it’s hard for a man of your age to sit in the saddle for so long, but you chose not to ride in the carriage.”

“I only thought that the Princess would like a chance to stretch her legs. I was not aware that we were only an hour away from camp. I have never traveled this way between Cardenas and Barony before.”

“According to the map there is a source of water not far from here. Judging by how close we are to the bordering mountains, I’d say an hour at the most. Besides, Isabelle has been riding in a carriage all day, I daresay her legs are just fine,” he said, rubbing his sore thigh absentmindedly. His injured leg was paining him greatly but he wouldn’t dare let on in front of the others.

“I am only thinking of her,” Primus continued, oblivious to the fact that Serge wanted him to shut the hell up. “She is a Princess, a delicate flower.”

Was Isabelle really thinking of marrying this idiot? If he thought Isabelle was a delicate flower, he didn’t really know her at all. Serge remembered all too well the night by the road that had changed their lives forever. He recalled the grim set of her features as he’d asked her to drive a carriage to safety, something she had never done before.  She’d taken the reigns without batting an eyelash and accepted his offered pistol as if she’d been holding one her entire life. Isabelle was the exact opposite of delicate, he thought with a smile; it was one of the things he loved most about her.

Choosing to ignore Primus, he spurred his horse a few paces ahead, pointedly ending their conversation. Damien had teased him for being jealous of a man twice his age, but Serge couldn’t help it. Primus wanted Isabelle, but he would be damned if he gave her up without a fight. Tonight he would be on the first watch, close enough to her tent that he could slip inside unnoticed. Thinking of stealing a few kisses, Serge relaxed in the saddle and began to whistle.

****

Isabelle dipped her hands in the cool water of the stream, grateful to be out of the carriage after a long day of riding. They were only a few more days from Barony and she would be ecstatic when they finally reached their destination. For the first three days there had been nothing but dirt, rocks and the occasional tree to look at through the carriage window. Today, the bordering mountains between Cardenas and Barony finally came into view, signaling the half-way point of their journey. Isabelle splashed some cold water on her face and turned back toward camp, which was only a few feet away through a line of trees.

As she made her way up the embankment, she saw Primus coming toward her.

“I trust that the journey was not overly hard on you, my lady,” he said as he approached.

Isabelle smiled. “I found myself a bit restless being stuck inside the carriage all day. Do you think it would be all right for me ride a bit tomorrow?”

Primus frowned. “I do not think that would be a very good idea, Princess. We could encounter danger at any moment and I believe that His Grace will agree with me in saying that it will be much safer for you inside the carriage.”

Isabelle nodded reluctantly. “I suppose you’re right.”

Primus glanced pointedly at Francis, who stood guard a few feet away. “A few moments alone, my lady?”

Isabelle turned to Francis and waved him off. “I’ll be perfectly safe here with Lord Primus, Francis,” she assured him.

Once he was gone, Primus turned back toward her with a smile. “I was hoping we could discuss the subject of husband hunting while we have a few minutes alone. Have you given any more thought to your possible candidates?”

“I can assure you I’ve been considering the matter very carefully. I hope to have made a decision by the time we reach Barony.”

“If I may be so bold I’d like to offer a suggestion.”

“It certainly couldn’t hurt.”

He paused for a moment. “Me,” he said quickly, as if trying to get the words out before he changed his mind. Isabelle felt as if the ground had fallen out from under her. He held a hand up to silence her before she could respond. “Allow me to plead my case before you say no.”

Isabelle forced a smile despite the uneasy feeling at the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Primus proposing to her. “I wasn’t going to say no,” she assured him. “Please continue.”

“I hope you know how much I admire you,” he said, grabbing one of her hands in both of his. “I hope that you at least feel the same for me.” She nodded, which only encouraged him to continue. His thumb was drawing slow circles against her hand and he was moving closer with every word. Isabelle held her breath and waited. “I know I could make you happy, my lady, and I know that I could rule Barony well.”

“I have no doubt of that,” she said, finding her voice finally. “You have been doing so these last twenty years.”

“Please do not think that this is an attempt on my behalf to gain the crown. I really feel that we could be good together, Isabelle,” he said, using her given name for the first time. “I care for you very much and in time I hope you could come to care for me too.”

Before she knew what was happening, he was tugging her hand until she was in his arms and kissing her gently. Rather than fight him, Isabelle allowed him to kiss her and attempted to participate in the kiss as well. If she was going to consider him for marriage, she might as well see whether or not she could even be attracted to him.

The kiss was nice enough. His lips were soft and gentle and while she had been worried that his mustache and beard would tickle her, they did not. His hands rested respectfully on her shoulders and his mouth opened only slightly. When it was over Isabelle felt fine. Not good, not bad. Just fine. She couldn’t help but compare the experience to another kiss and hated herself for it.

“Primus,” she began, “I am very flattered but I...“

“What the devil is going on here?”

Isabelle turned in Primus’ arms to find Serge standing a few feet away, his hands balled into fists at his sides, his expression murderous. Isabelle stepped away guiltily.

“The princess and I were having a private conversation,” Primus said, grabbing her hand possessively.

“I did not hear very much talking,” Serge countered, stepping closer.

“I hardly see how it is any of your concern.”

Isabelle looked back and forth between the two of them, certain she had been all but forgotten in this little drama.

“As Isabelle’s brother-in-law, I would have to say that it is my concern. I hardly think your advances are appropriate considering that she is to be choosing a husband soon. Have you no care for her reputation?”

“How dare you insinuate that I would sully my lady’s character?”

Isabelle, who at this point was quite annoyed at having been accosted by both these men in the last few days and then having to watch them fight over her like two rutting stags, growled in irritation. “For God’s sake, both of you shut up!”

They both grew silent and Isabelle inwardly smiled in satisfaction.

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

Primus, still glaring at Serge venomously, left reluctantly. Isabelle turned on Serge the moment he was out of sight.

“What on earth is the matter with you?” she practically screamed, 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 said, taking a step closer and lowering his voice.

“Your arrogance is astounding. You certainly are sure of yourself.”

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

Isabelle swayed and fought to keep her balance. Her lips were tingling and she was 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 hoarsely against his mouth.

His lips brushed her lightly. She trembled. “Liar,” he whispered.

Isabelle jerked away from him, spinning on her heels and stomping away to put some distance between them. After a few steps she heard Serge chuckling.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked smugly. She could feel him smirking at the back of her head. When Isabelle realized what he meant she rolled her eyes and turned around.

“Don’t make me say it,” she begged.

He grinned. “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.

****

Akira paced back and forth before the fireplace in her room, her eyebrows drawn together in concentration, her mouth pinched into a thin line. She had been born with a prophetic gift that her people called ‘the sight’ and often knew about things before they came to pass. Akira did what she could to guide the people in her life as best she could, knowing that fate sometimes needed a little assistance.

She’d helped her granddaughter and King Damien and all had turned out well for them. Now she wanted to do the same for Princess Isabelle and Prince Serge, but she feared it would not be easy. The young princess was just too stubborn.

She had hoped that their little talk would make a difference but it would seem the girl was still resisting her destiny. The sooner she decided on Prince Serge as her husband the better, for the fate of Barony hinged on her decision.

Akira pondered her next move, knowing that she needed to act now. Glancing out at the moon, she decided that the princess must be asleep by now. She had long ago mastered the art of contacting people through their dreams, though the process took a great amount of energy and at her age, she tired quickly after using her gift.

Deciding that it needed to be done no matter what affect it would have on her, she went out into the corridor in search of Esmeralda and Raina. She was going to need their assistance when she was finished.

Chapter 8

Isabelle slowly made her way through the dark glen, the shadows and rolling fog following the sticky-sweet odor that was so very familiar to her. It was dark, very dark, and she was utterly alone yet she did not feel fear. Pulling her hooded cloak more tightly 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 did when she usually saw the princess. It was clear that she was ready to get down to business.

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

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

“I have heeded...“

“You have not!” the Gypsy woman 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 the princess off before she could begin. “I understand. The memory of your lost love is still too fresh. 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.”

She inhaled the pipe smoke once more and blew it slowly 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, crying women clutching small children ran from rebels wielding swords and pistols. Many were cut down along with their children. Fires raged in their villages, burning their homes, their barns, and fields of grain. Men fought to save their families but were mowed down by the enemy force.

Tears filled Isabelle’s eyes as she beheld the fate of her people. Dear God, what could she be thinking? She could not allow this fate to befall her people!

The vision faded and the Gypsy prophetess studied the princess intently. “I see that you have a full understanding now,” she said. “That is good. I trust you will make the right decision now.”

“Yes,” said the princess. “I will do what I must for my people.”

Isabelle fought the grasping hands of sleep and reached for consciousness. She sat up quietly hoping that Gayle, who was sharing her tent, would not awaken. Pulling her heavy blanket around her body, she stuck her head out through the tent’s opening.

Serge had appointed soldiers to act as guards throughout the night and she was relieved to find that he had put himself on the first watch. He sat a few feet away from the tent, sharpening his sword by the fire. He was alone, thankfully. She tore her eyes away from the movement of his rippling arm muscles as he worked and started toward him, determined to get this over with before she changed her mind.

Serge looked up as she approached and smiled. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise! Here I was thinking I would have to sneak into your tent tonight to get some time alone with you.”

Isabelle shook her head. “You would have had to step over Gayle to do so. She is sharing my tent.”

Serge shrugged and slid his sword back in its sheath and set it aside. “Which makes the fact that you are out here now all the better. What can I do for you?”

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

Serge’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I’m listening,” he said.

“I am sorry I have been so hot and cold with you. It’s just that you and I have always been such good friends and I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“But 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.”

“You’re right. As I said, I am sorry. I hope that the offer still stands because if it does I accept.”

Serge couldn’t have looked more surprised if she had splashed cold water in his face. When she said she needed to talk, he certainly could not have been expecting this. “Do you mean it? You’ll really marry me?”

Isabelle nodded and smiled. “Who better to marry than my best friend?”

He returned her smile and placed one arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “You will not regret it.”

Isabelle thought of her dream and nodded decisively. “I am certain that I won’t.”

“How about a kiss to seal our agreement.”

Isabelle snorted. “Don’t push your luck”

Serge laughed. “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.”

Isabelle pulled away and slapped at his arm playfully. “Serge!”

He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Isabelle stood and wrapped her blanket back around her shoulders. “I must say I am glad to have that out of the way. Now I can get on with this business of becoming queen of a nation.” Isabelle found that she meant every word. She felt as if a humongous weight had been lifted from her shoulders with this decision.

“Well, until tomorrow then,” Serge replied.

“Good night,” she said, turning to go back toward her tent. Her mind lighter than it had been for weeks, Isabelle slept peacefully.

The rest of the journey passed rather uneventfully. Now that he had obtained Isabelle’s promise to marry him, Serge allowed himself to relax and concentrate solely on completing the journey to 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 clear blue sky and frothy white clouds. Beyond that were villages filled with Barony’s citizens, farmland and long stretches of forest. Barony was 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 that the rebels came and went as they pleased, in and out of villages, before disappearing without a trace. Serge could hardly wait to begin squashing their so-called revolution.

For now, he was relaxed and at peace, more than he had been since awakening from his coma. As soon as he could arrange it, Isabelle would be his wife. He turned in the saddle to watch her where she rode behind him, flanked on both sides by two of her bodyguards. Those four would be the first things to go, he decided, ignoring Nicholas’ venomous glare. No one knew about their engagement as they had decided to keep it a secret until they 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 be enjoying herself as she scanned the horizon. Her eyes locked onto Guthrie Hall and 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 was tilted at an angle over her upswept hair. He thought about pulling the hat from her head, scattering hairpins across the ground and filling his hands with her silken locks. He imagined at the collar of her jacket until buttons were popping off in every direction, and lifting her skirts and…good lord, he couldn’t wait for the wedding night.

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

Serge whipped back around in the saddle and cursed violently 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. Serge raised his hand over his eyes to shield them, and squinted, trying to assess the group of rapidly approaching men on horseback. Friend or foe, he wondered?

Deciding that they would be treated as foes unless they identified themselves otherwise, Serge motioned for Primus to join him. Primus spurred his mount forward until he was abreast of Serge.

“Were you expecting anyone to ride out and meet us?” he asked, once Primus was beside him.

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

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

Primus turned his horse around to do as commanded. Serge slowed until he was closer to the men riding beside and around 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 this, so you know what to do. Protecting the princess is our highest priority.”

A commotion behind him had him whipping around in the saddle to discover the source. Isabelle’s voice, shrill and superior, demanding to know what was going on, grated against his nerves. “Isabelle, get in the Goddamned carriage!” he bellowed with a black scowl in Primus’ direction. “Must I do everything myself?” Serge muttered as he took his place at the front of the phalanx surrounding the vehicle.

Serge turned once more to ensure that Isabelle was safe inside before turning his attention back to the approaching riders, who were picking up speed and closing in fast. Serge could see that they had all drawn their swords. His blood raced through his veins as his hands clutched his weapons firmly. He had been training to become general of Cardenas’ army since he was fourteen now knowing that he would become king of Barony made his success all the more imperative. He could not let Isabelle down.

Serge urged his horse into a trot and instructed his men to follow. When they did, he urged the stallion on 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 was the pounding of horse’s hooves as the space finally closed between them and the supposed rebels.

Metal clanked against metal and gunshots rang out overhead as the two sides finally collided. Serge raised his pistol and fired directly into the shoulder of one rebel before swinging his sword in a wide arc to catch the throat of another.

“No mercy, men!” he commanded as he leapt from the saddle, swinging his blade to the right to catch the legs of a passing enemy’s horse. The animal went down with a tortured whinny, taking its rider down with him. “These men are traitors to the crown and deserve nothing more than the edge of your blade!”

Serge 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 knife whirred over Serge’s shoulder and found its way between the eyes of another rebel.

“Knife throwing?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Vernon laughed. “Maybe I could teach you a thing or two, Your Grace.”

They both chuckled before turning back to back and lifting their weapons once more. Serge soon found himself battling two or three opponents at one time. He was baffled by the sheer number of his enemy. Serge could never have imagined that the rebellion had grown so much. They seemed an endless sea of sword-swinging, gun-toting waves, washing and crashing over him and his men mercilessly. The cries of fallen men from both sides echoed over the seemingly endless plains. Serge knew that more of his men had fallen than theirs.

As he caught sight of the carriage, still surrounded by soldiers fighting to protect it, he began to feel a sinking sensation in his stomach. He remembered the night by the road when he had fought to protect a carriage with the woman he loved inside. Ironically, his brother, who loved the same woman, had been fighting for her as well. That night had changed both their lives forever. He had a feeling that this day would be just as pivotal.

Just as he was about to turn away from the carriage and back to the fight, he saw one of the doors swing open and a feminine figure in a navy blue riding habit come flying out. Before Serge could verbalize the string of curses on the edge of his tongue, she was running toward one of her bodyguards, Francis, who lay wounded nearby, her hand extended as if ready to grasp something. Serge felt his throat closing to cut off his air supply when her hand wrapped around the hilt of Francis’ sword.

“No, Your Grace don’t!” Francis cried as the idiotic girl lifted the sword.  Serge ran his blade through the rebel in his path and leaped over his body before breaking into a run toward Isabelle. Fear squeezed his lungs until he was almost incapable of breathing. His legs pumped furiously, faster than he ever thought they could, as he ran toward her, unable to do a thing from where he was 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 were, they were all too busy taking on two or more rebels at once and fighting for their own lives.

Somehow the phalanx around Isabelle had been broken and now the only thing standing between her and certain death was Serge and the cold steel of the blade in his hand but only if he could reach her first.

As the rebel approached, chuckling and taunting Isabelle, she swung the sword in a wide arc, just barely bouncing the tip off of the man’s breastplate. His chuckles grew louder as he advanced on her slowly, content to toy with her for a moment, his victory assured. Isabelle swung the sword again, but this time missed entirely. The weight of sword knocked her off balance and she fell back onto the generous cushion of her derrière. The sword fell onto the ground beside her with a heavy thud.

As the rebel advanced on her, Serge increased his speed, but knew he would never reach her in time. By the time Serge could reach them, he would have already hurt or killed her.  He raised his sword and lunged forward as the man was lifting his over Isabelle. Just before either of their blades fell, the rebel soldier pitched forward and fell on his face, a feathered arrow sticking straight up out of his back.

Relief flooded Serge as he knelt beside Isabelle on the ground. Giving her his hand, he pulled her into a sitting position.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“Good,” he bellowed, dragging her to her feet and shoving her toward the carriage, “because when this is over I am going to kill you for being so incredibly stupid!”

Once he’d all but thrown her back into the carriage and slammed the door shut on her vehement protests, he turned back to the dead rebel. He yanked the arrow from his back and studied the black feathers with a frown. None of his men used arrows.

A cheer from his men broke through his thoughts and he quickly abandoned the arrow and looked to discover the source of the commotion. In the distance, coming from the direction of Guthrie Hall, was another group of riders. This one, though small, was rapidly approaching and carried with them the Barony battle standard. Realizing that this was where the arrow had come from, Serge let out of a whoop of joy and jumped back into the fray with a renewed vigor.

Within a few minutes, the newly arrived soldiers from Barony were close enough to release a volley of arrows Each and every one found its way into the throat or chest of a rebel soldier.

Serge was stunned by the superior skill of these soldiers. They directed their horses with their knees, expertly weaving in and out of the other men, wielding their weapons with deadly precision. Their clothing was the red and gold colors representative of Barony and their armor gleamed in the afternoon sun, each breastplate etched with Barony’s coat of arms.

Serge watched as one somersaulted from the seat of his horse, wielding a long pole with a wicked-looking blade at the end of it. As he swung the blade with deadly precision, he lifted his leg and delivered two kicks rapidly to another approaching opponent’s throat, rendering the man unconscious. He crouched down with the blade still in one hand and swung it low to catch another two opponents at the backs of their legs, cutting both of them down as well before leaping back into the saddle of his horse.

Another stood a bit away from the others, holding one double-barreled rifle. A second rifle was strapped over his shoulder along with a bow and a quiver of arrows. He lifted the rifle to one eye, aimed and fired. He did not even wait to see that his bullet has struck true before yanking back the hammer and firing again. He lifted the second rifle and fired two more shots, bringing his body count up to four. When both rifles were empty he did not attempt to reload, choosing instead to remount his horse and lift his bow, firing arrows so rapidly, Serge hardly saw him pulling them from his quiver. Each one struck a death blow to the enemy.

As Serge brandished his second revolver and fired a bullet into the chest of one opponent before turning to the next, his eyes came to rest on another soldier from Barony, this one wielding twin battle-axes. He made his way through the rebels, swinging the axes as if they weighed no more than twigs plucked from a tree.

A great cry went up from the men as the remaining rebels scrambled to retreat. Just as he raised his pistol along with his men to fire into the backs of the retreating cowards, the soldiers from Barony raised their bows and arrows as well. Bullets and arrows flew together swiftly before finding their marks; all but one rebel fell into the dirt. Serge raised the pistol containing his final shot and closed one eye to take aim.

“Allow me, Your Grace,” said the soldier with the battle-axes from beside him. Lifting one of the axes, he took a few long running steps before letting it fly. It spun through the air for several yards before landing in the final rebel’s back.

As the men began to search through the wounded and dead for their own, Serge addressed the axe-wielding soldier.

“Thank God you arrived when you did,” he said, extending his hand to the man. His grip was firm through his leather gloves. “The rebels are more formidable than we could have imagined.”

Primus stepped forward with a smile. “We are grateful that you were watching for our return. As always your timing was impeccable.”

The soldier and his men bowed in response, though none spoke. Serge studied them all with narrowed eyes. Something was off about these men. By all appearances, they were fierce and brave warriors, the likes of which Serge had never seen before. Yet something at the back of his mind begged for closer inspection. He knew there was something about these men that wasn’t right, but what was it?

“We certainly owe you our gratitude,” he said to the soldier, making out a pair of gray eyes through the slits of the helm he wore. “You have saved us, and your princess, from death or injury. I know that she will want to express her gratitude once she meets you.”

“We are glad to be of service, Your Grace,” said the soldier. It was in that moment when the soldier spoke that Serge knew what was different about these men.

“Damn it all to hell,” he whispered as the captain reached up to remove his helmet. Though the leather breeches, armor, and helm screamed masculinity, the shoulder length, raven-black hair that came tumbling down around narrow shoulders told Serge the truth. One after the other, the soldiers removed their helms until they were all revealed, each one in all of her stunning, intimidating, womanly glory.

Chapter 9

Isabelle peeked tentatively through the carriage window, pulling the curtain back slowly. Since everything had grown silent, she assumed it was all right for her to leave the carriage, but she was a bit afraid to. Had they won? Were they now safe? Were the rebels waiting for her to exit the carriage so that they could capture or kill her? What of Serge? Surely, he wasn’t still angry with her for trying to defend Francis.

When she had seen Francis fall at the hands of a rebel, she had been unable to just sit idly by and watch him killed, which she was certain would have happened if she hadn’t intervened. Of course, she could have been killed for her efforts, but she decided not to dwell on that fact. Instead, she chose to set about thanking the soldiers who had arrived just in the nick of time instead.

After checking to make sure it was safe, Isabelle stepped down from the carriage, followed by Gayle.

“Are you certain it’s safe, my lady?” Gayle questioned nervously, grasping Isabelle’s hand tightly. “Perhaps we should stay inside the carriage until His Grace decides it’s safe.”

Isabelle gestured toward Serge, who stood speaking with the captain of the small regiment that had come to their rescue. “It looks safe enough to me. Come along Gayle, I wish to thank those brave men for their assistance.”

Practically dragging Gayle behind her, Isabelle stepped around dead and wounded soldiers, careful not to look at any of their faces. As she neared, she could hear Serge thanking the captain for his assistance. Then the captain was removing his helmet.

Isabelle gasped and Gayle nearly choked. He was a she! One by one, the soldiers all removed their helmets, revealing the feminine faces that had been hidden by their helms. Even their figures were disguised by their garments and armor.

“Damn it all to hell,” Serge whispered as Isabelle reached his side.

“Ava Longley, at your service,” said the captain with a sweeping bow. When she saw Isabelle approach, she dropped to one knee on the ground and bowed her head; the other female soldiers followed suit. “My lady,” she said. “It is an honor to meet you.”

Motioning for her to rise, Isabelle placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “The honor is mine Ava,” she replied. “You have my undying gratitude for arriving just in time to aid our men. We were sorely outnumbered until you showed up.”

Serge, who had been stunned into silence until this very moment, spoke up. “Wait just one minute,” he said, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. “Barony allows female knights?”

“I believe the laws are the same in Cardenas as they are here, Your Grace,” replied Ava, her stormy gray eyes narrowed.  “Women are not given the honor of knighthood. However, female soldiers and bodyguards are a long-standing tradition in Barony.”

“That’s right,” said Primus with smile. “I think that you will find the women’s regiment to be as capable as any other.”

If the arrow that had appeared out of nowhere to save her life were any indication of these women’s skills, then Isabelle had no doubts. She studied the group curiously, her eyes locking with each and every one of them. Ava was quite lovely despite her manly garb, with angular features and olive skin set off by her dark hair and silvery-gray eyes. She was a whole head taller than Isabelle and her length was complimented by long, lean muscle. It was no wonder she’d been able to wield her battle-axes with such deadly precision.

The rest of the women all came in a variety of shapes and sizes; one particularly large woman with her blonde hair cut short around her ears, held a menacing club the size of a tree trunk in her hand. Two of the women, though, stood out from the crowd. Isabelle found she could not stop staring at them.

The first was tall, almost as tall as Serge who stood a few inches over six feet. Her skin was darker than any she’d ever seen and gleamed in the afternoon sun like precious ebony. Her dark hair, shining with brown undertones was braided and coiled intricately about her head and interwoven with ribbon. She held a heavy bow in one hand, as did many of the women. A quiver of arrows and two rifles were strapped to her back. Isabelle had never been to Africa, but she had read books about the exotic continent where wild beasts roamed endless desert. This woman standing so proud and regally behind Ava looked like the drawings of the Africans she’d seen in those books.

The second woman who’d caught her eye was the soldier who had been fighting with a deadly pole-blade and was one of the smallest people she had ever seen. Isabelle hardly ever met anyone who was shorter than she was, but there the woman stood, no taller than five feet and so slender Isabelle wondered how she had managed to wield such a heavy-looking weapon. Her hair, midnight black, was cut bluntly up to her chin. Her skin was fair, her black eyes narrow and slanted and assessing Isabelle shrewdly. Isabelle guessed this woman came from somewhere in Asia.

“Well,” said Serge, breaking the silence. “I must say I am impressed. I have never known a woman who could fight as well as a man.”

“It is my opinion that all women should know how to defend themselves in some way,” she glanced pointedly at Isabelle. “My lady, should you ever desire to learn how to really use a sword I am always at your service.”

Before Isabelle could respond, Serge was grasping her arm with an iron grip and steering her toward the carriage. “That won’t be necessary. Princess Isabelle has protection enough.”

After he had pulled her closer to the carriage, he swung the door open, careful not to lose his grip on her arm. His mouth was pulled into a tight frown, his eyes blazing. “The next time you pull a stunt like that, I’m going to throttle you. What in the hell could you have been thinking?”

Isabelle pulled against his hold in an attempt to free herself, but to no avail; Serge simply tightened his grip. “What was I supposed to do, stand back and watch Francis be killed?”

“Yes! Yes, that is exactly what you’re supposed to do! He’s a bodyguard for Christ’s sake, it’s his job!”

Primus appeared between them, plucking Isabelle’s arm from his grasp. “That is quite enough,” he said, pushing himself between them. “There is no need to speak to her that way.”

“I’ll speak to her however the hell I want,” Serge said, his voice menacingly low. “Especially when she has so foolishly endangered her life.”

“I really don’t think...“

“In the future,” Serge interrupted, “I will not tolerate your interference where my wife is concerned.”

The tension that flashed between them in that moment was so thick it was suffocating. Primus’ eyes widened and his mouth fell open for a fraction of a second before he swiveled around to face Isabelle. Isabelle resented the guilt that welled up in her at his stricken expression. She had no reason to feel guilty, she had promised him nothing. Still, she only felt worse when he asked quietly, “Is this true, my lady? Have you promised Prince Serge your hand?”

Glaring at Serge over Primus’ shoulder, Isabelle nodded. “Yes. We had thought to save the news for when we reach Barony, but I supposed the secret’s out now.”

More silence followed. Primus’ hand slipped away from her elbow and he cleared his throat noisily. “Congratulations,” he said before turning on his heels and walking back to where the unwounded men were taking a toll of their own wounded and dead and placing a few injured rebels in chains.

Looking quite pleased with himself, Serge turned back to Isabelle. “Now that that’s out of the way, we can get back to the matter at hand.”

Isabelle’s palm itched to connect with his arrogant face, but she shoved the tingling appendage into the pocket of her skirt. “You have made yourself quite clear. Now allow me to do the same. Should you ever threaten to throttle me again, I will seek out one of those women over there and ask to be taught to use a sword properly so that I can run you through!”

With that, Isabelle spun on her heels and fled toward the carriage. She forced herself not to turn around when Serge’s raucous laughter followed her.

****

Tears stung Isabelle’s eyes as they arrived at Guthrie Hall. Named for her ancestors, the formidable castle, which had been built into the side of a mountain loomed high above them, blocking the light of the sun as they stood waiting for the gate to be opened. As they entered the courtyard, something resounded deep within her and the tears she’d been holding back began to flow.

She was home.

Having been alerted of their arrival, a bevy of servants lined the courtyard, all watching and waiting for their lost Princess who had now returned. When they saw her, they all knelt, many with tears in their eyes. Many whispered that she was the very image of her mother, others offered up prayers of thanks that she had finally returned safely. A handkerchief was pressed into her hand and she accepted it gladly.

“Welcome home,” said Serge, placing one arm around her shoulders. Her earlier irritation with him forgotten, Isabelle rested her head on his shoulder and enjoyed the moment.

After she had composed herself and greeted the servants warmly, she fell in step behind Primus, who ushered them proudly into the main hall. Isabelle gasped and sighed with wonder as she gazed at the opulent beauty found within the old stone walls. Veined marble floors gleamed below her feet and painted angelic figures looked down on her from the domed ceiling. Tapestries bearing the Guthrie family crest and the Barony coat of arms lined the walls and stretched from ceiling to floor. On the wall directly across from the heavy double doors were two portraits. Isabelle pulled away from Serge’s embrace and walked forward slowly until she was close enough to reach out and touch the paintings in gilded frames.

She had miniature replicas of her parents’ portraits, but nothing compared to what she was viewing now. She felt like she was really seeing her parents for the first time. The miniatures did not do them justice. Clearly, she had gotten her looks from her mother, who’d possessed the same light blonde hair, pale blue eyes and heart-shaped face. There was a gentleness portrayed that did not come through in the miniature. Her father’s dark eyes twinkled with humor, and Isabelle could tell just by looking that he was a man who enjoyed a good joke. He was just as handsome as she had always imagined he would be.

“He was a great man,” said Primus reverently, gazing at the paintings over her shoulder. “She was a great woman. There is a lot of both of them in you, my lady.”

Still dabbing at her eyes with Serge’s now damp handkerchief, she nodded and managed a weak smile. “Could I be shown to my chambers now? I think I need to rest a while.”

Primus nodded, concern etched across his brow. “Of course, I was not thinking. We have all had a very long day, haven’t we? I’ll have you shown to your rooms and you may take all the time you need to rest. When you are ready I will be more than happy to take you and His Grace on a tour of Guthrie Hall so that you may get to know your new home.”

They followed Primus up the elegantly curved staircase and down several winding halls before reaching the master suites. “This first door leads to the King’s chambers,” Primus said to Serge. “You may as well start using them now so we don’t have to move you after the wedding.” He pointed to another door further down the hall. “That is the door to the Queen’s suite,” he said before clearing is throat noisily and shifting uncomfortably. “There is of course, a door…connecting…that is….well, for the use of…”

“Thank you Primus,” Isabelle interjected, saving Primus from the embarrassing hole he was digging himself into. “Your assistance has been invaluable. I think we’ll be fine from here.”

Primus nodded. “I will assign servants to help you get settled in. Gayle will be shown to the maids’ apartment, which is directly over yours. There is a staircase at the end of this hall leading right to it. Beside her apartment, there is one for a valet. I will have someone assigned to those duties until your man arrives, Your Grace. I believe that is all, so I will take my leave now. I hope to see you both at dinner this evening.”

Isabelle and Serge stood in the empty hallway, watching Primus’ retreating back until he was out of sight. When they were alone, Serge grabbed Isabell’s hand gently, bringing it up to his lips. His breath caressed her skin for a moment before his mouth settled there, lingering. Isabelle’s pulse quickened. How is it that he knew how to make a kiss on the hand feel so erotic?

“I’m still very cross with you, you know,” she said, fighting anxiously against the watery sensation in her knees as his lips moved to her wrist.

“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled, his fingers caressing beneath the sleeve of her jacket.

“I mean it Serge,” she replied; her voice was not nearly as confident as she’d wanted it to sound. Serge continued moving his lips over her skin pausing to press each finger to his mouth, one at a time. “You had no right speaking to me that way.”

He finally ceased his sensual assault and gazed up at her with turbulent eyes. “I almost lost you,” he said, his voice a near-whisper. “I saw you coming out of that carriage and all I could think about was the night Lionus was killed. I couldn’t stop thinking about the last time you were in a carriage and I was fighting to protect you. And Lionus…” his voice faltered and he hung his head, squeezing her fingers tightly. Isabelle’s heart softened and she placed her other hand over his.

“I know,” she said. “I understand. I think about that night all the time. It’s never far from my mind.”

“I am sorry, if it means anything to you. I was just so afraid that you were going to be killed and after all that has happened I don’t know how I could have dealt with that.”

Isabelle smiled. “Yes, well everything is all right now. We made it safely and soon we will be married and get on with rebuilding Barony. I am glad that I’ll have you to help me. I know this place is supposed to be home to me, but it feels so foreign. It’ll be nice to have some familiarity.”

Serge finally lifted his head before stroking her cheek affectionately. “We should be married immediately. As soon as you’re ready. The sooner the better, really.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Let’s do it tomorrow.”

Serge’s eyebrows shot up and he chuckled in disbelief. “Tomorrow? Don’t you need more than twelve hours to plan a wedding?”

Isabelle shook her head. “I don’t want a lavish wedding. A priest and two witnesses are all we need. There will be pomp and ceremony enough with our coronation and presentation to the court.”

Serge relaxed visibly. A long engagement had been his greatest concern. Now Isabelle would not have time enough to try to change her mind. “I’ll speak with Primus this evening about locating a priest.”

“Well, now that that is out of the way I think I’ll go lie down for a bit. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Certainly.” Just as she turned to walk away, he grasped her hand again and tugged her back toward him gently. “Oh, I forgot there is just one more thing I wanted to discuss with you.”

“What’s that?”

With a grin, he pulled her even closer, wrapping one arm around her waist. He bent his head and captured her lips, threading his free hand through her hair, effectively disturbing her neat bun. He placed another, shorter kiss on her lips before letting her go and turning without a word to seek his own chambers, leaving her weak-kneed and breathless in the hallway.

****

Primus was a bit surprised when he was asked to locate a priest for a wedding the following morning, but he agreed that haste was necessary and agreed to do as Serge and Isabelle asked. After dinner, they followed Primus on a long, exhausting tour of the castle. Even after the nap she had taken earlier, Isabelle was exhausted at the end of the night and collapsed into bed as soon as she’d removed her clothes.

She hardly had time to think about what she was going to do before they were in one of Guthrie Hall’s many sitting rooms, with a priest leading them through their vows. Gayle, Primus, and three of her bodyguards were the only people in attendance. Francis, whom Isabelle had almost died trying to save, was stuck in bed with a nasty shoulder wound.

It wasn’t the grand wedding she’d had with Lionus, but Isabelle was content with it. Her simple gown of ivory velvet with long, draping sleeves and gold lace trim was perfect for a cozy, intimate ceremony and was partnered well by her simple chignon. Gayle had fashioned a bouquet of sorts out of the fall flowers picked fresh from the garden, and a single crocus blossom dotted the lapel of Serge’s black morning coat, deepening the cerulean hue of his eyes. Gayle had also filled the room with fresh arrangements in tall, crystal vases and lit candles throughout. It was as romantic a setting as Isabelle could have hoped for on such notice, and the pleasure in Serge’s eyes as he watched her during the ceremony only added to the intimacy of it.

As they stood together, holding hands and reciting their vows, Isabelle couldn’t help the feeling of nervousness that crept over her. When they finally kissed to seal their bond as man and wife, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was done.

Congratulations were passed all around, and they were hugged by one and all. Primus, more quiet and reserved than usual, wished them well but Isabelle sensed the tension in his jaw. It was clear that he had been hoping that she would choose him.

Turning her thoughts away from Primus, she focused them back on her new husband as he stood talking with Gayle, a glass of celebratory champagne in one hand. He was exceptionally handsome this morning in his navy blue coat and silver waistcoat with starched white linen at his throat. His hair had been brushed until the golden highlights gleamed and pulled back behind his head. He smiled and laughed easily as he sipped his champagne. He did not seem to be facing any of the nervousness that Isabelle was feeling.

The rest of the day passed normally. Everything else would be the same except for the heavy gold band on her finger. Then night would fall and everything would change. It didn’t matter that she and Serge had already been intimate. It didn’t matter in the least. Something about this night weighed heavily in her mind. This night would seal the bond completely and she would be his forever. Isabelle felt a cold chill racing down her spine.

Chapter 10

Night came much faster than Isabelle anticipated and before she knew it she was in her chambers, waiting for Serge to arrive. The two had shared a private dinner in his room, complete with candlelight. After they’d finished dining, Isabelle had excused herself to prepare for bed. She sat now at her vanity table, waiting for Serge to open the connecting door between their suites.

After she had taken off her evening gown, she had bathed in rose-scented water. Then she’d allowed Gayle to brush the tangles from her hair, which she found to be extremely calming. After she was finished, Gayle retreated from the room quickly.

Now she sat alone, her hair loose and unbound to her waist, wearing a negligee that brought a flush to her own cheeks when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

The wispy gown was gold, backless, and transparent, with a plunging neckline. It was slit on one side all the way to the hip, offering a daring glimpse of one plump thigh. Isabelle had almost decided not to wear the negligee, but Gayle had coaxed her into it. She knew her decision had been the right one when she heard a sharp gasp behind her.

Isabelle turned to find Serge standing in the doorway, his eyes smoldering as he raked them over her from head to toe. She swiveled and sat motionless on the stool, her pulse quickening as she gazed back at him. He had stripped completely to the waist and taken his hair down from it binding. It hung loose and lustrous to his shoulders. As she moved her eyes down to the wide expanse of his chest, she realized that he had undergone a complete transformation since awakening.

Serge had regained all of the weight he’d lost while abed and then some. He was once again thick with muscle and brawn. Isabelle couldn’t help but admire the flat plane of his chest, the chiseled lines of his abdomen and the ripple of bulging biceps and powerful forearms. Good Lord, she thought, the man is gorgeous! How had she ever compared him to his brothers and found him lacking? She realized now that she had underestimated the powers of Serge’s magnetism. The puckered white scars dotting his skin here and there did nothing to detract from his allure, if anything, Isabelle thought, they added to it. Every scar reminded her of just how close he had come to death and how valiantly he had overcome it.

“I thought we could share dessert,” he said finally as he walked into the room. Isabelle looked down and realized he was holding a plate in one hand. As he neared, the scent of chocolate wafted up to greet her.

“That sounds lovely,” she said, glad that he didn’t want to just get right down to the business of consummating their marriage. Grateful for a few moments of reprieve, Isabelle smiled up at him as he settled on the edge of her vanity table.

He frowned. “Oh, I seem to have forgotten to bring a fork,” he said, his frown turning up into that devilish smile of his. “Oh well, I suppose we will just have to make due.”

Isabelle fought the urge to wipe that silly grin from his face as he extended a bite-sized piece of the cake to her with his hand. He held the chocolate morsel inches from her mouth and waited patiently for her to eat it.

“You did that on purpose,” she grumbled before accepting the bite. She chewed and sighed with appreciation. Besides fresh strawberries she also adored chocolate cake. Serge, who knew this, was ready with another bite when she’d swallowed. After a few more bites of the cake, Serge handed her the plate.

“My turn,” he said with another grin. Isabelle grudgingly took the plate and pinched off a piece. She was holding it up to his mouth when his hand shot up and clamped around her wrist. The smile was gone and his eyes were locked onto hers as he slowly used his hand to bring hers closer to his mouth. Isabelle’s eyes lowered to his lips, transfixed, as he opened his mouth to take in the cake. Once he had consumed it, his lips parted once more to take in one finger. As his tongue caressed the slender digit, his eyes never wavered from hers.

Isabelle’s stomach clenched and she fell back against the vanity table for support as he pulled her finger from his mouth and lowered his lips to her wrist. As always, her pulse raced against his mouth. She whimpered at the feel of his hot tongue rasping against the delicate skin of her wrist and shivers shot up and down her spine.

He lifted his head to gaze at her, his hand still clutching her arm. As if drawn in magnetically, he drew closer and closer until he was standing over her and she was leaning back over the table. The cake forgotten, Isabelle felt the plate slipping through her fingers and faintly heard the soft thud of it hitting the carpet. Her lips parted and her breath quickened with anticipation as he lowered his head silently toward hers.

His lips came over hers so lightly, so gently, that at first she could barely feel the whisper-soft movement of his mouth over hers. She looked up to find his eyes were closed, the spiky black lashes resting on high cheekbones. As she had been longing to do for months, she reached up with one hand to trace the jagged scar running down his face tenderly. His eyes flew open and met hers. The pupils were so wide, his eyes appeared almost black. His lips hovered over hers for what seemed like an eternity but in reality was only a few short seconds. Isabelle could see the rapid thumping of his pulse at the base of his throat and feel his warm breath against her cheek.

They remained that way, locked in each other’s gazes, Isabelle inclined back against the vanity table with Serge’s rippling arms braced on either side of her. Isabelle’s chest heaved with the heaviness of her breath and her skin tingled from head to toe. Just when she thought she’d been waiting forever, his hands came up to cup her face and his lips came crashing down over hers once more.

His mouth, open and hot, caressed hers mercilessly as his fingers went up to grasp her hair. She quaked at the hot rasp of his tongue against hers. Her hand came up to touch the flat plane of his abdomen, her fingers tracing the defined lines. He practically growled, a low rumble that vibrated through his chest as he reached down to grab her by the waist and lift her up onto the table.

He moved forward, parting her legs with his hands and stood between them, bending down to taste her lips once more. Isabelle felt the room spinning and tilting precariously and reached out to wrap her arms around his neck for support. As he kissed her, his hands moved from her waist to her hips, kneading them firmly but gently through the nearly transparent material of her gown. One hand traveled down to the bare leg exposed by the immodest slit. He caressed slowly in an up and down motion, the friction of his hand against her bare skin causing goose bumps to rise up beneath his fingers.

All of her original nervousness had melted away. She gave herself up to the moment as he kissed her again and again, as if he could not get enough. His chest rumbled when she lifted her legs to wrap them around his hips, yanking him as close as he could be. Her breasts tingled where they pressed up against him and she pulsated and tingled between her thighs.

His hands came up to the thin straps of her negligee and pulled. The flimsy straps snapped and fell away, leaving the golden lace clinging to her breasts. He tore his lips away from hers and pulled away, gazing down to where the lace was pressed up against her skin. He grasped the neckline of the gown if as he meant to yank it down. Instead, he moved it slowly back and forth, rasping the material over her nipples in a slow caress. Isabelle sucked in her breath and his eyes jumped up from her breasts to her face. Seeing the shock and pleasure there as he continued to tease her with the fabric of her gown, he smiled that devilish smile of his and winked. He actually winked, the arrogant devil!

As he held her gaze, his grip tightened on the neckline and with a swift tug her gown tore in two from top to bottom, exposing her completely. Isabelle gasped in shock. Serge chuckled.

“Not to worry, my dear, I’ll replace it.” As he parted what was left of the gown, his breath caught in his throat. He lowered his head. “Hell, I’ll buy you a whole armoire full,” he murmured, his breath tickling her breast as he spoke.

He closed his mouth over one breast while kneading the other. Isabelle’s fingernails dug tiny half-moons into his shoulders as she held on for dear life, her head spinning dizzily as he moved his mouth hungrily to her other breast and then lower to skim her stomach.

Grasping a handful of his hair, she yanked him back up to her lips. She reached down between them as they kissed, freeing him from the fastenings of his trousers. They dropped to the floor beside her mangled nightgown. When she reached out to touch him, he jerked and fell against her, reaching out with one arm to brace himself on the table as she stroked him. She was enthralled by the feel of him both hard and soft, like silk over steel, throbbing in her palm.

His teeth gritted, he endured the excruciatingly pleasurable torture, clutching her against him as she leaned forward to take his earlobe between her teeth. When he could take it no longer, he reached behind her and swept every bottle and vial on the table away with his arm. He grasped her by the shoulder and pushed her back until she was lying on the table. He held her legs and pulled her forward until her hips aligned with the edge of the table and he was poised to enter her, pressed just close enough that she could feel him throbbing against her.

“Hang on to something,” he said before surging forward and sliding home. Isabelle had just managed to grip the edge of the table when he pulled away and thrust forward again, powerfully. The table shook. Isabelle moaned. He did it again and again, pulling away slowly, pausing and then filling her swiftly until she was near bursting with the pleasure of it.

He gripped her hips tightly, leaving the imprint of his fingers on her skin, his eyes never leaving hers as he increased speed with each stroke. Forgetting that the table was shaking beneath her, Isabelle urged him on until sweat broke out along his brow and he was driving into her furiously, grinding her into the table and the table into the wall.

When the inevitable force of her climax swept over her, she surged upward, wrapping her arms around his neck, shouting her completion into his shoulder and shuddering in completion. He followed right behind her, his body shaking violently with the force of his culmination. Isabelle felt the full weight of him as he collapsed against her and the hot splash of his seed inside of her. He rested his head against her shoulder and gasped for air.

When his breathing slowed, he pulled himself up and gave her a hand up as well. When she was on her feet, he wordlessly plucked her from the floor and deposited her on the bed. He yanked the covers back and settled beneath them with her, pulling her back against his front.

“So much for chocolate cake,” she said with a giggle.

He chuckled. “I really did intend us to eat it. It’s not my fault you look so tempting while nibbling on chocolate cake.”

“I suppose one of us should pick it up.”

He shook his head, burrowing further under the blanket. “I am not getting out of this bed until morning and neither are you. It can wait.”

“Fine by me. It’s nice to finally get some rest. The last few days have been hellishly long. I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse.”

“Who said anything about rest?” he rumbled against her ear.

Isabelle rolled over in his arms to face him with a grin. “Well,” she said as he rolled her to her back, “it is our wedding night after all.”

****

Serge and Isabelle’s first week in Barony was as hectic as she had predicted. There was the coronation ceremony and ball to plan, a castle and staff to familiarize themselves with and a myriad of problems concerning the rebel army to attend to. Their only reprieve came in the evenings when they could lock themselves away in Isabelle’s bedroom until morning. They often took dinner there alone, glad to be away from the busy pace that came with running a kingdom. Dinner always led to dessert and dessert always led them straight to the bed. Sometimes the dessert joined them there as well.

Serge found nothing but joy with Isabelle. Whatever reservations he had had before were gone. He knew he had made the right decision. As they stood together in one of the towers lining the curtain wall of the castle, waiting for Damien and Esmeralda to arrive as promised, she leaned back against him and his arms came around her. They watched together as the caravan carrying the king and queen of Cardenas drew closer and closer. Serge pressed his nose against her hair and inhaled. As always she smelled heavenly. She felt heavenly too, her rounded derriere pressed against him as he held her.

With an inward groan, he pushed the arousing thoughts out of his mind before they grew distracting. It was midday for God’s sake and his brother would be at the gate at any moment. Although, he thought as he glanced toward the doorway to the tower, no one had disturbed them for nearly twenty minutes. All he had to do was lift her skirts and…

“How angry do you think they’ll be when they find out we got married without them?” she interrupted his thoughts.

“Damien has been encouraging this marriage from the start,” he responded, glad for the distraction. “They may be a little surprised that it’s already done, but I am sure they’ll be pleased.”

She nodded, turning to look up at him. “You’re right.”

“I usually am,” he said, teasingly tweaking her nose.

She slapped his shoulder playfully. “Brute.”

He kissed her once swiftly, then again slowly. “Have I told you how happy you’ve made me?” When she looked up at him with questioning eyes, he continued. “Ever since I woke up, I’ve been feeling like a shell of a man. I haven’t felt at all like myself.”

“I’ve noticed,” she commented, twirling a strand of his hair around her finger.

“But you’ve managed to pull some of what I lost out of me. You make me laugh and feel alive again. I don’t think I could have ever come completely from such a dark place without you.”

In the seconds that followed, Serge felt something welling up inside. He knew that if he didn’t stop it, his soul would be bared to her, his heart in her hands It was risky, downright foolish when she gave no indication that she felt the same way he did, but he couldn’t help it. The words were out before he could stop them.

“I love you, Isabelle.”

Silence stretched between them, and Serge leaped to continue when Isabelle’s mouth opened to reply. “Don’t,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips with a smile. “You don’t have to say it back if you don’t mean it. It will not hurt me if you don’t right now because I know how reluctant you were to even come into this marriage. We’ve been friends our whole lives and have always been able to be honest with each other. I’ve loved you for a long time, Isabelle. I just wanted you to know that. Should you ever come to love me back, I will be the happiest man on earth.”

Isabelle’s eyes were lowered and Serge felt like his lungs would explode with the breath he was holding. He almost wished she would say it back, but knew not to get his hopes up. When she looked up at him with a shy smile, he exhaled with relief. Wordlessly, she opened her arms to him and he accepted her embrace gladly. He lowered his head for a lingering kiss. He was not disappointed in the least. As responses went, it was the best she could do.

Damien and Esmeralda’s convoy had already arrived. The gate was being raised for them. “Shall we go to greet them?” he asked extending his hand to her. She took it and they descended from the tower together, intercepting their guests in the courtyard. Primus was already there to greet them and was speaking with Damien in hushed tones.

“Married?” Esmeralda’s voice rang out across the courtyard. The eyes of the entire group swiveled in their direction. As they neared, Damien turned toward them with a grin. Seeing their entwined hands and the sparkling new wedding bands, he burst into a chuckle.

“I told you they’d be married in less than one month!” he said to Esmeralda with a smug grin. He came forward to clap Serge on the shoulder. “Congratulations you devil, although I suppose I should be angry with you for not waiting for us.”

“We thought it best to marry quickly,” he said, relinquishing Isabelle’s hand as she was dragged off by an excitedly chattering Esmeralda. Akira, Esmeralda’s cousin Tatiana, and Raina, who was holding baby Leila, followed. Desmond, her brother, preferred the company of the men and stayed behind. Serge tore his eyes away from Isabelle’s retreating back and returned his attention to his brother. “With all the other problems we’re facing, we decided a lavish wedding was unnecessary.”

They turned and entered the castle together. Primus and Desmond fell into step behind them. “It would seem we arrived just in time then. When has the coronation been set?” Damien asked.

“Two days from now,” Serge replied. “In the meantime, General Adams and I have been touring some of the nearby villages.”

Once they had entered a nearby sitting room, Serge turned to his brother with a grim expression etched across his face. “Things are not good, Damien. The rebels have ravaged nearly every village. They are poor, hungry and tired. They are angry and with good reason. Barony’s depleted forces have not been enough to keep them safe.”

“We had several regiments with us on our journey,” Damien said, fishing a cigar out of his jacket pocket and lighting it with the flick of a match. “I expect the rest in the next couple of days. They are accompanying the supplies and foodstuffs we brought from Cardenas. There are many wagons and they are loaded quite heavily, so I allowed them to follow at their own pace.”

“What of the gold?” Serge asked. Barony’s coffers had been completely depleted over the years. The vast wealth of Cardenas was to be shared with the struggling province. With that gold, Serge could begin to rebuild the war-torn Barony.

“Naturally I didn’t trust it out of my sight,” Damien said. “It traveled with us. It is being unloaded as we speak.”

Serge nodded. He addressed Primus. “Have all the soldiers gathered in the courtyard after luncheon. I wish to go over the new training schedule and regimen with them.”

Primus stood. “Very well, Your Grace,” he said stiffly. He bowed formally and left the room, his back rigid.

Damien frowned. “Did I miss something here?”

Serge chuckled. “He is just a little annoyed with me, I’m sure. He made his intentions with Isabelle quite clear while we were on our journey.”

Damien put out his cigar and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Are you happy, Serge?”

Serge couldn’t stop the wide grin that spread across his face as he remembered telling Isabelle he loved her. It had been so liberating finally getting his secret out into the open. The promise of returned love in her kiss had given him hope. “Deliriously,” he answered.

****

The sound of clashing swords drew Isabelle, Esmeralda and Tatiana out into the courtyard hours later. They had just taken luncheon together in the small family dining room, and had been preparing to go out for an afternoon ride when they came upon Serge, Damien, and Primus in the middle of training exercises. The three found an empty stone bench nearby and sat to watch. There were two hundred men at least, all watching the swordplay taking place in the center of the courtyard.

Damien and Serge stood at the center of the courtyard, preparing for a friendly sparring match. Isabelle perked up as they took their swords in hand and began to circle each other. She noticed a few servant girls peering through windows and peeking from behind corners and smiled. What woman wouldn’t want to watch two of the most magnificent looking men on God’s green earth, shirtless and stalking each other like jungle cats. It was a veritable feast for the feminine eye. Damien a golden lion and Serge a sleek, dark panther.

Isabelle watched, mesmerized by the beauty of Serge’s form as he countered Damien’s attack. Every corded muscle strained with control, yet moved with fluid grace as they circled each other, eyes locked. Everyone knew that Damien was the better man with a sword, but Isabelle was silently hoping that Serge would best him this time.

“He doesn’t stand a chance,” Esmeralda murmured next to her. She too, seemed engrossed in the fight, her eyes locked on Damien’s bare torso. Tatiana bounced on the stone bench with uncontained glee.

“Serge is just as good,” Isabelle argued, watching as Damien parried Serge’s thrust before tapping Serge’s shoulder with the sword, a hit giving Damien a score of one point.

Esmeralda’s snort expressed her disagreement, but she was otherwise silent. Serge scored a point by tapping Damien’s leg, but all too quickly after that, Damien scored the final and winning point. Some of the men cheered and clapped, others booed and hissed.

“Our king and general brought low by his little brother?” Primus bellowed with a laugh. The soldiers standing around him joined in. “Oh how the mighty have fallen!”

Laughter rang out through the courtyard and Serge, who’d been walking away to retrieve his shirt, froze in his tracks. Isabelle frowned. From where she sat, she could see his face and he did not look amused. Storm clouds gathered in his eyes and Isabelle fought the urge to run for cover. She watched instead, as his jaw tightened and his hand curled into a fist at his side. He looked to where Primus was laughing with his comrades. Serge lifted his sword and extended it, pointing it at Primus.

“You dare to mock your king?” he asked, his voice low and menacing, one dark eyebrow raised. “Men have been killed for lesser insults.”

Primus smiled and stroked his mustache. “Surely Your Grace has a sense of humor. Besides, until the coronation ceremony you are not the king.”

“Serge,” Damien called, a warning in his tone. He knew his brother well and so did Isabelle. Serge was getting angrier by the second. Anyone who didn’t know him well would be foolish enough to mistaken his outer calm for something other than anger. By the time they realized that he was not amused it would be too late. “Leave it be,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head.

Waving Damien off, Serge took a step in Primus’ direction. “Perhaps you think you can best me as well?”

Primus stood, snatching up the gauntlet as quickly as it had been thrown down. “I am a fair hand with a sword, Your Grace. I would certainly be a worthy opponent.”

Serge nodded and moved back toward the center of the courtyard. “Someone give Lord Primus a sword!” he called over his shoulder as he took his place. Isabelle worried that Serge could be tiring. He had been at it all day and the fight with Damien was sure to have taken a lot out of him. She worried for his leg as well.

As he faced Primus, who removed his waistcoat and cravat before taking up his sword, Isabelle knew that he would not back down no matter how tired he was. The two raised their swords and stood silently for several minutes. Serge and Damien’s match had been friendly. The two had been sparring together since they were young and both knew what to expect from the other. It was more like a well-choreographed dance between them. Serge and Primus disliked each other strongly and anyone who did not know this before would know it now.

Serge went on the offensive, feigning a lunge before swinging his sword the other way and catching Primus across the back. A tear appeared across the back of Primus’ shirt where Serge had struck just hard enough to slice through the fabric. Fury welled up in Primus’ eyes and he countered Serge’s attack, landing a blow to his shoulder. He did not move away fast enough to avoid another blow from Serge across the chest and another tear on his shirt.

Serge’s mouth curved up into a smile, his blue eyes twinkling with humor as he circled Primus. “What’s the matter, old man?” he taunted as Primus lunged at him again. Serge easily blocked his thrust. “Did you not have your afternoon nap? A bit tired, are we?”

Whereas Serge became more relaxed the longer they fought, Primus became more and more angry. Before long, his face was red with fury and his eyebrows had drawn together with his flashing dark eyes in agitation. He attacked Serge mercilessly, but was unsuccessful nearly every time. By the end of the match, Primus’ shirt was in ribbons, although not one drop of his blood had been spilled, a testament to Serge’s superior skill.

Serge lunged and attacked, Primus parried and countered his attack, but Serge was ready for him. With a circular motion, he forced Primus’ sword from his hand. The weapon fell to the stone floor of the courtyard with a loud clank, and Serge took advantage of Primus’ shock and dismay to knock the man’s feet from under him. Serge placed one foot on Primus’ chest and pressed him down into the ground before touching the tip of his sword to the man’s throat.

A hush fell over the courtyard and everyone waited with baited breath to see what their future king would do. Serge tossed the sword aside and walked away. “Let that be a lesson to you,” he said as he bent to retrieve his shirt, “and anyone else who would dare to mock me.”

Chapter 11

When Isabelle entered her chambers that night, she found Serge already there and dressed for bed. He was pacing back and forth before the fire, limping and clutching his injured leg. Holding a half-empty glass in one hand, he clutched his thigh with the other as he paced.

Isabelle frowned. “Are you all right?” she asked, coming into the room and closing the door.

He looked up at her before draining the last of whatever liquor was in his glass and tossed it aside. He continued pacing. “My damned leg,” he muttered, rubbing the aching muscle. His face was a twisted mask of pain and agony as he limped back and forth. “I overexerted myself today.”

Isabelle laughed as she crossed the room to join him in front of the fireplace. “Teaching impertinent subjects lessons in humility will do that to you.”

Serge snorted and rolled his eyes. “He had it coming. Besides, it is important that I establish a firm hand as a ruler. I can’t be seen as the kind of king that can be pushed around, can I?”

She grasped his arm gently, causing him to cease his pacing. “No. But you can sit down and allow your wife to tend to your hurts.”

A slow grin spread across his face and he leaned down to kiss her. “That may just be the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

He lowered himself into a nearby armchair while Isabelle dragged a footstool toward him. She lifted his leg up onto the stool and knelt down beside it. She reached out and began kneading his thigh gently, her fingers working the muscle that was hard as stone. He sighed with pleasure and sank back into the chair.

“I hope you’re not feeling any sympathy for Primus,” he said as he watched her. “The man is an ass.”

Isabelle shrugged. “Not as much as I should. He did mock you openly.” She looked up from his leg and smiled. “Besides, the display of masculinity was quite impressive.”

“Well I’m glad my suffering could bring you entertainment.”

“Oh not just me,” she said with a sly smile. “Esmeralda and Tatiana were quite entertained as well.”

His laugh was loud and boisterous and heartwarming. “Impertinent witch,” he teased.

He fell silent as she continued to work the tension out of his flesh with her hands. After a while, she looked up to find him studying her quite intently. The flickering fire played over his face and caused his golden-brown locks to gleam beautifully.

“Better?” she asked, her hands still resting on his muscular thigh.

He nodded. “I don’t ache there anymore.”

“Good,” she said, moving to stand up. Serge’s arm shot out and his hand wrapped around her arm. He tugged just hard enough to topple her into his lap. Her face fell against his chest and his arms went around her swiftly. She heard and felt the laughter welling up in his chest before she picked up head up to glare at him.

“That ache is gone, but there is another terrible pain that only you can ease, my lady,” he murmured. Before she could open her mouth for a retort, he was kissing her and pulling her legs apart until they were dangling over both sides of the chair. Pressed so intimately against him, her breath stolen away by his kiss, Isabelle could do nothing more than sink against him. Serge tore his lips away from hers and looked up into her eyes, all traces of humor gone from his. He lifted one hand to stroke her cheek.

“I love you,” he said softly, his eyes never moving from hers. “I love you so much.”

Wordlessly, Isabelle reached down and began slipping the buttons of his shirt out of their holes. When she leaned down and pressed her lips against his chest, all thoughts of conversation fled. Before long, he was carrying her to the bed and loving her zealously.

Thoroughly exhausted after his long and trying day, he fell asleep immediately after, his head rested on her breast. Isabelle was tired as well, but found it hard to fall asleep. Her thoughts were whirring chaotically and she couldn’t seem to calm her racing mind.

The first time Serge had told her he loved her, she’d been able to convince herself that it had been a one-time slip. Perhaps he hadn’t really meant it. Maybe he thought he had to confess feelings of love since they were married. Perhaps he thought that as a female, this is what she would be expecting from her husband.

She had convinced herself that Serge’s feelings couldn’t be as deep as he’d let on. As long as that was the case, everything would be all right. She had married him for practical reasons, after all. The fact that their relationship had become passionate was an added bonus.

Then he’d gone and told her he loved her a second time, and the intensity in his gaze when he said it had torn at Isabelle’s heart. There was absolutely no way she could continue to trivialize the depth of his feelings. Serge really did love her.

Where did that leave her? As she lay beside her sleeping husband, she was no longer sure. Her mind was absolutely turbulent over the fact that she could not possibly ever love him back. Her heart was still with Lionus, and always would be. As Isabelle’s eyelids finally began to grow heavy, she forced all thoughts of love out of her mind. It was something she had never even considered when coming into her marriage with Serge. At the moment, she was content with the way things were. But in the back of her mind, she knew she could not go on pretending Serge’s feelings didn’t exist forever.

****

She was back in the dark glen, fog swirling around her ankles. The moon was high overhead and shining through the trees, casting dark shadows over the damp grass. Isabelle pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and moved through the mist, shivering against the cold.

As she neared the clearing up ahead, she noticed a slender figure in black standing at the edge of the tree-lined glen. As she neared, her heart leapt in recognition. Dark hair gleamed in the moonlight, raven black brows arched over deep blue eyes, angular features were in shadow, but still recognizable.

“Lionus!” she cried, lifting the hem of her gown and increasing her pace. As she ran toward him, he turned slowly and began walking back toward the dense forest. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her and even though he continued to walk slowly, she could never seem to get close enough.

“Lionus wait!” she called as she followed him. “Lionus!”

She ran after him until her feet were numb from the wet, cold ground, until her lungs were on fire and she could no longer breathe. Her chest burned and her legs ached, but she continued on, determined to catch up with him. Tears ran down her cheeks and splashed onto her neck and she chased him, her arm extended. She was but an arm’s length away from him now, so close she could touch him if he would but slow down or stop.

Just as her hand made contact with his shoulder, he vanished, becoming one with the swirling mist. Falling to her knees, Isabelle buried her face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably, her heart breaking anew with every tear.

Isabelle opened her eyes, shocked to find that her cheeks were wet with tears as they had been in her dream. She was relieved to find that the bed beside her was empty. Serge had probably gone to ensure that all was in order for their coronation ceremony the next day. Swiping at her cheeks with her hands, she reluctantly left the bed.

There were a myriad of things to attend to, but she was reluctant to leave her room. Isabelle decided against ringing for Gayle, wanting to spend a few moments in solitude after her emotionally crippling dream.

She moved to her dressing room, where all of her trunks had been placed. She had been so busy, she’d hardly had time to sort through and unpack all of them. When she came upon the one she’d been looking for, she knelt and lifted its lid. Every memory she had of Lionus could be summed up by what was inside this trunk. She lifted things out slowly, her heart rending at each item, a fresh tear rolling down her cheek every time her hands touched the things that reminded her of her lost love.

Isabelle ran her fingers over the lace and silk of the white nightgown she’d worn for her wedding night before putting it aside. She opened the tiny box containing her first wedding band and caressed the brilliant gold. Then Isabelle dabbed at her eyes with one of his cravats, before burying her face in the snowy white fabric. It still smelled faintly of Lionus.

At the bottom of the trunk, she found a stack of pages from her sketchbook, all drawings of Lionus that had been too painful to look at. She’d torn them out of the book and buried them at the bottom of her chest. Isabelle flipped through them now, each one bringing on a fresh wave of grief.

Isabelle realized now what her dream had meant, and it brought her no end of pain. She was losing him, piece by piece, forgetting him, forgetting what they’d had together. The guilt that washed over her at the realization was enough to weigh her down until her face was buried in the carpet. A pool of her own tears wet the fabric beneath her cheek as she lay there, clutching Lionus’ sketches against her chest.

Isabelle had promised him that she would always carry him in her heart, but now she was forgetting him. She had taken another husband, his brother for heaven’s sake, and allowed herself to start becoming whole again. In the process, she had allowed Lionus’ memory to slip away.

She remained on the floor that way for nearly half an hour. When Gayle came into the dressing room looking for her mistress, she found her in tearful heap on the floor.

“Goodness child!” she exclaimed, falling to her knees beside her. “What on earth happened?”

Isabelle pushed herself into a seated position before falling into the arms of her nanny, sobbing hysterically.

Serge walked toward Isabelle’s chambers, a spring in his step despite the aching in his leg. He was still sore from the day before and had asked Damien to take over training for the day so that he could rest his leg. He planned to make an inventory of all of the supplies that had arrived from Cardenas before dividing them up evenly to be distributed to the surrounding villages.

First, he thought as he glanced down at the bouquet of colorful wildflowers in his hand, a quick visit with his wife. He had left her sleeping that morning, and by the time breakfast was over, found he already missed her terribly.

Serge could never have imagined he would be so happy. He smiled as he thought of Isabelle’s passionate response to his lovemaking the night before. There was time before he had to get down to business. Maybe, he thought as he twisted the doorknob to her room and pushed, she was still in bed. Perhaps she would move over to make room for him.

His smile faded when he didn’t see her, though the bedcovers were still mussed. Her breakfast tray sat untouched on the night table and a pale pink day dress had been removed from the armoire for her to wear. He noticed that the door to her dressing room was hanging open and realized that she was probably in there with Gayle, putting the finishing touches on her formal court attire for the coronation ceremony. Serge decided to just pop his head in, give Isabelle the flowers, and then leave. He could save his amorous intentions for later.

As he neared the dressing room, the sound of soft sobs reached his ears. He paused and frowned, cocking his head to the side to ensure that he was hearing what he thought he was hearing. Sure enough, someone was crying. Was it Isabelle? Concerned and already angry at whoever had upset his wife, Serge charged toward the dressing room, prepared to demand that she tell him who had hurt her.

Gayle’s crooning voice stopped him in his tracks. Instead of pushing the door open, he leaned against the doorframe and listened.

“I don’t understand,” Gayle was saying over Isabelle’s muffled sniffles. “I thought you were happy with Prince Serge.”

“Oh Gayle, I was! I was happy but then he told me he loved me!”

Serge’s blood ran cold and his fist tightened around the flowers in his hand but he remained silent and continued to listen.

“And what on earth is wrong with that?” Gayle asked confusion in her voice. “I know women who would be ecstatic to have the love of a man like him.”

“Don’t you see, Gayle? There’s no way I could ever love him back. I am afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“You could grow to love him, Isabelle, if you would just open your heart to him. You have been hurting for so long and I so want to see you happy again.”

“How can I be? It just feels so wrong being happy again when Lionus is dead. I’m forgetting him, Gayle.  By marrying Serge, I have given up the last part of me that belonged to only Lionus. The thought of it makes my heart ache.”

Gayle sighed. “If you feel this way, then why would you marry Prince Serge in the first place?”

“Because Barony needed a king! I needed to marry someone and Serge seemed like the logical choice. Now I’m not so sure I wasn’t using him to cling to what little bit of Lionus is left. Sometimes I look into his eyes and….oh Gayle, they’re so much like Lionus’!”

Sick to his stomach, Serge had heard enough. His grip loosened on the bouquet and it fell noiselessly to the carpet at his feet. Serge’s vision seemed hazy and he felt as if his jaw would break, he was clenching it so tightly. There’s no way I could ever love him back. I am afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake.

All of his delusions of joy and hope disintegrated and evaporated into thin air until he was left with nothing but despair. Serge had hoped that she was starting to return his love; so hopeful that he had confessed all to her like some mad fool. He felt naked and utterly exposed for having confessed his love, and now scraped raw and cut to the quick for having learned that she did not love him back and did not think she ever could.

All of the reservations he’d had in the beginning came screaming back at him now, and he cursed himself for a fool. He had allowed other people to influence his thinking, to make him forget why Isabelle had been off limits to him in the first place. She belonged to Lionus and it seemed she always would. Serge could never hope to compete.

Gayle and Isabelle continued their conversation, but Serge didn’t hear another word. He merely sank down onto the bed, his head dropping into his hands, his elbows rested on his knees. Every muscle in his body was tense and strained, and his head spun from the chaotic whirling of his thoughts.

I needed to marry someone….so much like Lionus. Her words haunted him, playing through his mind over and over until he thought he would scream from the cruelty of it. His pain was so sharp, so intense, he did not think he could ever recover.

A soft gasp from the doorway of the dressing room brought his head up sharply. His eyes narrowed and his heart hardened in the instant he saw her standing there, clutching a stack of papers to her chest.

“Serge,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks were tinged pink and blotchy from crying. Even now, she was achingly beautiful, but Serge found that he could not even look at her. The pleasure and pain of it were far too intense. She glanced down at the flowers he’d dropped on the floor and bent to pick them up. “Are these for me?”

He did not respond. Instead, he stared at Gayle who had come out behind her, and now stood looking as stricken and guilty as Isabelle did. “Your Grace,” she mumbled with a curtsy, “is there anything I can do for you?”

“Leave us,” he snapped, directing his anger and his hurt at the sweet old nanny. He would not allow guilt to plague him now, not when he felt as if he’d been stabbed in the heart. The short, plump woman jumped to do his bidding and was out the door in seconds. Still unable to look at Isabelle, he focused his gaze on the wallpaper and stood.

“Serge, let me explain,” she pleaded, taking a step in his direction.

“There really isn’t anything else to say, is there Isabelle? Nothing that has not already been said. You’ve made yourself quite clear.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear any of that,” she said, taking another step toward him. She was close enough now that he could smell her, a flowery scent that mingled with her own natural fragrance; it was a heady combination and Serge felt tortured by it. Half of him wanted to crush her against him and show her all of the reasons she should love him. The other half of him wanted nothing to do with her.

“No, but I did, didn’t I? Though not before I made a fool of myself.”

She was now close enough to reach out and touch him and she did. When her hand touched his he snatched it away, far too unstable to abide her touch at the moment.

“No one thinks you’re a fool,” she said, dropping the offending hand to her side. The other kept the papers clutched tightly against her bosom. “Especially not me.”

He laughed cynically and finally found the courage to look into her eyes. “What would you call a man who bares his soul to a woman who obviously cares so little for him?”

“That’s not true! I do...“

His hands clutched her shoulders painfully and he shook her once, forcefully. She gasped and the papers she’d been holding fluttered to the floor. “Don’t!” he shouted, pulling her closer and lowering his voice. “Do not lie to me, Isabelle. Do not try to pacify me by telling me that you care when you do not. I heard what you said.”

“Serge, please...“ she begged.

He let go of her and turned his back, determined not to let her tearful pleading affect him. “All of my life I have lived in Lionus and Damien’s shadows. Lionus was the crowned prince and everyone loved him, including you. Damien was the playboy and every woman within a ten mile radius would latch on to his scent and follow him around like a lovesick puppy. Everyone looks at me and sees the middle son, the spare for the heir, not quite as handsome or charming as Damien and not quite as charismatic or capable as Lionus. No one sees me, Isabelle!”

She remained silent behind him. Serge continued on, his words spilling from his lips uncontrollably. He spewed his anger and his hurt like venom until they were both covered in it. “I thought you did,” he said. “I thought you could see me. I could hardly believe my luck that someone wanted me for me, not because I was like a shadow of my brother. But to know that you see my brother in my eyes…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head and took a deep breath. “No Isabelle, I am the fool. I am the worst sort of fool for not recognizing what was right in front of me all this time.”

He paused for one last look at her. The pain in her eyes reflected his. She looked away. “I don’t know what else to say, Serge. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for marrying me? Or sorry that I found out how you really feel about me?”

“I’m sorry that I can’t love you. You have no idea how much I want to.”

Her admission was the final blow, enough to cripple his heart completely. Knowing he couldn’t abide another minute in the room with her, he fled for the door.

****

Isabelle could shed no more tears. After Serge had left her, she stood in the middle of the room, alone, a fresh wave of grief washing over her. Now she had lost not only Lionus, but Serge as well. She had never felt so utterly alone in her life.

She remained remarkably calm while telling Esmeralda what had occurred. Esmeralda listened silently, watching Leila as she crawled around the nursery.

“I don’t know what to do now, Esmeralda,” she said when she finished her story. “Everything is so hopelessly ruined and I don’t think Serge will ever forgive me. He couldn’t even look at me.”

That, she thought, had been the most hurtful part of the whole ordeal. Serge had always been able to spare a smile for her. He had always gazed at her with appreciation in his eyes. The look on his face before he turned away from her had been so cold. Isabelle had hardly recognized him. “Tell me what to do.”

Esmeralda sighed, running her hands though her thick, loose hair. It was wild to the point of being untamable, so she allowed it to be free and hang down her back in private. Damien preferred it that way.  “He’s really hurt Isabelle and with good reason.” When Isabelle opened her mouth to defend herself, Esmeralda stopped her. “I’m not taking sides here and I’m not saying I don’t understand. I don’t know how I would cope without Damien and can’t even begin to imagine how you must be feeling in regards to Lionus’ death. You were married for so short a time, I’m sure you often wonder about what could have been.”

Isabelle nodded. “I cannot help it. I keep thinking that none of this is happening the way it was supposed to be.”

“Weren’t you the one complaining about everyone trying to make your decisions for you? Just a few weeks ago you were determined to choose for yourself.”

“I still am!”

“You chose Serge,” Esmeralda said pointedly. Isabelle frowned; she was right, damn her. “Whatever your reasons for choosing him, he is your husband now.”

“Do you think I should try to apologize?”

Esmeralda shook her head swiftly. “It’s too soon. The hurt is still too fresh and if Serge is anything like Damien, his wounded pride will keep him from seeking you out. Eventually you are going to have to make amends but right now, it’s too soon. Give him some time.”

Isabelle went silent. She shook a rattle and held it out for Leila, who crawled happily toward her to take it. Isabelle watched the precious baby, wondering when she’d let things become so complicated. The simpler times that she longed for seemed so very distant.

Chapter 12

Every member of the royal court was present for the coronation ceremony. Even those who had been in hiding since the death of her parents returned for the event. Everyone was filled with renewed hope now that Barony had a king again. They did not seem to mind that their king was now Serge instead of Lionus. Everyone knew that Cardenas’ second son possessed the traits necessary to perform his duties. They had nothing but respect for him, and yet Serge felt he had something to prove.

As he stood at the top of the cathedral’s center aisle, Isabelle’s hand on his arm, he looked from one person to the next and realized that he was responsible for them. The thought was even more intimidating when he remembered the throng of commoners outside waiting for a glimpse of their new king and queen. They were his responsibility as well. He promised himself that he would not fail them. So far things had been quiet. The rebels seemed to be waiting to see what the new king’s first move would be. Serge had been considering every possibility, but had yet to reach a decision.

As he and Isabelle knelt together, receiving the blessing of the bishop, he could not help looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She was dressed splendidly in traditional court dress. He knew she had to be uncomfortable, but she had never looked lovelier. The style of the dress was centuries old, with a stiff, jeweled bodice with a square neckline and high ruffled collar. The skirt was so wide and looked so heavy, that Serge wondered if she would need assistance standing back up.  Her hair was piled high on top of her head to accommodate the high, stiff collar, and sported several plumes and a few ropes of pearls. Across her torso from shoulder to hip, she wore a wide, red and gold sash held together with a jeweled clip. It was the same sash he wore over his military-style jacket.

Serge looked down at his jacket enhanced with epaulets, gold braid and sword belt and thanked the heavens he was a man. He was more than comfortable in the jacket and his matching breeches and boots.

He did not want to admit to himself how much he still wanted her. Serge had hoped that his anger would be enough to cleanse him of his desires for her. If anything, because things were so distant between them, he wanted her more.

The night before, he had undressed for bed in his own room. It was the first time since they’d been married that he had even been in his own chambers, having preferred the bed of his wife. He had stood at the connecting door, knowing that she was awake by the light spilling under it and wondered what was happening on the other side. Was she wondering where he was? Did she even care? Would she be relieved that he was using his own room for once?

He had been seconds away from opening the door, but then remembered the words that had been haunting him all day. So much like Lionus…Serge stepped away from the door, steeling himself for the lonely night to come. Serge could not bring himself to go into that room with her. He would not torment himself with wondering if she was thinking of his brother while he took her to bed. His mind made up, he’d gone to sleep alone. He did not see Isabelle again until they met to ride to the cathedral together. Neither had spoken a word to the other.

Serge turned his attention back to the ceremony as the Bishop dipped his finger in the holy water and drew a cross on first his, then Isabelle’s forehead. After a prayer in Latin, the Bishop motioned for Primus to step forward. He handed the Bishop a red velvet cushion on which rested the crowns of the king and queen of Barony. As they knelt, Primus crowned them both, the ceremony a symbol of transitioning power from him to Serge and Isabelle. Once they had been crowed, the Bishop bid them to rise. Gentle applause met them as Primus turned to the assembled court.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the court,” he said, “it seems as if we have waited a lifetime for this day. It brings me great pride and honor to present to you King Serge and Queen Isabelle, your sovereign rulers.”

The court leapt to their feet and the applause grew louder and louder until it thundered from the rafters. It seemed to last forever and Serge stood silently, allowing the people to revel in their joy. Their hope and happiness were contagious and Serge found himself forgetting his own troubles for the moment. He raised his arms for silence before addressing the court.

“My lords and ladies,” he began, “welcome to this most blessed of occasions. I stand here before you humbled and honored by your acceptance of me as your king. I know that times have been hard. The rebels have ravaged your beautiful land and terrorized its people. But I say unto you today, that it ends now!” He paused and allowed the raucous cheers and applause to wash over him before he continued. “Before we are dismissed for the celebratory ball, I would like to allow your queen to address you. She has been gone a long time away from her people and it gives me nothing but pleasure to return her to you now.”

He motioned for Isabelle to step forward. Shock flickered across her face briefly, but she recovered nicely and stepped forward. It was not customary for the queen to make any sort of speech at a coronation, but Serge felt that she had more than earned the right. Besides, the Baronians were her people.

“Ladies and gentleman of the court,” she began softly. Her voice increased in power with every word, “words cannot express how full my heart is on this day. I have spent my entire life hearing stories of Barony and its people and waiting for the day that I would get to see it all for myself. I am proud to call this land my home; proud to call you my people. I want to thank you for welcoming my husband and I as your king and queen. Thank you for trusting and accepting us. I can assure you that we will do everything in our power to bring peace to Barony once again.”

When she was finished, the court erupted into applause once again. Whistles and cheers rose up to mingle with the applause and Isabelle smiled genuinely for the first time that day.

“Well done,” Serge murmured. It was the first time he’d spoken to her all day. She nodded her head in acknowledgement of his praise but said nothing.

He offered her his arm and they walked down the aisle together, waving to the people as they went. The armed guards ahead of them flung open the cathedral doors to reveal those who had gathered in the church’s courtyard. A hush fell over the crowd when they appeared and Serge and Isabelle paused at the top of the steps. One by one, they fell to one knee, bowing their heads, every man removing his hat. Serge felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He had never anticipated that being crowned king of Barony would feel so much like coming home.

Isabelle couldn’t wait until the night was over and she could run to her room and remove the heavy, gaudy court dress she was wearing. She felt as if she weighed an extra fifty pounds, and her head hurt from the heavy hairstyle on top of her head. Isabelle saw Barony’s female soldier’s regiment clustered together in one corner and noticed that many of them sported shorter hairstyles than the women of the court. She was nearly green with envy knowing that none of them had headaches from heavy coiffures.

As if her discomfort in the heavy dress and hairstyle weren’t enough, it seemed that every lord of the court wanted a dance with her. Once Serge had taken her through the obligatory first dance, he had left her at their mercy. One after the other, they partnered her on the dance floor until Isabelle thought she would collapse on the ballroom floor.

After refusing the next dance, Isabelle found her seat at the head table where they had eaten dinner and contented herself with watching the celebration. Wine flowed freely and everyone seemed to be having a grand time. Isabelle noticed that Esmeralda’s young cousin had caught the eye of several men. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement as she talked and flirted with every man who crossed her path. Isabelle chuckled to herself and remembered when she had been that young. She almost envied Tatiana, unlike Isabelle, she did not have her life already planned out for her.

Thinking of her life and the plans that had been made caused her eyes to settle on Serge and her heart sank into her stomach. He stood with his back to her, talking with General Adams. He had barely even looked at her since the morning before and Isabelle had been too nervous to try to talk to him. She had no way of knowing what he was thinking, but the fact that he had not come to her room for bed told her everything she needed to know.

He was still angry with her and probably would be for a while. Isabelle wanted nothing more than for things to go back to the way they had been, when she and Serge had had an easy, companionable relationship.

“You’re angry with me.”

The voice that interrupted her turbulent thoughts frightened Isabelle and she nearly jumped out of her seat. Akira had taken the empty chair beside her and was propping her cane up against the table. Isabelle took a deep breath and concentrated on slowing her racing heart before she replied. “What would make you think I am angry with you?” she asked.

Akira smiled. “You do not have to be coy with me, Your Highness. You think that I am responsible for what has happened between you and King Serge.” When Isabelle gasped, Akira’s grin widened and she chuckled heartily. “I don’t have to use my powers to see the distance that has come between you. You may not want to admit it, but I know you are wondering why I pressed you into marrying him. You must think that I knew that this was coming.”

“Well didn’t you?” Isabelle couldn’t help the shrewishness of her tone. Akira was right; this was exactly what she’d been thinking.

Akira shook her head. “Then you must also think that I knew your beloved Lionus was going to die.”

Isabelle nodded. “What good are your so-called powers if you cannot stop these kinds of things from happening?”

Akira leaned forward and her eyes locked with Isabelle’s. As always, Isabelle’s soul felt exposed and bare to this woman’s gaze and she was transfixed by the amber eyes staring at her from beneath wrinkled eyelids.

“I am only able to see what will happen based on choices already made, Your Highness. Your actions and the actions of others are what determine the outcome. I can only tell what I see and advise accordingly. I saw that Barony would be saved as a result of your union with him and so it will be.”

“And what of Lionus?” she whispered, choking back the tears that always accompanied her thoughts of him. “Did you see his death?”

“It was one of many outcomes. There was no way I could anticipate which turn fate would take. In a way, Lionus had a hand in sealing his own fate with some of the decisions that he made.”

“So what now?” she asked, accepting a wineglass from a passing footman. “Barony is now safe, but my marriage is in shambles.”

Akira raised one brow. “That does not depend upon me, but then I think you already know that. The warrior king and queen in my vision were happy enough. Of course, this vision is of the future and I saw nothing indicating the path taken toward that happiness. Long is the road, my queen. You just have to stay upon the one you have chosen and trust that you will arrive where you intended. Where fate is concerned, that is really all you can do.”

She rose on her cane and left Isabelle at the table, alone, mulling over what the old gypsy woman had said. If she was to be believed, there was nothing Isabelle could do to alter the course of her destiny. She had already altered the course of her fate enough with her actions, so now she would go back to standing still, waiting for a strong wind to blow her some direction. It was just plain safer that way.

Tatiana turned about the ballroom on the arms of the mysterious lord who had asked her to dance. As the rich colors of ball gowns and the bright lights of the candles whirled past her dizzily, she marveled at the new turn her life had taken. She never could have guessed that her cousin’s marriage to a king would change things so drastically for her.

Where once her life had been dull and predictable, it was now full of excitement and intrigue. Her clothing and undergarments were now the finest money could buy, she had a personal maid at her disposal to dress her hair in elaborate and elegant styles. Twinkling jewels loaned to her by Esmeralda complimented her yellow satin gown to perfection.

Where she had once been courted by common gypsy men, many of whom she had known her entire life, she now had noblemen practically falling at her feet. She had flirted shamelessly with them all, but when Lord Andrew had approached her, the rest all paled in comparison.

He was the very epitome of everything Tatiana had ever secretly dreamed of, a real gentleman, the kind of man that did not exist in the world that she came from. The cut of his scarlet coat complimented a long and lean frame, and tight black breeches left little to the imagination. Deep brown eyes flashed as he gazed down at her, and his wavy brown hair gleamed in the candlelight.

His hand at her waist tightened and she blushed as his eyes lowered to the neckline of her gown.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” he murmured as he led her into a graceful turn. Tatiana’s heart fluttered and her spine tingled. She shook her head dumbly, unable to speak when he was gazing at her so intently

He smiled. “Well, you are. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”

Men had been telling her she was beautiful since she was thirteen, but not one had ever said it so sincerely or passionately before. As she looked up into his eyes once more, she felt deep in her heart that she loved him already.

****

Serge leaned back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes. It had been a long day, and he was glad to have a moment of peace now that the ball was over and their guests had retired for the evening. The court would be returning to their homes soon, and Serge would have to get down to the business of rebuilding Barony. He shuffled the papers on his desk into one neat stack and placed them to one side before taking up a fresh sheet and his quill.

He had just started making a list of people he wanted to offer High Council positions to, when the door to his study opened. Damien entered and closed the door behind him softly. He took the seat across from Serge’s desk and folded his arms across his chest silently. Serge dropped his pen and returned his gaze. He knew why Damien had come but he’d be damned if he was going to start the conversation.

After a few moments, Damien finally spoke up. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Isabelle? When Esmeralda and I arrived a few days ago, you two seemed happy. Today you wouldn’t even look at her.”

Serge leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “Do you remember me trying to convince you that my marrying her was a bad idea?”

Damien nodded. Serge laughed dryly. “Well,” he said, “I so hate to say I told you so but…I did.”

Damien’s brow wrinkled and he leaned forward in his chair. “What happened?”

“Suffice it to say that I cannot compete with a dead man, not that I ever intended to.”

“Serge, I...“

Serge held up one hand to silence his younger brother and shook his head. “Don’t, Damien. Don’t apologize to me. It is too late for that. All I can do now is move forward with my mission here. I am Barony’s king now, as you and everyone else wanted. I have too many concerns on that front to fall to pieces over a woman who cannot distinguish my eyes from my brother’s.”

Damien’s frown deepened. “She said that?”

Serge shrugged, “She didn’t know I was in the other room. She said she was not sure if she married me because she needed some piece of Lionus to hold on to.”

“I really am sorry. I feel like this is all my fault.”

“It is, in a way, but we won’t talk about that now,” Serge handed him the list he had been working on. “I want to talk about this.”

Damien perused the list. “You want to reinstate the council? Are you certain that’s wise right now?”

“I have been giving it a lot of thought. I believe that Isabelle’s father had good reason to disband the council in the first place, but I am not at all in favor of continuing an absolute monarchy. I feel the same way about it as our father did.”

Damien nodded his agreement. Adare had taught them that a ruler was only as good as those who advised him. He often credited the members of Cardenas’ High Council for helping him to avoid many catastrophic mistakes.

“The list looks good,” he agreed. “Primus?” he chuckled as he came to the Grand Vizier’s name on the list. “I thought you two hated each other.”

Serge rolled his eyes and snorted. “He’s a bastard, but I need him.”

Damien laughed. “I find myself strangely proud of you for being so mature.”

“I am arranging the first meeting tomorrow. I want to lay out my plans for Barony and reach some sort of decision concerning how to handle the rebels. I haven’t decided yet if I want to go on the offensive or wait for them to come to us.”

“Unfortunately, I have already promised Esmeralda that I will spend the afternoon with her tomorrow. I am sure you will not have need of me. Have you questioned the men you captured?”

“Several times. They refuse to give up their leader’s location. That was to be expected, though.”

Damien stood and stretched with a yawn. “If you’ll excuse me, I am going to find my bed and my wife.” He lifted one brow and glanced pointedly at Serge. “I suggest you do the same.”

Serge shook his head at Damien’s retreating back. Isabelle was sure to have gone to bed by now and even if she hadn’t Serge had already braced himself for another lonely night. Taking up his quill pen again, he turned his attention back to the papers on his desk.

****

The messenger ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The soles of his shoes rang out against the cobblestones as he flew through the courtyard. He slowed down just long enough to fling open the doors to the main hall. His lungs burned and his breath was shallow, but he did not slow down as he neared the guarded door at the end of the hall.

Inside he knew that King Serge was conducting the very first meeting of the royal court. He felt no guilt for interrupting. The king would want to be aware of what was happening just outside the castle gates. The two palace guards outside of the meeting room came forward to block his entrance.

“You must let me pass,” he wheezed, clutching his burning chest. “I must speak with his majesty at once!”

“His Majesty has commanded that this meeting is not to be disturbed,” said one of the guards. “Whatever your message is, it will have to wait.”

“No!” he cried, trying to push past them. “It’s urgent. The king will understand.”

Seeing the concern in the messenger’s eyes, the guards decided that they would rather not suffer the wrath of their king for failing to allow a messenger entrance when the message was so dire.

“This had better be important,” said the other guard as they both stepped aside.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he pressed on, flinging open the door and stumbling into the room. The king looked up from where he sat at the table and frowned. The other members of the council turned toward him as well, outrage apparent on their faces.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Primus stood and came toward him. “His Majesty gave specific orders that we were not to be disturbed.”

King Serge appeared between them. “Surely it must be important if the guard allowed him entrance.” He turned back toward the council. “We will dismiss for now for a well-deserved break. I have ordered a light meal prepared in the dining room for you all. Eat well and rest for a while. You will need your wits about you when we meet back in this room in three hours.”

Every council member rose to leave, bowing to the king as they filed out. Lord Primus remained, his eyes still locked on the messengers face. “What has happened?”

The messenger plowed onward. “Kingsford has been attacked.”

Serge’s eyes narrowed. “When?”

“A group of villagers arrived less than an hour ago with the news. They say that the rebels appeared out of nowhere, setting fire to buildings and stealing livestock and food and burning buildings.”

Serge left the room and motioned for the two men to follow him. “Were there no soldiers present?”

“A few, Your Highness, but not enough to stop them.”

He turned to Primus. “Have fifty men armed and ready for me in the courtyard immediately. We will ride for Kingsford straightaway. Tell the queen to have a physician summoned. Tell her to have several maids on standby in the infirmary and prepared to tend to the wounded.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” said Primus before setting off at a near run to do his king’s bidding.

“There is more,” said the messenger as he followed Serge to the main hall.

“Tell me,” he responded, accepting his sword from the butler who had materialized at his side.

“They have captured our soldiers and several villagers, including some women and children. The villagers carried this note.”

Serge clasped his sword belt around his waist before accepting the wrinkled piece of parchment that the messenger held out to him.

You have something of mine and now I have something of yours. I will await you in Kingsford and we will discuss a trade. If you do not come, consider the good people of Kingsford already dead.

Lucius

Serge balled the offending piece of parchment up in his fist and flung it away. The butler extended a mahogany box to him and Serge opened it to reveal his twin revolvers. He lifted them from the velvet lining and loaded them before jamming them into their holsters. Serge turned to Primus, who had carried out his instructions and was now armed and ready to ride out Primus retrieved the paper from the floor, opened it and read it, the corners of his mouth turned down.

“I don’t understand,” said Primus. “What thing of his could we possibly possess?”

“The men that survived the attack,” Serge responded. “There are twenty.”

“You intend to negotiate with him?”

Serge led them out to the courtyard where the fifty men that he had requested were waiting. “He has women and children, Primus,” he said grimly. “I intend to get them back.”

He swung himself up in the saddle and Primus, along with the fifty soldiers, followed suit. They rode to Kingsford, one of Barony’s smaller villages, in silence. Serge kept his eyes on their surroundings, erect and alert for any sign of danger, his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

As they neared Kingsford, Serge could see billowing black clouds of smoke lingering in the air. He smelled the sickening odors of ash and blood mingling together as they approached. The silence that surrounded them was eerie. Not one voice could be heard, nor were there the pound of horse’s hooves or the clatter of carriage wheels. Ash rained down over them in a gray mist and clouds of smoke drifted overhead, originating from a few collapsed buildings whose remains were still ablaze. His fury welled up hot and swift when they paused at the center of the village to take in the damage that had been done.

Nearly every building had been burned to the ground. All that remained of homes, shops, barns, storehouses and a church were piles of smoking timber and ash. Dead bodies littered the pathway through the town, men, women and helpless children. Serge choked back tears and looked away from the corpse of a mother still holding her dead child. The mother’s eyes were still open, her face frozen in the terror that had gripped her right before death.

He felt the energy of the men around him shifting toward rage and he turned to face them. Their expressions were grim, their eyes full of fury. Many of the soldiers from Barony had dismounted and moved among the dead, searching for friends or loved ones. Cries of rage and grief greeted his ears and Serge’s heart broke as he watched them discover the dead bodies of friends or family. Many sighs of relief could be heard as well. Many had fled and of course, the captives remained alive. Serge dismounted and turned to face his men who followed suit. The few who had wandered away returned but stayed on the edge of the group.

“I know that you are angry,” he said to them as he removed his helm. “I know that some of you have lost loved ones and are grieving. You have my permission to leave and tend to the bodies of your dead if you so wish it. The rest of you will come with me. Lucius Winthrop is here somewhere and he has the remaining villagers held hostage. If you have not found someone you know among the dead, they may have been captured.”

Serge waited for a full minute before moving. He searched the face of each and every man, waiting for those who had lost someone to file away and tend to their bodies. Not one man left the group. The need for vengeance was strong with them and not one wanted to miss the opportunity to seek it.

“All right then,” Serge said with a satisfied nod. “We will walk from here. Keep your swords sheathed for now. I know you want your vengeance, but there are other lives at stake. We are here to negotiate first.”

The men followed obediently, as Serge moved down the road, his eyes searching for any sign of life or movement. As they neared the edge of the village, Serge could see that one building had been left standing. A large barn still stood, its doors barred. It was surrounded by rebel soldiers each wearing black beneath gleaming silver armor.

Serge paused a few feet away from the barn’s entrance and eyed each of the enemy soldiers, trying to determine which one was their leader. One man moved away from where he had been speaking with someone and walked toward him. Serge frowned as the man walked toward him. Was this the infamous Lucius Winthrop? He had never seen a more unassuming man in his life. He was neither tall nor short, large nor small. His features were plain and his hair and eyes were an identical shade of brown.

As Lucius grew closer, Serge’s blood ran cold. When his eyes locked with his adversary’s, he felt as if the temperature had lowered several degrees. The cold, hard glint in the man’s eyes told Serge everything he needed to know about him. He was cunning, cruel and calculating, a dangerous combination.

He stopped directly in front of Serge and sneered. “You must be His Royal Highness,” he said with a smile. “I regret that I was unable to welcome to you to Barony personally and had to send my men in my stead. I do so prefer the personal touch.”

Serge’s hand tightened into a fist, but he was otherwise still. Negotiation was the name of this game, and he could not afford to gamble with the lives of those citizens that remained. “On the contrary,” he responded smoothly. “Your welcome party made us feel right at home.”

Lucius’ smile faded and he took another step in Serge’s direction. Primus and several others immediately drew their swords and fell into a phalanx around their king. Lucius’ derisive smirk stretched into a wide smile. “Is your king so wet behind the ears that he needs the protection of so many?”

The verbal jab hit Serge in in his pride, right where Lucius had been aiming no doubt. Serge reminded himself just how cunning this man was rumored to be. It would be just like him to bait Serge into doing something stupid so that he would have an excuse to kill the villagers. “Stand down,” he said to his men. Reluctantly they put their swords away, all but Primus stepped aside. “My men are loyal,” he said to Lucius, nodding his head toward Primus who stood just to the left and a bit in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. “Can you say the same?”

Lucius shrugged. “My men are loyal to a cause. My father was the leader of that cause and in his death, the mantle was placed upon my shoulders. Would you care to put their loyalty to the test?”

Serge detected the movement of several armed men behind Lucius, but his eyes remained locked on his enemy’s. “We are here to negotiate, remember?”

“So we are,” Lucius responded, rubbing his clean-shaven jaw thoughtfully. “It has come to my attention that you have in your possession twenty of my men.”

“They made me feel so welcome that I thought I would introduce them to my own brand of hospitality.”

“Well, I’m sure they’ve enjoyed their stay, but I’ll be requiring their immediate return.”

“What makes you think they’re still alive?” Serge scoffed.

Lucius’ eyes narrowed. “Come now, am I speaking with Serge Largess or not? Are you not trained in all aspects of military leadership? Surely a man with your knowledge would never be so foolish!”

“Very well,” he conceded. “They are alive. What will you give in return for their release?”

Lucius gestured toward the barn with one arm. “Inside that barn are all that remain of the citizens of Kingsford.”

“How many?”

Lucius shrugged. “One hundred at least.”

“I want to see them first. If they are all alive and well as you say, I will deliver your men to you.”

Lucius stood aside and raised his eyebrows, his arm still extended toward the barn. “After you.”

Serge and Primus swept past Lucius and walked toward the barn, where several of the rebels stood guarding the door. A few were holding lit torches. “Try anything heroic and we’ll burn it down,” Lucius warned before commanding his men to open the door. Serge squinted into the dark barn and sighed with relief. As promised, more than one hundred people were crammed into the barn, each with their hands bound behind their backs.

Serge forced a confident smile. “Remain calm,” he told them gently. “You will be freed soon, I promise you.” He turned back to Lucius. “You have yourself a bargain. My men and I will retrieve the prisoners and return within the hour.”

Lucius nodded. “Excellent.”

Serge left the barn and returned to his men. Lucius’ voice stopped him dead in his tracks. “Oh and by the way,” he said with a smug grin. “Should you tarry longer than one hour, consider them all dead.”

Chapter 13

Serge and his men rode hard and fast toward the castle. As quickly as they could manage, they released the prisoners and led them back to Kingsford. Lucius was waiting patiently beside the barn, a cigar clutched between his teeth and a gleaming silver flask in one hand. He put the cigar out and took one last swig from the flask as they approached.

“Your men, as promised,” said Serge as the prisoners were unbound and released to their leader. “Now let them go.”

Primus’ hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. “Your Highness, we should take them all now. He is right within our grasp.”

Serge’s hand tightened around Primus’ arm and he shook his head. “No rash actions,” he whispered, his eyes still locked with Lucius’. “You know what he is capable of.”

Seeing Primus’ hand on his sword, Lucius laughed. It was a harsh, ugly sound. “I wouldn’t advise it,” he said. “You are outnumbered.”

“We were outnumbered when you sent your little welcome party to greet us,” said Serge with a raised brow. “Do not be foolish enough to underestimate me and my men.”

Lucius tapped his finger against his chin thoughtfully. “You know, I think you’re right.” He nodded to one of his men who, much to Serge’s horror, lifted his torch and hurled it to the barn’s rooftop. Primus swore violently beside him as at least ten others followed suit. The entire roof was ablaze in seconds. “Just a little something to keep you occupied so that I know I won’t be followed. Until we meet again, Your Highness.”

Serge could only watch as Lucius and his men made their escape. His soldiers had already started toward the blazing barn. The cries of those inside were enough to jar Serge into action. Tearing his eyes away from his retreating enemy, he threw himself into helping free the people trapped inside the barn. The fire was spreading fast, but they were able to free every person inside. They ushered the panicked people away from the raging inferno and left it to burn, all hope of saving Kingsford’s last remaining building gone.

“What now?” Primus asked as they assisted several people in untying their bonds. “He’s escaped again and these people are now homeless.”

“We will take them to Guthrie Hall,” Serge snapped, annoyed and tired. He too was angry that Lucius had eluded them. “Those who are injured will receive help. Those who are well enough will have to be relocated. There is no point in rebuilding Kingsford, at least not at the moment. There are other, more pressing concerns.”

Once every villager had been freed, Serge and his men led them toward Guthrie hall. Many shared their saddles with women and children. The men walked behind the slow moving procession. The bedraggled lot was gloomy and disheartened their face and bodies coated in ash and dirt. Some limped along, nursing injuries caused by fire or putting up a fight against the rebels. Those who could not walk were carried, and those that had been killed were left behind. Serge and his men exchanged glances over the heads of the children in their saddles, their sadness mingled with fury.

Once inside of the courtyard, Serge dismounted and handed the child who’d been in the saddle with him to his waiting father. Isabelle stood at the center of the courtyard with Esmeralda, directing the injured to the infirmary and the uninjured to the kitchen where they would be fed.

Satisfied that his wife had everything under control, he left the courtyard with Primus hot on his heels. He found Damien waiting for him. “Why did you not send for me?” he asked as he fell in on his other side. “I should have been with you.”

“There wasn’t time,” Serge said with a shrug, as they approached the High Council’s meeting room. Removing his leather gloves and helm, but leaving the rest of his armor and weapons alone for the time being, Serge swept inside the room. He was grateful that every member of the council was still present, even though he was almost an hour late. Serge took his place at the head of the table, placing his helm and gloves beside him. Primus and Damien took their places at his left and right.

Every eye rested on him as they waited for him to begin. “I trust you have all been informed of the reason for my absence. I thank you for your patience and apologize for my tardiness, but it couldn’t be helped.”

“How fare the citizens of Kingsford?” asked Thomas Angles, a member of the council.

Serge shook his head, partly in answer to Thomas’ question and partly to shake free the images of the dead and dying from his memory. “It was a massacre,” he replied. Shock waves rippled through the room as each reacted to the horrible news. He held his hand up for order. “Please, gentlemen. I know that you are angry. I find that the fires of my anger are strong as well. Lucius Winthrop has eluded us for now, but he will not go unpunished.”

“What do you intend to do now?” asked another councilman. “Our villages are broken, our people are destitute and our enemy seems to vanish into thin air when they are not terrorizing us. Now that you have the authority to act, what will you do?”

“My answer is simple, gentlemen. Some of you may agree with my logic and some of you may not, but bear with me.” When he was sure that every man was listening, he continued. “Lucius Winthrop and the rebel army are a problem. There is no doubt about that. However, I find that we have a more pressing problem. Barony is suffering, and I for one cannot allow this to continue. Our people are desperate and dying out there. They are our first and only priority.”

“What are you saying?” Primus asked, confusion evident on his face. “Are you suggesting that we forget about the rebel forces?”

“Of course not,” countered Serge. “What I am saying is that we concentrate on rebuilding our broken land. The rebel army wants to break the people, destroy their hopes so that they will surrender. By rebuilding their villages and giving them the supplies and food that they so desperately need, we will restore their faith in our leadership. We will make them stronger, thereby making us all stronger. When the rebel army sees this happening, they will retaliate.”

“And we want that retaliation?” someone asked from across the table.

Serge nodded. “Yes, because when it comes we will be ready for it. I will be assigning a regiment to every village to be on constant guard. I will be forming four units for the purpose of leading our rebuilding crews. Those units will be led by myself, Lord Primus, King Damien, and General Adams. Each unit will be rationed supplies and assigned to two villages each. Our mission is simple, gentlemen: restore Barony to its former greatness and show our enemies a united front. When they come for us, we will be more than ready.”

Many nodded their heads in agreement, though several still looked unsure. Primus was among them. “Pardon me, Your Highness, but I would like to suggest that you at least consider taking some offensive action against the rebels. A show of force, if you will.”

Serge shook his head. “The rebels have been hiding out in the mountains for years. Their leader is cunning and intelligent. I will not risk sending our men into a trap. Going into the mountains in search of the rebels is a suicide mission. I refuse to risk even one life trying. No Lord Primus, our best chance lies in waiting for our enemy to come to us.”

Serge stood and Damien followed suit. “I will allow you one hour to discuss and take a vote. My brother and I will await your decision in the dining room. I trust that you will make the right decision.”

Forty-five minutes later, Serge looked up from his meal as Primus entered the dining room. Damien, who had been leaning back in his chair and enjoying a cigar, let his chair fall back onto four legs and sat erect, waiting with baited breath for Primus to deliver the news. Serge set his fork down and wiped his mouth with his napkin. His heart was pounding in his chest, yet he remained calm. He was nervous about the council’s decision and hoped that he had been able to convince them to vote in favor of his proposal.

“Fifteen to five, in your favor,” Primus said as he settled into the chair across from him. Serge sighed with relief before turning back to his plate.

“Am I to assume that you were one of the five against me, Primus?” he asked before taking a bite of roasted chicken.

Primus shrugged. “What does it matter when you have won your argument? As always, I remain loyal to the crown and dedicated to Barony. I will follow your orders.”

Serge nodded. “Good.”

“How long before we set out?” asked Damien, sticking his cigar back between his teeth.

“Three days,” Serge replied. “Just enough time to divide the supplies into four equal portions and for me to decide who goes where. As for the units responsible for the security of the villages, they will leave immediately. After what happened in Kingsford today I am anxious to see the people protected.”

“Well in that case,” said Damien as he rose to his feet, “I’d better go find Esmeralda. Three days is not very long for saying goodbye to one’s wife.” With a hearty chuckle, Damien disappeared through the doors of the dining room.

****

Isabelle slammed the door to her room and collapsed onto her bed with an exhausted sigh. It was well after midnight and she was completely drained. She and Esmeralda had worked long and hard to ensure that the citizens of Kingsford were settled in for the night. Akira, who had an extensive knowledge of healing, had assisted the physician with seeing to the wounded. Isabelle and Esmeralda had busied themselves with assigning guest rooms to the bedraggled villagers and offering food, clothing and fresh water for bathing to those who needed it.

Every guest room was full, some being shared by two or more families, but by the end of the night, everyone was completely settled. Isabelle turned onto her back and stared up at the canopy over her. She was too tired to even think about removing her dress and she had sent Gayle to bed already, insisting that she could take care of herself for the night.

Deciding that she would be perfectly comfortable sleeping in her clothes, Isabelle kicked off her slippers and turned to her side. She was asleep within seconds.

Serge was so late entering his room that night, that he did not even bother to glance in the direction of Isabelle’s door. The few times he’d seen her throughout the day she was busy seeing to the welfare of their guests. Her face was drawn and her appearance bedraggled, and he knew she was exhausted and resting in the next room. Hours past in, which he lay among the bedclothes, his mind racing with thoughts that kept him from sleep. The horror of what he’d witnessed in Kingsford stayed with him. The carnage and destruction went beyond the bounds of human cruelty. He had only experienced that sort of depravity once in his life and had hoped to never have to witness it again.

He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut against the thoughts, memories that he had hoped to forget but plagued him mercilessly. Even now as he closed his eyes, the images invaded his subconscious, wrapping their tentacles around his mind in a vice-like grip as he drifted off into unconsciousness.

Serge fought madly, cutting down the men that had been dispatched by the masked man to kill him. He could see Lionus through the madness that surrounded him. Serge could see that their father’s murderer no longer wore his mask, but the man had his back turned and Serge could not see his face.

Raw fury raced through him and he fought to make his way to his brother’s side. He would not allow his brother to face the villain alone. Serge heard the shrill screams of a woman behind him and turned to find three men surrounding the carriage containing his mother and Isabelle.

An inhuman battle cry was the only warning the attackers had. Serge hacked his way through them, decapitating the first, severing the sword arm of the second and running his sword clean through the middle of the third. He looked up to find Isabelle watching him from the window of the carriage, her eyes wide with fear. He knew he must look like a man possessed, and felt the sticky wetness of another man’s blood across his face. Serge reached through the window to take her hand, ignoring the tiny shivers of awareness that shot through him at her touch.

“Isabelle, are you able to drive this carriage?” She looked behind him to see that one coachman lay dead and the other was fighting among the guards.

“I can if there is no other option,” she said, her soft voice filled with a strength he had known she possessed.

“Good. Take the reins and drive this thing as fast as you can. Go back to the palace. Damien is not scheduled to leave until tomorrow. You must find him and tell him what has happened. Tell him to send aid.”

Isabelle nodded, exiting the carriage to climb onto the driver’s perch. Alexandra cried hysterically in the confines of the carriage. Ignoring her, Serge turned back to Isabelle, who held the reigns in her hand. He lifted his pistol from beneath the carriage seat and handed it to her.

“Do not hesitate to use it,” he said. She took the pistol without hesitation and pushed it down into the pocket of her skirt.

“Go!” he bellowed, slapping one of the lead horses on the rear. The horses whinnied and were off like a shot, carrying Isabelle and Alexandra to safety.

Relieved, Serge turned back toward Lionus, who still fought the masked man. Blood trickled down his arm and soaked the front of his coat. He was slowing down, swinging his sword sluggishly. Serge leaped over two men who had fallen to the ground, locked together in a struggle. Most of the men lay dead or dying, but Serge’s main concern was his brother.

He raised his sword, prepared to strike out, when he was brought up short. Pain exploded at the back of his head, and his vision blurred as he fell to his knees. He fought for consciousness, knowing that if he lost himself to oblivion, he and Lionus would both be dead within moments.

One of the masked man’s accomplices grasped him by the arms and held him down, a pistol pressed against his temple.

“Hold still or I will gladly blow a hole through your head,” a raspy voice said beside his ear. “Then my boss will be furious with me, since he’s determined to kill you himself.”

Serge could only watch Lionus fight as his blood rapidly drained from his body through the gaping wound in his shoulder. His heart twisted painfully in his chest when Lionus finally dropped to his knees, too weak to continue.

“No!” Serge cried as he watched their enemy shove his sword through Lionus’ middle. “Lionus,” he moaned weakly, watching his brother’s lifeless body fall into a heap on the ground. He struggled against the arms that held him, enraged, but the blow to his head had sapped much of his strength.

Darkness shrouded the face of his enemy as he approached, wiping his sword clean of Lionus’ blood. Serge growled like an enraged beast, straining against his captor’s hold. Another blow to the head subdued him, and he waited for his adversary to show his face.

“No,” he whispered, when the man finally came into view. “I can’t believe it.” Serge shook his head and narrowed his eyes, determined to see someone else before him, but the face and form before him did not change. His heart ached at the sight. It was his cousin, Nicolai. They had been raised together as brothers, but Serge realized now that he was the villain responsible for the death of his father. “Why?”

“Because our father abandoned me,” he said simply.

“Our father? Tell your men to release me and fight me, damn you!” Serge fought with renewed strength, anger numbing the throbbing pain in his head. If only he could free his hands, he would gladly wrap them around Nicolai’s throat and squeeze the life out of him. “Let me go goddamn it!”

He fought and screamed. He kicked and flailed as ropes were tied around his ankles and wrists. He cursed his cousin, who he now realized was really his half-brother, for the coward he was, as his ankles were tethered to the back of the remaining carriage.

The face of a man he once held dear loomed over him. “I will not stand by and watch you inherit everything that is rightfully mine. When you awaken in the afterlife, you can thank your father for this.”

He lifted his pistol above his head, firing a crackling shot into the dead of night. The horses reared and whinnied before dashing off down the road, dragging the carriage and Serge behind them.

****

Isabelle was jolted into wakefulness by screams. She shot upright in bed and pushed loose strands of hair out of her face. Her bleary eyes searched for the source of the commotion, as she fought against the lingering drowsiness on the edges of her consciousness.

Recognizing the voice that was screaming out in agony, Isabelle leaped up and ran toward the door connecting her room to Serge’s. She yanked the door open and ran to the bed where her husband lay, screaming and thrashing.

Without hesitation, she sat on the edge of the mattress and reached out for Serge’s face. The instant her hands made contact with his skin, he calmed. His strained muscles relaxed and his movements stilled. His breathing slowly returned to normal and his eyes opened slowly. Confusion flashed across his face for a moment as he reached for complete wakefulness.

“You were screaming again,” she explained as he struggled into a sitting position.

Now completely awake, his eyes dropped to the blankets bunched around his waist. Isabelle fought the urge to shake him by the shoulders and demand he look at her. He was once again expressionless, his mouth a hard line as he stared at a spot on the wall over her shoulder. “I’m fine now,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “Sorry to have disturbed your sleep.”

Isabelle folded her hands in her lap and waited for him to look at her. She refused to move until he did. His avoidance of her had lasted long enough. “Esmeralda says that you and Damien will be leaving in three days,” she said.

He nodded, his eyes still focused beyond her. “Yes. I suspect we’ll be gone for several months. I have already met with your body guards and they have agreed to remain behind with a unit of soldiers to oversee the protection of those at Guthrie Hall.”

“I will miss you,” she said softly, dropping her eyes to her hands, which were clutched tightly together in her lap.

“Will you?” His voice raised sharply and Isabelle felt the heat of his gaze on her at last. She lifted her eyes up to his and almost gasped aloud at the raw pain she found there. His jaw was tense and he was studying her intently. “I would think you’d be glad to be rid of me,” he said.

“How could you think that?” she asked. “You’re my husband, Serge.”

“I’m a convenience,” he retorted, his features hardening with every word, “a second-rate replacement for something you wish you still had.”

“Serge, please don’t do this,” she pleaded. “You know that’s not true.”

“Don’t try to patronize me, Isabelle. I know the truth and now I have to live with it.”

“I don’t know why we can’t just go back to the way things were!” she blurted, her frustration finally bubbling to the service.

“You mean you want to go back to when I was trying to love you and you were trying to use me to ease your hurts over another man?”

“Your brother!”

“Don’t you understand that that’s the very thing that makes it so hurtful? How do I know you haven’t confused us in your mind?” he asked, his voice wavering with the force of his pain and anger. “Do you know how it feels to wonder if you’re measuring me up against him and finding me lacking? Can you honestly say that you haven’t?”

Isabelle thought of the dream she’d had about her wedding night and lowered her eyes. She could not deny that part of what he was saying was true.

Serge released her shoulders and turned away, yanking the covers back over his shoulder before lying back against the pillows. “Good-bye Isabelle,” he said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Isabelle remained on the edge of the bed a bit longer, waiting for him to turn back to her. It soon became clear that he would not. After several minutes of watching the back of his head, Isabelle stood and returned to her cold room and empty bed, alone.

****

The next few days were a blur. Isabelle hardly ever saw her husband and when she did he was busy with preparing for his departure. Damien and Esmeralda were spending quite a bit of their time alone together in the nursery with Leila or in their chambers, content to spend the last few days they had together in solitude. Isabelle was left feeling quite alone.

No one knew how long the rebuilding effort would take, especially since no one could predict how the rebels would react. Primus had told her that they could be gone for weeks at a time, stopping in for more supplies or for short breaks only to leave again.

The day before their departure, Primus found Isabelle in the dining room after the afternoon meal and pulled her aside. “Your Highness, I was wondering if I could have a bit of your time?” he asked, as the servants filed in to clear the table. Everyone had left but the two of them.

“Certainly Primus,” Isabelle said with a warm smile, grateful to have someone to keep her company, even if for a short time. “What can I do for you?”

“I know that His Majesty has instructed your bodyguards and several soldiers to stay behind for your protection and I know that you will be well taken care of, but I would like to show you something that may be valuable should the rebels decide to bring the fight to Guthrie Hall.”

Isabelle gasped. “Do you think that could happen?”

Primus shrugged. “Anything is possible, Your Highness. I want you to be prepared if someone should attack while we are away.”

Isabelle nodded and gestured for Primus to lead the way. “Show me.”

Primus led her out of the dining room and back to the main hall. He led her down another hallway toward the massive ballroom situated at the back of the castle. Isabelle wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. This part of the castle was chilly and dark when not in use.

At the edge of the ballroom was another door leading to a staging area of sorts. When Primus had taken her and Serge on a tour of Guthrie Hall, he had explained that this room was used for performers to prepare when they were invited to perform for the royal court.

Primus led her into the room, leaving the door ajar to let in the light streaming from the ballroom windows. “This is one of Guthrie Hall’s best kept secrets,” he said, gesturing toward a door at the far end of the room. “You are one of only a handful of people who know about it.”

Primus swung open the door and stood aside to allow Isabelle entrance. Inside, it was almost pitch black and Isabelle had to squint and allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness before she realized she was standing in a large cave. Primus took a torch down from the wall and lit it, holding it up before them.

“Your ancestors built Guthrie Hall into the side of a mountain because they knew it would offer a defensive advantage in times of war. It is one of the reasons the rebels have not attacked here since the siege on the castle where your parents were killed. This is the place that Gayle and your bodyguards were sent to keep you safe. Your parents were to join you here, but they did not make it in time.”

Isabelle stared at the walls and high ceilings of the massive cave. “How many people do you think could fit in here?”

“Several hundred,” Primus said confidently. “That is why I’ve shown it to you. Should things become dangerous, we will send our women and children to Guthrie Hall. It will be up to you to take them in, Your Highness. Shelter them, keep them safe and if it becomes necessary, retreat into this cave and hope for the best.”

“Do you think we can spare some of the supplies that were brought from Cardenas?” she asked, still turning in a slow circle to fully absorb her surroundings.

“I suppose so. Why do you ask?”

Isabelle smiled. “Well, I’m hoping we never have to use this cave. Of course, we should be prepared for any eventuality. I’m thinking it would be a good idea to fully stock this cave with supplies in the event that we are stuck inside for several days.”

Primus’ charming smile flashed across his handsome face as he led Isabelle from the chilly cave. He put out the torch and hung it back on the wall before closing the door. They began the walk back through the ballroom. “An excellent idea,” he said as they walked.

Isabelle nodded, her mind already preoccupied as she talked aloud, mostly to herself. “We’ll need food, of course. We’ll also need medical supplies, blankets, wood for fires, toys for the children in case they become restless.”

Primus chuckled as they neared the main hall. “You are as organized as your mother, my lady,” he said with a laugh. “She was always making lists and putting things together.”

Isabelle returned his smile. “I won’t let you down, Primus. We will be fully prepared for any eventuality.”

Primus opened his mouth to respond, but they were interrupted by the sound of another voice. “Lord Primus, don’t you have something productive you could be doing?”

Both their heads swiveled toward the large double doors where Serge had just come in from the courtyard. His eyes were narrowed, blue daggers pointed directly at Primus. “Isabelle, a word,” he said curtly before walking past them and toward the nearest drawing room.

Primus made a hasty retreat and Isabelle was left with no choice but to follow her husband. Once she was inside the drawing room done in shades of burgundy and mauve, Serge slammed the door behind her and turned the key in the lock so they would not be disturbed. He turned to her with a menacing gleam in his eye. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

Isabelle’s mouth fell open in surprise. Was he angry with her? What in God’s name for, she wondered. She snapped her mouth shut with a frown before responding. “I’m sorry I do not know what you mean.”

“I saw the two of you coming from the back of the castle. No one ever goes back there unless something is happening in the ballroom. What were you doing?”

Isabelle couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in her throat. The sound only served to further anger Serge, who was closing the distance between them rapidly. “You have been ignoring me for a week, Serge. What a convenient time for you to start caring.”

Serge stopped in front of her and pierced her with his heated gaze. Isabelle felt a tiny tremor roll down her spine. “Where were you?” he asked, his voice low but threatening. He pronounced each word slowly and carefully. “I want the truth.”

“He was merely showing me the secret cave!” she yelled, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Something you neglected to tell me about. At least someone had the foresight to show me what to do in the event of an attack.”

“Your bodyguards have been given instructions and already knew about the cave. Do you think I hadn’t already thought of that? Primus knew this. He was just using the cave as an excuse to get you off alone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she scoffed.

“I want to know what happened. If he’s laid a hand on you, so help me I’ll...“

He was cut short by Isabelle’s palm across his cheek. Silence stretched between them as he rage contorted his features. His cheek flamed red where she had left her handprint. Instead of the remorse that should have been coursing through her, all Isabelle could feel was defiance. As she stood there glaring at him, it practically radiated from her iridescent eyes.

“How dare you accuse me of behaving inappropriately?” she hissed. “You may not think much of me Serge, but I am not an unfaithful wife.”

Anger melted away as he closed the distance between them and was replaced with desire. Despite the fact that she had just assaulted him, Isabelle could see that he wanted her. It was evident in his eyes the moment he stepped forward to crush her against him.

“What are you doing?” Isabelle screeched as he yanked her up against his chest until her feet were barely touching the floor.

“Reminding you who you belong to,” he replied as he moved swiftly toward the chaise lounge chair in the corner. He dropped her onto it before coming down on top of her, his legs on either side of the narrow bench. Her protests were muffled by his lips slamming down over hers.

Despite her anger, she felt her body responding to his instantly. As he kissed her, fury gave in to something else entirely and she felt her arms moving up to wrap around his neck in acquiescence. His hands were already gripping her calves and moving upward, taking her skirts with them as they glided over her stockings. They continued their journey until they had moved up over the stockings and come in contact with bare skin.

Isabelle gasped and then moaned against his lips as his hand moved between her thighs. He cupped her and stroked gently, teasing her with his fingers as his mouth continued its assault on hers. One hand still occupied, he used the other to grasp her wrist. With a rough jerk, he pressed her hand to the hard bulge at the waistband of his breeches. His eyes met hers, silently commanding her.

Overcome by the erotic friction if his fingers against her aching flesh, she obeyed his silent command mindlessly and tore at the button with shaky fingers. When she finally managed to slip the button from its hole, the rigid length of him, engorged with rampant want, fell free and into her palm. She gasped in protest when he pulled his hand away from her throbbing center, but was silenced when he gripped both of her legs beneath the knee and pulled her up against his hard, hot shaft until she could feel him pulsating against her.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded, pausing at the slick, velvety entrance to her core. “I want you to look at me.” She looked up at him and he smirked triumphantly before pulling her completely against him, joining her body to his. He did not have to say with words what his eyes were saying as he lifted her hips from the bench and thrust forward brutally. I want you to look at me so you won’t forget who possesses you, his eyes screamed as his hips slammed into hers over and over again. The bench shifted beneath them, but he didn’t slow or stop as he increased the rhythm of his thrusts. Isabelle held on to the bench for dear life, matching his rhythm with the intensity of her own desire.

Her eyes remained locked with his as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her and she forgot everything else that preceded this moment. Isabelle forgot her anger over his callous treatment and his hurt over her untimely words. She knew he was only taking her now to teach her a lesson, to remind her that even if he did not possess her heart, he still possessed everything else. Yet she could not find the mental strength to care when he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, allowing him to penetrate her even more deeply. He braced himself with his arms, never losing the timing of the rhythm he’d created, every precise plunge caused vibrations to ripple out from her center.

His head lowered once more and he captured her mouth with his to muffle her cries as euphoria mingled with rapture washed over her in waves so intense she thought she would shatter from the pleasure of it. Her hands came up to tangle in his loose hair as he lunged forward one last time and crested over the edge.

When both their racing hearts calmed, Serge rose into a seated position, adjusting his trousers before standing and fixing the rest of his rumpled clothing.

Isabelle remained where she was, half lying on the chaise, her legs dangling over the edge, her skirts and petticoat bunched up around her hips. When Serge glanced down at her pointedly, she struggled to stand as well, shoving her dress down as she did so. By the time her skirts hit the floor he was gone, the door to the drawing room clicking shut behind him.

Chapter 14

After he left her on the lounge chair in the sitting room, still throbbing in her most intimate places from their encounter, he had thrown himself back into preparing to leave. They did not speak again for the rest of that day.

That evening she had sat up in bed for hours, pretending to read but really waiting for him to open the door connecting their rooms. She had just known he would not leave for God knew how long without a proper farewell.

As it turned out, she was completely wrong. She heard Serge enter his room, and the smooth baritone of his voice as he chatted with his valet. She listened closely as he prepared for bed, and held her breath when she thought his footsteps were nearing the connecting door. Her heart plummeted into her stomach when she realized that he wasn’t coming.

The next morning she stood in the courtyard, a forced smile plastered on her face for the benefit of the men present. She bid them all farewell. Serge had bowed over her hand formally and kissed the air over it before jumping into the saddle and leading his unit away.

She could not help the stabbing pangs of envy that struck her when Damien swept Esmeralda into his arms and kissed her passionately for all of five minutes. He did not care that his men were looking on, many of them shifting uncomfortably as he ravaged his wife’s mouth thoroughly. After he was done, he hugged Raina and took Leila from her arms before enveloping her in his arms as well. He had said good-bye to his little family, and then he too was gone.

She knew that messengers would be sent back and forth with correspondence between the soldiers and their loved ones. Isabelle hoped foolishly every day for a letter from Serge. She had begun to wonder if the letters hadn’t gotten lost somehow, but when Esmeralda began receiving them only one week after the soldiers’ departure, Isabelle gave up on that notion. The reality of her situation was as clear as day. Serge was still hurt and angry with her. She should not expect any letters from him.

Three weeks after Serge’s departure, Isabelle was bored to tears. The last of Kingsford’s citizens had left Guthrie Hall and Isabelle found she missed having them around. At least when they were there she had felt useful. She had also busied herself those first weeks with stocking the secret cave with supplies. That undertaking had taken only two week thanks to her bodyguards, who were more than happy to assist her in toting everything down to the cave and now she was left with nothing to do.

Now that everything had quieted down, her days fell into a monotonous routine. She would take breakfast in her room as always, alone. After getting dressed, she would take up her sketchbook or her oils and canvas and find a nice spot in the courtyard or garden to paint or draw. After lunch, she would join Esmeralda in the nursery where she watched mother and child interact with envy. Then they would all take tea together, she, Esmeralda, Raina, Akira, Tatiana and sometimes Desmond, although Esmeralda’s younger brother spent most of his time near the stables as he loved horses.

After tea, she would read or practice embroidery and at least twice a week she would meet with the butler and housekeeper to ensure that everything at Guthrie Hall was running smoothly. Then came dinner and a quiet evening before she retired for bed.

Isabelle missed having the men around, as they were never short on entertainment when they were there. She did not want to admit it to herself, but deep down she knew she missed Serge most of all.

After a while, she grew tired of boredom and the glum mood she’d allowed herself to slip into and decided to seek out a distraction. Winter had come and covered the castle and grounds in a fresh blanket of snow. Deciding that she had wallowed in her self-pity long enough, Isabelle dressed in a warm wool dress and her thickest stockings and sturdy boots. She found a fur-lined cape with a hood and matching muff before going in search of Esmeralda.

She found her friend seated at the desk in her chambers, reading a letter from Damien no doubt. Esmeralda looked up when Isabelle breezed in and smiled. “Going somewhere?”

Isabelle returned her smile. “Yes and so are you. Get on some warmer clothes and meet me in the main hall.”

Esmeralda frowned, dropping Damien’s letter onto the table. “Where are we going?”

“I am tired of being stuck inside these walls with nothing to do. I am having a carriage brought ‘round to take us to Gladstone.”

“Gladstone? But that trip will take all day!”

Isabelle shrugged. “We’ve nothing better to do and if I recall Primus once told me that Gladstone has some of the best shopping in Barony. Christmas is coming in a few months and I want to throw a grand party. I want to start preparing now and Gladstone is the best place to start.”

Esmeralda stood, her smile widening. .

“Why not.” she said reaching for the bell cord to summon her personal maid. “Leila is teething and grandmother has mixed a concoction for pain that has her sleeping the day away. I’ll just ask mother to keep an eye on her and get changed.”

“Fantastic,” Isabelle replied, already headed for the door. “I’ll be waiting in the main hall.”

****

The streets of Gladstone were filled with people vying for a glimpse of their queen. Children ran alongside the royal carriage, waving and screaming her name. Isabelle peeked through the curtains and waved, enchanted by the little cherubic faces that smiled back at her.

Soldiers, armed and wearing Barony’s vibrant colors, dotted the streets, keeping a watchful eye on the bustling village. Carriages and horse-drawn carts carved a path through the snow-covered ground, toting people and goods to and from their destinations. The atmosphere was welcoming and friendly as the people seemed to all know each other. The children all called to their parents and friends, pointing at the royal carriage as they followed it into town. Waves and shouted greetings followed and Isabelle once again experienced the feeling of arriving home after a long time away.

When they had reached the very center of town, Isabelle signaled the driver to stop. The footman swung the doors open and Isabelle dismounted from the carriage, along with Esmeralda and her four bodyguards. Many had gathered around to greet her and she took her time with each one, shaking hands and patting the heads of the little ones. They loved her even more after she fished a bag of peppermint sticks from her pocket and passed them out. Sucking on their treats and smiling happily, they waved good-bye to their queen and ran back to where they had come from.

Isabelle inhaled deeply, enjoying the cleansing feeling of the cool winter air filling her lungs. The same snow that covered her boots capped the buildings and dusted the trees lining the village, giving their surroundings a dream-like quality of wintery white wonder. The sights and smells of the busy village called to her and she could not wait to start exploring. Shop doors stood open and the enticing smell of baking bread, sugary pastries, and stewing meat filled the air. At the first shop, Isabelle purchased several boxes of silver Christmas tree ornaments and several long strands of tinsel. Christmas had always been one of her favorite times of year and even though it was early, she couldn’t wait until it was time to put up and decorate the tree.

At the next shop, she bought several boxes of chocolate, another large bag of peppermint sticks and placed an order with the shopkeeper for a large batch of pasties to serve at her Christmas party.

From there, it was all a blur as she went from shop to shop, emptying her pockets and filling the purses of Gladstone’s businessmen. By the time she was finished, all four bodyguards had made several trips back to the carriage and were still loaded down with parcels. Esmeralda had done her share of shopping as well.

Their last stop was the blacksmith’s shop. Isabelle remembered the story Primus had told her of how the sword of the kings of Barony had been lost in the great siege against Guthrie Hall. After her parents were killed, the family heirloom had been lost, never to be seen again. The sword of the kings of Cardenas had been carried by Lionus and upon his death had been passed down to Damien, as no one expected Serge to live. As they came upon the smithy, Isabelle decided that the king of Barony needed a sword to pass down to his son. Her decision made, Isabelle pushed open the door to the little shop and walked in.

A wave of heat struck her face the instant she stepped inside and for the first time that day, she wished she weren’t wearing such a heavy cloak. Sweat already begun to roll down the back of her neck and she knew that her hair would be damp with it by the time they left. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness within, Isabelle could make out a person hammering away noisily in the corner. As they neared, Isabelle recognized the person with a surprised gasp. Ava Longley, captain of the women’s regiment, was bent over an anvil with a massive hammer clenched in her fist. The tip of the sword in her hand glowed red from having been forged in the roaring fire.

Ava pounded rhythmically, her arm wielding the hammer as well as any man’s, coming down on the metal with such force that the anvil shook beneath her. Isabelle cleared her throat loudly to alert Ava of their presence. When Ava finally looked up from her work, she tossed the hammer aside and curtsied elegantly as if she were wearing a ball gown instead of a dirty wool dress and leather apron. Isabelle would have never guessed the warrior woman was so graceful. It would seem that Ava was full of surprises.

“Your Highness,” she said as she rose from her curtsy, “it is indeed an honor to have you visit my humble establishment.”

Vernon stepped forward, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. “This is your shop?”

Ava drew herself up to her full height and lifted her chin, her stormy gray eyes assessing Vernon coolly. “I just said it was, didn’t I?”

Vernon’s frown deepened as his eyes roamed around the small smithy, taking in the various tools of the trade and the dark, humid surroundings before coming to rest on Ava once again.

Ava sighed in annoyance. “Allow me to explain,” she said to Isabelle, though her heated gaze wandered back to Vernon as she spoke. “My father was a blacksmith and his father before him. He was also an excellent sword smith. Since I was the only child my parents had and my father had to teach his trade to someone, he chose me. Any more questions?”

“Only one,” said Isabelle, shooting Vernon as seething glare. “I am sure you have heard the story of how the sword of the kings of Barony went missing.” Ava nodded. Isabelle continued. “I think it’s high time it was replaced, don’t you?”

Surprise flashed briefly in Ava’s eyes, but was quickly replaced by joy. Her smile was radiant. “Oh Your Highness, how could I ever…to think that you would honor me by asking such a thing of me…I am so honored!”

Isabelle smiled back at the woman before handing her a heavy sack of coins. “I believe this should more than cover the costs.”

Ave opened the pouch and her mouth fell open. “I believe this would cover the cost at least three times over, Your Highness.” She extended the bag back toward Isabelle. “I cannot accept this.”

Isabelle shook her head, refusing to take back the pouch. “Consider the rest your reward for saving my life. I have not forgotten the bravery of you or your fellow soldiers.”

After thanking her again, Ava slid the coin purse into one of the several pockets on her apron. “I will of course need some time to find the necessary supplies. I want to take my time making this sword. It needs to be perfect, strong enough to last for generations and deadly enough to get the job done.”

“Do you think you could have it ready in time for Christmas?”

Ava nodded with confidence. “Absolutely.”

Satisfied, Isabelle turned to leave. Once in the doorway, she had a sudden thought and turned back. “Could I ask one last thing of you, Miss Longley?”

“Certainly, Your Highness.”

“May I come back one day and take you up on you offer?”

“What offer is that, Your Highness?”

“Your offer to teach me self-defense with a sword. I completely agree with what you said about women needing some knowledge of how to defend themselves.”

“Anytime, Your Highness.”

****

The fog was as thick as ever. Isabelle could taste the moisture in the air as she moved through the forest on horseback, carefully circling around each tree. As she reached the clearing, she heard the rustle of footsteps behind her. Rigid and erect in the saddle, she inclined her head toward the sound and listened more carefully. She swiftly pulled an arrow from the quiver at her back and held it to her bow. Isabelle quieted her breathing and willed her heart to slow until she could no longer hear the rushing of her own blood in her ears.

When she heard the noise again, she rapidly rotated in the saddle, aiming her arrow toward a dense grouping of foliage. Without batting an eye, she released the bowstring and let the arrow fly. The dark form of a man came tumbling from between two bushes, the arrow sticking up out of his chest. He convulsed for several seconds as blood poured from his mouth before going still.

When she heard the sound again, this time in another direction, she leaped from the saddle and unsheathed the sword at her side. Tossing the bow aside, she turned d and lifted her weapon in a silent challenge to the man she knew was hiding among the trees. He lumbered out from his hiding place, snapping twigs beneath his boots as he came forward, his sword raised. Isabelle knelt down as he came toward her with one giant leap, thrusting her sword upward and catching him in his gut. The metallic smell of blood filled her nostrils, and a gory spray of the sticky, hot liquid drenched her face.

As the second man fell at her feet, she wiped her sword clean on her leather breeches and used her sleeve to wipe the blood from her face. All at once, her enemy’s companions came crashing through the trees, weapons drawn, each one with a murderous gleam in his eyes. Isabelle raised her sword once more and ran to meet them, her voice exalted in a primitive battle cry…

Isabelle came awake with a start. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her blood was racing through her veins. The dream had felt so real, that she could still smell the metallic odor of blood. She lifted her hands to her face and  sighed with relief to find it clean.

Where on earth had that dream come from? Isabelle certainly never had a desire to kill a man, yet in her very vivid dream she had killed two. She had wielded the weapons expertly and fearlessly. Isabelle had hardly recognized the hardened warrior woman in the dream. It had to mean something, it was too much like her other dreams for it not to. Placing her feet on the floor, she reached for her robe. Knowing that Akira remained awake into the late hours of the night, Isabelle left her chambers and set out to find her.

The old Gypsy woman had appeared to her in a dream once and if Isabelle was right, she had been responsible for this dream as well. Why would Akira place a vision like that within her mind? There was only one way to find out.

Isabelle raised her fist to knock on the door to Akira’s chambers. Before her hand could connect with the wood, the door swung open and Akira emerged. She leaned heavily on her cane as she motioned for Isabelle to enter. Tightening the belt of her dressing gown, Isabelle swept into the room, closing the door behind her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Akira cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Come to see me about that dream, have you?” she asked with a smile.

Now used to the Gypsy’s mysterious ways, Isabelle was not surprised that Akira knew why she had come. “What does it mean, Akira? I know you placed that dream in my head.”

Akira nodded, moving toward a large pile of cushions in the middle of the room. As she plopped down on them, folding her legs under herself, Isabelle realized for the first time that there was no bed in her room. Beneath the cushions was a colorful, Oriental rug. Over the roaring blaze in the fireplace hung a cauldron. Isabelle could smell the strong aroma of some type of herb coming from it. A long table sat beside Akira, where her pipe, a bowl full of glass beads and various charms rested. Akira laughed at Isabelle’s puzzled expression.

“I anticipated a long stay in Barony and decided to make myself at home,” she explained as she reached for her pipe. “I have no use for a bed as I prefer my cushions and need only the tools I require to exercise my gift.”

Nodding her understanding, Isabelle knelt on the cushions beside Akira. “Please explain the dream to me.”

“You already know the meaning of the dream, Your Highness. If you will recall the words I’ve spoken to you several times already, you will realize that you have your answer.”

Isabelle stared into the fire and concentrated as she flipped through her memory, trying to remember the things that Akira had told her. “You told me that marriage to Serge would save Barony,” she mused as she continued to think. “You told me that our joining would make us the greatest king and queen that Barony has ever seen.”

Akira nodded, motioning for Isabelle to continue. “Go on, you’re almost there.”

Isabelle pressed one hand against her forehead, struggling to remember. “Something about a warrior king?” Her eyes widened. “Warrior king and queen! Surely you did not mean that both the king and queen would warriors.”

Akira smiled. “I told you, you already have the answer.”

Isabelle shook her head in disbelief, leaping to her feet. Her heart was racing again, the sound of it like drums in her ears. She shook her head again as the vision from her dreams began to fill her mind again. Isabelle could smell blood again and taste the humid fog in her mouth. Akira rose and walked toward her, her amber eyes glowing in the firelight. She reached out and grabbed Isabelle’s hand, holding it tightly in her bony one.

“Hear me, Your Highness,” she intoned, her voice raised and echoing from the walls of the room. “The path of your destiny is set and you must not allow your fears to keep you from it. I have seen within your heart that you grow tired of waiting for the fate of your people to be decided. You are restless. You wish there was more you could do to help.”

Isabelle felt tears rolling down her cheeks as her eyes connected with Akira’s. As always, the Gypsy woman was looking deep into her soul. As always, she knew just what Isabelle had been thinking and feeling. “Yes,” she whispered. “It is true.”

“This is your chance,” Akira said her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Take the fate of your people into your own hands. Seek out the warrior Ava Longley and convince her to take you under her wing. Submit yourself to her teachings and reach deep inside yourself. The woman from your dreams already lies within. It is up to you to bring her out.”

****

Esmeralda sat down at the polished desk in the corner of her room. She pulled an envelope from her skirt pocket and tore into happily. Damien’s letter just arrived and the messenger promised to return after he’d finished delivering his other letters for her response. She settled into her chair and read:

October 30, 1856

Dutton, Barony

My dearest wife,

Words cannot express how much I miss you. The weeks have dragged by endlessly and I long to hold you in my arms once more. I hope that this letter finds you in good spirits and that you are faring well at Guthrie Hall, and am sure you must be homesick for Cardenas, as I am. I hope that our rebuilding efforts are not met with too much resistance and that we can find a quick solution to the rebel problem so that our little family can return home.

The first stop on our journey was Kingsford. I hated to even set foot in that place after the massacre that occurred, but someone had to be responsible for ensuring that those who were killed received a proper burial. We buried each body and called on a priest from Dutton to say a prayer over them. Then we proceeded to burn what was left of Kingsford. The High Council decided that rebuilding the village on the burial ground would be too hurtful for those who once lived there. As of that day, Kingsford is no more.

We are now in Dutton, which I’m sure you’ll recall is five days ride from Guthrie Hall. We arrived just in time to defend the people here from an attack. I am sad to report that many of our men were lost, but in the end, we were triumphant. We have had a few skirmishes in the short time we have been here, which leads me to believe that our rebuilding efforts may take longer than we thought. Just when we’ve started, another attack comes and we are forced to lay down our tools in favor of weapons.

So far we have rebuilt many homes and began the foundation for a new chapel. The old one was burned down with people still inside. The residents here are hopeful and assisting us in every way they can.

When last I heard from Serge, he mentioned that he would like to make the journey home for Christmas. I hope that we are able to come away for the holiday as well. Even a day or two with you would be like finding a cool pond in the midst of a dry and cracked dessert.

All my love,

Damien

Esmeralda refolded Damien’s letter and slid it into her desk drawer with the others. She removed a fresh sheet from a stack of stationary and dipped her quill pen in the ink.

November 4, 1856

Dearest Damien,

I too am restless with wanting you by my side once again. I am counting the days until Christmas and hoping that you will be here. Isabelle has already begun planning a lavish ball for both the court and Barony’s citizens. She plans on opening Guthrie hall for a two-day affair that promises to be a very good time.

Everything else here is relatively normal. I find that I am not quite as homesick as I expected because I have Leila, mother, grandmother, Desmond, Isabelle, and Tatiana to keep me company. Desmond spends most of his time around the stables. I’m sure this is no surprise to you, you know how much he loves horses. The servant girls are all aflutter over him, though I don’t think he notices the way they watch him. He’s becoming a man before my very eyes. It is both delightful and painful to watch.

Tatiana is quite the social butterfly. She has been invited to several parties by members of the court and has attended every single one. I worry over how she is handling all of the attention, especially since most of it is coming from men. One man in particular seems to have caught her eye. His name is Lord Andrew and she seems quite taken with him. I don’t know much about him, but things between them don’t seem very serious so I have decided not to worry over this until I have to. Something tells me this is no more than a case of puppy love.

Love always,

Esmeralda.

****

Tatiana glanced over her shoulder to ensure that no one had followed her before slipping out into the garden. Her feet moved swiftly and silently on the snow-covered ground and her heart fluttered in her chest as she ran. The cadence of her heart seemed to be calling the name of her beloved. Andrew, it sang as she rounded a hedge blanketed in snow. Andrew, it cried as she spotted him standing right where he had promised to meet her. Andrew, it screamed as he pulled her into his arms for a kiss.

She threw her arms around him and raised up on tiptoe to meet his lips. She sighed in wonder at the thrilling sensation that traveled down her spine at his nearness. His mouth was pleasant and warm against hers, and his hands were gentle but firm at her back as he held her.

“Oh how I’ve miss you, my sweet Tatiana,” he murmured as his hands found their way beneath her cloak. Heat pooled low in her belly as his insistent fingers found their way to the top of her bodice. He softly caressed the bare skin of her cleavage before dipping inside to tease the already hardening nipple.

“I missed you too Andrew,” she moaned as his hands continued kneading her breasts. “I came away as soon as I knew I wouldn’t be spotted.”

“These secret meetings just aren’t enough for me anymore my love,” he whispered as he pulled her more tightly against him. Tatiana’s eyes widened when she felt the undeniable proof of his desire pressed hard against her.

“I know,” she managed to choke out as his lips lowered to her neck. She shivered and clung to him as her knees went weak.

“I wish you would let me make love to you,” he said, pulling away to look down into her eyes. Heat rose in Tatiana’s cheeks and she looked away. Andrew had been begging her to make love with him for days, and she was so very close to relenting.

She knew she loved him, and he loved her as he had already told her so many times. The tingling awareness she felt when he fixed his heated gaze upon her was now nearly unbearable. She wanted nothing more than to give him what he asked for.

“I want to,” she answered honestly. “It’s just that-“

“I know,” he intercepted. “I understand that you are afraid. What young virgin would not be? I know that we have not known each other very long but I love you so very much.”

She looked up into his warm eyes and knew that he was speaking the truth. Men had been telling her they loved her for years. Not one of them had meant it. Lord Andrew was too much of a gentleman to lie, and so it must be true that he loved her. Tatiana felt it deep inside.

“I love you too,” she said before pressing another kiss to his lips. “I just wish I could be with you always.”

“You can,” he replied, taking one of her hands in his. “We could be together forever if you agree to be my wife.”

Every fantasy that Tatiana had ever dreamed of came to life as Lord Andrew dropped to one knee in the snow. This was not the first time a man had asked Tatiana for her hand in marriage. It was, however, the first time she had ever wanted to say yes. As she looked down at the handsome lord, she knew that she could deny him nothing.

“Oh Andrew,” she whispered as he stared up at her.

“Marry me Tatiana.”

“Oh, but my family will never approve. My cousin Esmeralda seems to think that I am only imagining my feelings for you and that they will pass. If she tells King Damien this he will not allow us to marry.”

Andrew’s hold on her hand tightened. “Then run away with me. By the time they find out about it, it will already be done. Once we’ve sealed our marriage they will not be able to part us.”

Tatiana’s smile widened and she threw herself into Andrew’s arms. Her passion for adventure and intrigue won out over the nagging doubts lingering at the corners of her mind. What was there to be afraid of? Lord Andrew loved her, and if there was anything she had learned from watching her sister with her husband, it was that love conquered all.

Chapter 15

Isabelle entered the dark, humid smithy and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before she tried to go any further than the doorway. When she was able to make out Ava in the corner, she motioned for her bodyguards to await her outside and closed the door behind her. Ava looked up from where she was sharpening one of her two battle-axes. She put the weapon aside and wiped her hands on her skirt before rising to curtsy.

“What a coincidence, Your Highness,” she said. “I had a very strange dream about you last night.”

Isabelle’s heart leapt at Ava’s words. Could it be that Akira had planted the same dream in Ava’s mind? Were her powers really so great?

“Oh?” Isabelle responded. “How strange indeed.”

“I placed the order for those supplies. I should be able to start on the sword within a few days.”

“That’s excellent Ava, but it’s not why I have come.”

“It isn’t?”

Isabelle paused, nervous over how to proceed. Her palms were sweaty inside her fur muff, and her mouth was dry. What would Ava think of what she was about to ask?

“I was wondering if you had luncheon today. After the long ride from Guthrie Hall, I am famished.”

Confusion was evident on her face, but she seemed curious enough about what Isabelle wanted to accept the invitation. “I suppose I could take a break. I usually don’t eat during the day. There is far too much work to be done, but luckily I have some time on my hands today.”

Isabelle followed her out into the cold winter afternoon after pulling the hood of her cloak back over her head. Her four bodyguards followed at a discreet distance as they walked.

“I know of an inn not far from here that has hot food and the best wine and ale in the village,” said Ava as she led Isabelle in the right direction. Just as the last time she’d been in Gladstone, the villagers were busy, bustling about on their way to and from their homes and businesses. A few of their buildings had been burned down, but so far as Isabelle could see, they were seemingly unaffected by the rebellion.

“How is it that Gladstone is still thriving?” she asked Ava as they neared and inn called The White Hare. Ava held the door open for Isabelle and ushered her inside.

“Gladstone is home to me and my regiment,” she explained. “Unlike many of Barony’s other towns, it is adequately protected. The rebels have tried to bring their violence and greed here, but have not been able to take much from us. The fact that Gladstone is where most people come to buy food and supplies helps us as well. As a town, we have a good economy, although we are stretched to our limits at the moment. We provide as much food as we can to those who need it, but with winter growing harsher that too will soon come to an end.”

A barmaid appeared to greet them and, noticing that the queen had arrived, had the best table prepared for them. Their table was nestled in a cozy corner of the establishment, close to a roaring fireplace. The warmth of the blaze thawed Isabelle’s hands and feet instantly, and cast a warm glow over tables set with candles and walls draped with flags bearing Barony’s crest and other various knickknacks. The tables and chairs were simple but polished and the eatery was small but cozy and clean.

Isabelle took her seat across from Ava and allowed her to order for them both. Once they had been served, Ava turned her curious gaze on Isabelle. “I think it’s time I asked some questions now,” she said, taking a long swallow from her mug of ale. “What is it that you want from me, Your Highness?”

Isabelle struggled to lift her eyes from her plate. She dropped the fork and decided to just come out and say what she needed to say. It was now or never. “I want you to teach me to fight,” she blurted with a sigh of relief. Now that the words were out and Ava was smiling in response, Isabelle did not feel so nervous.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Ava said with a chuckle. “I would be more than happy to teach you how to use a sword.”

“No,” said Isabelle, “not just the sword. I want you to teach me everything that you and your unit know how to do. Teach me to use a bow as well as a sword. I want to become your student.”

Ava’s grin broadened until she was laughing. Her loud chuckles caused the patrons nearby to glance in their direction curiously. Isabelle’s cheeks heated in embarrassment.

“I assure you this is no laughing matter,” she said sharply. “I meant every word I just said. Will you do it or not?”

Ava’s face sobered and she forced the smile away. Isabelle could see that the corners of her mouth were still slightly turned up. “Forgive me Your Highness, but surely you realize how ridiculous your request must sound. Most of the women in my unit have been fighting their whole lives. They are hardened and seasoned warriors. This is a skill that is cultivated over time.”

“I am strong and eager to learn,” countered Isabelle, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I’ll pay any amount you ask. Name your price.”

Ava frowned and her eyebrows wrinkled. She tilted her head slightly and studied the queen as if she were trying to decide whether or not to believe what she was hearing. “What is this about, Your Highness?” she asked. “You married a man who trained his entire life to be a general. He is now leading our country toward stability and we are prepared to follow him into battle with the rebels when the time has come.”

“I am tired of sitting back and waiting for others to save my people!” Isabelle bellowed, her palms slamming down on the rough wooden table. The table vibrated beneath her and the soup in her bowl sloshed over the sides. She barely noticed it as she continued. “All of my life I’ve been told what to do. I was told who I would marry and how to conduct myself. I was told that a man would be the deliverer of Barony and all I had to do was marry him, sit back, and watch him become the savior of all.”

“Your Majesty, I didn’t mean to...“

“I am tired of letting others decide my fate,” Isabelle said, cutting her off. “I refuse to stand aside a moment longer. I am taking my fate into my own hands and I am asking you to help me. I could command you to do it, but I won’t. I only urge you to consider this. The dream you had about me was not a coincidence. This is destiny we’re discussing Ava, both mine and Barony’s.”

Ava sat in stunned silence She did not seem to know how to react to Isabelle’s sudden outburst. She stared at her queen appraisingly, seeming to size her up with her penetrating stare. Ava, having drawn a satisfactory conclusion, nodded decisively and stood.

“Very well,” she said. “We’ll begin tomorrow. But be advised, Your Majesty, when you put yourself in my hands tomorrow you will no longer be my queen and I will no longer be your faithful subject. As of tomorrow, you are under my tutelage and will obey and respect me as your teacher. You will leave behind everything you are accustomed to and put yourself completely at my command. I will treat you as I would any new recruit. There is nothing luxurious or privileged about the life of a soldier, Your Highness. If you are expecting anything other than what I have just described, then you need not even show up tomorrow.”

Isabelle remained where she was as Ava curtsied before turning to leave. She stared down at the table and sighed. Tomorrow would be the beginning of something new for her. She would cease to be a queen and begin life anew as a soldier. A slow smile crept over her face.

****

November 7, 1856

Ulas, Barony

Dear Isabelle,

My days are dark and my nights cold and lonely without you. Every thought upon my mind is of you and you alone. I dream of the day I can see your face again and hear your voice.

I know that we did not part on the best of terms. When I think of how I left you alone in that drawing room, I feel nothing but remorse. I allowed jealousy and pride to guide my actions and for that, I can only say that I am sorry.

I hope that when I return home we can start anew. I want nothing more than for us to be friends again. Perhaps someday you will come to love me as I love you. If you knew how much my heart aches when I think about

Serge pulled his pen away from the paper and stared down at it with unseeing eyes. After a few moments, he tore the letter to shreds and threw it into the fire. He stood enclosed by a circle of tents where he and his men had been living for weeks. Ulas had been so terrorized, that most of the people there lived in wagons or makeshift shelters. There was nowhere else for them to sleep. They were slowly rebuilding, but the process had been tedious due to rebel attacks and the sheer enormity of their mission in the ravaged town.

He watched the tiny scraps of paper burn until they were nothing more than ash and then turned to retrieve a fresh sheet of paper. His new letter was extremely formal; every heartfelt word he had written in the first letter was stifled. He could not afford to place his heart in Isabelle’s hands again for fear she might actually crush it this time. Instead of pouring his emotions out onto the page as he wanted to, he filled her in on the mundane details of the rebuilding efforts in Ulas. He signed the letter Regards, Serge, before stuffing it into an envelope and fixing it with his seal.

In all the time he had been gone, not one letter had passed between them. If he did not write her something, anything, she was sure to worry. Satisfied that he had prevented any undue stress, Serge handed the letter off to the messenger and left the comfort of the large fire in search of his men.

****

Isabelle arrived at the blacksmith shop in Gladstone just as the sun was setting. Ava had finished her day’s work and was bolting the heavy door as Isabelle, Gayle, and her guards approached. She quirked an eyebrow upward as they approached.

“I see you’ve brought your entourage,” she said, eyeing Gayle and the guards with disdain. “They leave now.”

Isabelle frowned and Gayle gasped. Not one day had passed in Isabelle’s life without Gayle. “Gayle stays,” she said, her jaw firm and her chin high.

Ava rolled her eyes and huffed indignantly. “All right, let’s get this out of the way now, shall we? You will come with me to the barracks where you will be given your own quarters. All of your basic needs will be provided. You have already promised to put yourself completely in my care and have agreed to be treated like any other new recruit. None of my recruits have personal maids or bodyguards.”

Vernon, who had been seething at her side the entire time, pushed Isabelle aside and stepped toward Ava. “I knew this was a bad idea. You dare to speak to your queen this way?”

“She has agreed to the terms,” she argued, squaring her shoulders and looking Vernon straight in the eye.

“I can speak for myself Vernon,” barked Isabelle, silencing them both. She turned to Ava. “The bodyguards are here under the command of my husband and have been my personal guards my entire life. They go where I go.”

“Choose one,” said Ava, crossing her arms over her chest. “The rest must leave, but you may choose one to stay. One is all you will need with me and my ladies around.”

The four of them turned to each other and communicated silently in the way they always did. Isabelle wondered if they didn’t all possess one mind. They all nodded, as they seemed to reach some sort of agreement. Vernon stepped forward once again. “I’ll stay.”

“Naturally,” snorted Ava. “The four of you may leave,” she said to Gayle and the three remaining bodyguards, “Queen Isabelle is now in my care.”

Isabelle turned to Gayle with a smile she did not feel. Her stomach was in knots and her knees felt like jelly. Most of all, she was afraid to go anywhere without Gayle. She clung to her maid, hugging her tight before forcing herself to let go. What kind of warrior would she be if she couldn’t even let go of her nanny?

She squared her shoulders and lifted the small valise she had packed containing a few essentials and her sketchpad and pencils. “Wish me luck,” she said breezily as she followed Ava away from the smithy with Vernon on her heels.

“King Serge will not like this, Your Highness,” Vernon whispered.

“His Highness is not here Vernon,” she hissed. “I’m doing this.”

They both fell silent as Ava led them through the almost empty streets of Gladstone. Shopkeepers were closing up for the night and going home to their families. The sun had almost disappeared on the horizon. When they reached the outskirts of town, Ava led them toward a set of iron gates that led to what looked like a city within the city.

“This is where we live,” she explained as the female gatekeeper spotted them and allowed them entry. “It is where we train as well. This will be your home for as long as you choose to remain here.” She pointed to a large building at the center of the compound. “That’s where we take our meals. We eat together, three times a day. The food isn’t like what you’d get in a palace but it’s hearty.” She indicated two other buildings a few feet away. “That’s the infirmary and that’s the armory. I’ll show you both tomorrow if we have time.”

They came to a stop beside a cluster of small cottages. Isabelle could see light from fires spilling out through the small windows. “These are the barracks,” she said. She pointed toward one on the end, where there was no light inside. “You and your bodyguard will share that cabin. It is all one room but there are two beds. It is small, but adequate.”

Ava led them to the cottage and pushed the door open. Moonlight spilled through the open door to illuminate the one room cabin. Isabelle made out a small stone fireplace with wood stacked beside it, a crude table with two chairs, an empty bookshelf, a small armoire and two cots on the opposite side of the room. Isabelle had never slept in such a small bed.

“There are clothes for you in the parcel on one of the beds,” Ava said as she ushered them inside. “There is also a pair of boots. I’m sure everything will fit. Breakfast is served promptly at four o’clock in the morning. If you want to eat, I suggest you get there on time. You are allowed thirty minutes to eat and then you will report to the main yard for training at four-thirty.” She turned in the doorway before leaving. “And don’t be late,” she said, her tone heavy with warning, “you don’t want to suffer the consequences for tardiness.”

With that, Ava closed the door to the cottage and was gone. Vernon had already begun stacking firewood in the small hearth and was busy lighting the kindling. Within minutes, a fire roared and illuminated the room in an orange glow. Isabelle dropped her bag onto the floor beside her cot and reached down to take up the parcel sitting there. She unwrapped it and found two pairs of breeches, two pair of warm stockings, three tunics made of rough wool and a belt. A pair of heavy looking boots had been sitting on the bed beside the parcel.

Isabelle wrinkled her nose at the clothing in distaste. Everything came in shades of brown, both light and dark. Isabelle hated the color brown. It always made her fair skin appear sallow and pale. Setting the clothing aside, she took off her cloak and muff and hung them in the armoire.

She and Vernon agreed to split the armoire in half and share the drawers below. After they had unpacked their few belongings, Vernon offered to step outside while Isabelle prepared for bed. She quickly slipped out of her gown and into her heaviest wool nightgown. After letting Vernon back in she dove under the rough blanket on the tiny cot.

Isabelle lay awake for at least an hour, her nerves too raw for her to sleep. She had just taken the first step to changing her life forever. Gone would be the pampered princess and in her place would be a fierce and fearless fighter. If her dream were any indication, the capability was hidden within her, just waiting to be released. What would people think of her decision? Vernon had mentioned Serge and though Isabelle tried so very hard not to think of him, he was always on the edge of her mind.

He was already angry with her, and she might have just given him more reason to be with her latest decision. I did the right thing, she told herself as she settled more deeply under the blanket. She reminded herself of her vision and knew that no matter the consequences, this was something she had to do for herself.

****

Isabelle curled her body into a tight ball when a blast of frigid air suddenly hit her. Shivering, her eyes closed and her face still buried in the pillow, she felt around blindly for the blanket. After trying for a few seconds, she finally pried one eye open and lifted her head. Ava stood at the foot of her narrow cot, the coarse blanket draped over one arm. Her silvery-gray eyes were narrowed and her mouth was pressed into a grim line. Isabelle fell back against the pillow with a groan.

“It is now thirty-five minutes past four and you are officially late,” Ava said before kicking at the cot. It vibrated beneath Isabelle, pushing her further into wakefulness. “You have missed breakfast and wasted five minutes of my time already,” she said, coming around to the side of the cot. Without another word, she gripped the sheet that Isabelle was lying on top of and pulled. Isabelle tumbled out of the bed and onto the floor. Her bottom struck first, then her head. She shot upright and glared at Ava through the hair that had fallen into her face.

“You have five minutes to get dressed and report to me outside of this cabin.”

Isabelle continued to glare at Ava’s back until she had disappeared through the door of the cottage. The sound of laughter had her turning her glare toward Vernon, who had obviously been awakened by the commotion. Still lying back against the pillow, one arm thrown over his eyes, his shoulders shook with mirth.

“Not a word,” she muttered as she scrambled to her feet and reached for the ugly clothing that Ava had provided. Vernon rolled to face the wall, presenting Isabelle his back. She could swear she still heard his snorts and chuckles from across the room. Ignoring him, she set about dressing as quickly as possible.

The tunic fell down to her hips which was fortunate because the breeches were entirely too tight. She barely got them up and over her wide hips and amble bottom. She pulled on the rough wool socks and scuffed boots before buckling a belt around her waist. With deft fingers, she formed one long braid and tossed the mass of hair over her shoulder before heading for the door.

When she stepped out into the darkness of early morning, Ava was waiting a few feet away, her arms crossed over her chest, her face drawn into an expression of annoyance.

“I’m sorry,” Isabelle said with a yawn as she approached Ava, “I am not much of a morning person.”

“It’s quite all right,” said Ava calmly. “You’ll get used to it.”

Isabelle’s eyebrows shot up. She had not been expecting understanding from the authoritarian captain. “I am certain I will,” she replied.

“Come along then,” Ava said, setting off toward the armory. “We have a lot to do and you’ve already wasted ten minutes of the day.”

“But what about breakfast?” Isabelle asked as she trailed behind Ava.

Ava laughed but continued walking. “I distinctly remember telling you that breakfast was served promptly at four o’clock and lasted for thirty minutes.”

Isabelle’s jaw dropped and her mouth fell open. “Do you mean to tell me that I am not allowed to eat?”

Ava shrugged before throwing open the door to the armory. “I told you that you wouldn’t want to suffer the consequences of tardiness.”

Isabelle’s stomach seemed to growl in response. She stood outside the armory and waited for Ava to appear, trying to ignore the gnawing of hunger in her stomach. “I hate mornings,” she muttered as Ava came into view holding a bow and quiver of arrows.

“We begin with archery,” she said, leading Isabelle toward a fenced-off practice range.

Isabelle could see that many of the women were already out and about. Some were headed out into Gladstone to relieve those guards who had been on the night watch, others were headed to the stable or the armory. The tall, dark African that Isabelle remembered from her arrival in Barony stood in the practice range, a bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows on her back. Isabelle watched, fascinated, as she pulled an arrow from the quiver and placed it to the bow in one smooth motion. She pulled on the bowstring, every muscle in her shoulders taught and coiled as she took aim. Her arrow exploded through the red circle at the center of the target.

She looked up at Isabelle and Ava as they neared and smiled. The gleam of her white teeth standing out in stark contrast to her skin.

“This is Mudiwa,” said Ava, indicating the tall African. Isabelle could not help staring at the dark beauty. Mudiwa’s dark hair was braided and coiled intricately around her head. Her bone structure was sharp beneath smooth, ebony skin, and her large, dark eyes assessed Isabelle shrewdly. She smiled, a flash of white teeth contrasting behind her dark lips. “She will begin your archery training,” Ava continued, nudging Isabelle forward. “She is our best archer.”

Isabelle extended her shaking hand to Mudiwa. “It is an honor to meet you, Mudiwa.”

“The honor is all mine, Your Highness,” she replied, her voice rich and thickly accented.

“She is Isabelle for now,” Ava corrected her. “She is one of us and is to be treated as any new recruit.”

“Yes captain,” Mudiwa said her smile widening. “Understood.”

“Good.”

“Where are you going?” Isabelle asked as Ava turned her back to leave.

“I have other duties to tend to,” she threw back over her shoulder. “I’ll be back later to check on your progress.”

Left alone with the intimidating Mudiwa, Isabelle wiped her sweaty palms on her breeches and lifted the heavy quiver from the ground.

“Put that on your back,” Mudiwa commanded before handing Isabelle the bow. “It is important that you learn swiftness,” she said as she moved into position behind Isabelle. “You must also learn the proper posture. Using a bow takes a great deal of strength, precision and control. When I am finished, you will have learned all three.”

Mudiwa placed one foot between Isabelle’s legs and used it to position her feet the correct width apart. She grasped Isabelle’s shoulders and pulled until her back was ramrod straight, and reached around to adjust the angle of her head. “This is the proper stance,” Mudiwa said, moving around her in a slow circle. “You must perfect it. If your form is incorrect, so are your aim and your balance. As you get better at it, you will learn to shoot while in motion. For now, we will concentrate on learning to stand still. Now, raise your bow arm.”

Isabelle raised the arm holding the bow straight out in front of her. It was heavy and more than half as long as she was. Her arm trembled.

“Now your drawing hand on the string,” she commanded again. Once Isabelle’s hand was on the string, Mudiwa grasped her elbow and pulled. Isabelle choked back a cry of agony as her arm muscles screamed in protest. When Mudiwa released her elbow, she lost her grip on the bowstring. Mudiwa sighed in exasperation.

“You are too soft,” she said, her voice filled with disdain. “Your arms and shoulders are weak and must be strengthened.”

Isabelle nodded her understanding. Mudiwa grasped her elbow once more as she placed her hand on the bowstring. This time, when Mudiwa moved her hand away, Isabelle maintained her hold on the bowstring.

“Don’t move,” Mudiwa instructed, moving out of Isabelle’s field of vision. “Hold that stance.”

Isabelle’s arms trembled and her muscles burned from the strain. “For how long?”

“For as long as it takes.”

Isabelle’s knees grew weak and her legs buckled. “I can’t!” she cried, her entire body shaking and crying out against the unfamiliar posture.

“You can!” Mudiwa bellowed from behind her. “All your life you have been a spoiled and pampered little princess,” she hissed in her ear. Isabelle felt her cheeks growing hot with anger. “You are weak, you are soft. You want to learn to be a warrior? You must be strong.”

Isabelle took a deep breath and nodded, focusing her mind on the images from her dream. She straightened her back and relaxed her fingers, drawing the bowstring back even further. Her chest expanded and her breathing came more easily.

“Good.” Mudiwa’s voice was laced with approval. “You are weak now, my queen, but Mudiwa will teach you to be strong.”

****

Isabelle’s entire body ached. By the end of the day, Mudiwa had taught Isabelle how to quickly extract an arrow from her quiver and notch it to the bowstring. After hours of maintaining her newly learned archer’s posture and pulling back the heavy bowstring, she felt as though she would collapse. She had missed both breakfast and lunch and was relieved when Mudiwa ended her lesson in time for supper.

She followed her teacher to the dining hall, where all of the women soldiers had gathered. Long wooden tables and benches lined the dining hall where at least fifty women sat eating and talking. Trenchers full of steaming meats and vegetables and hunks of crusty bread were laid out for them to serve themselves from. Isabelle had never smelled anything more delicious in her life.

Mudiwa led her to the table at the back of the room, where Ava sat with two other women Isabelle recognized. The first was the small woman from Asia whose weapon had been larger than she was and the other was the large blonde woman who had been fighting with a club the size of a man’s bicep. They both nodded to Isabelle in greeting as she and Mudiwa took a seat at the table.

Isabelle immediately filled her plate from the trencher and attacked it with relish. When a heavy mug of ale was sat beside her plate, she grasped it with both hands and drank noisily. Her face flamed with embarrassment when she realized they were laughing at her.

“No need to be embarrassed,” said Ava with a smile. “You have earned your meal, Isabelle. Enjoy.”

Isabelle nodded and bent her head back over her plate. Never had any food tasted so good. It was nothing like palace food, but because she had worked for it, it tasted like manna from heaven. When she was full, she pushed her plate away and sighed contentedly.

“Now that you have eaten,” said Ava when she finally lifted her head from her plate, “allow me to introduce you to two others who will serve in your instruction.” She gestured toward the larger woman. “This is Nell. She will teach you how to fight while keeping your seat on a horse.” She pointed to the smaller woman. “This is Hanako. She will teach you how to fight hand to hand.”

Isabelle acknowledged each woman politely. She could not help staring back and forth between the four of them. She had never met a more mismatched set of women in her life. Yet their camaraderie was obvious. It was plain to see that each woman called the other friend.

“Where do you all come from?” Isabelle blurted her thoughts aloud. When four pairs of eyes swiveled toward her, she grinned sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind my asking. It’s just that I have never been around women like you before.”

“Not at all,” said Hanako, her voice a soft melody. She spoke slowly as if considering each word carefully. “In Japan, women warriors are common. I was part of an elite group known as the onna-bugeisha. Women who are a part of the bushi, or upper class as you would call it, are trained in the use of weapons.”

“How did you end up here?” Isabelle asked, fascinated, leaning forward to hear the answer.

“Over the years, the role of the onna-bugeisha has diminished,” she said quietly. “The Japanese men no longer see us as companions, but as servants and child bearers. When my parents forced me into marriage for the sake of wealth and position, forcing me to abandon my life as I knew it, I ran.”

“You left your husband?” Isabelle gasped.

Hanako nodded with a tiny smile. “While he lay sleeping I stole away. I dressed as a man and stole onto a ship. That ship made port in Cardenas and soon I found my way here.”

Isabelle turned to Mudiwa. “What about you?”

“In Dahomey, where I was born, warrior women are also common. The King Agadja first trained his wives for the purpose of using them as royal bodyguards. When he died, his son took on more women and trained them as well to form a militia. We became known as Mino. Being chosen is a great honor.”

“Then why did you leave?”

Mudiwa paused and her eyes grew turbulent. She clenched and then unclenched her jaw before continuing. “The Mino are not allowed to have families or children,” she said quietly, staring down at her hands.

Isabelle saw the tears glistening in her eyes and reached across the table to clasps her hand. “What is his name?” she asked softly, her heart aching for the brave woman.

“Asita,” she said with a smile. “It means ‘the sun’. He was my sun. When they found us together, I was sold to slave traders. They took me on their ship, intending to take me to their country. In despair, I threw myself overboard during a storm, thinking to end my own life. I did not realize that we were close to land and when I saw that I had a chance to survive, I swam for the shore. I too, landed in Cardenas before making my way here.”

Isabelle looked to Nell who smiled and shrugged. “I don’t have special story,” she said with a hearty chuckle. “Ava and I are cousins. Our fathers wanted boys and got girls instead so they treated us like the sons they wanted.”

Ava drained what was left in her mug before rising from the bench. “Now you know our stories,” she said. “We are a family here, like sisters. If you are willing to learn and open yourself to what we have to offer, you will become a part of our sisterhood.”

Something inside Isabelle’s heart leapt at the idea of a sisterhood. She had never had parents or siblings. Aside from Gayle and her bodyguards, she had never had anyone to call her own.

She thought over the day’s events in silence as she left the dining hall and walked back to her living quarters. The day had been hard and every fiber of Isabelle’s being was screaming at her in pain, but she had never felt more satisfied in her life. She was a part of something, a sisterhood. She was now in control of her own destiny.

When she reached the small one-room cottage, Vernon was waiting with a letter from Serge. “It was delivered this afternoon from Guthrie Hall,” he said as he handed her the crisp envelope fixed with her husband’s seal.

She took the envelope and flopped down onto her cot with a groan of satisfaction. After the day she’d had it might as well have been a mattress stuffed with feathers. She tore the letter open and held it up to the moonlight streaming through the window over her.

November 7, 1865

Ulas, Barony

Greetings Isabelle,

After weeks toiling endlessly in Ulas, things are finally starting to come together. The people now have homes to call their own and their storehouses are full for the winter. They are grateful for our help and our protection and remain ever loyal to the crown. The rebels are angry at our interference, of course, and have been retaliating ruthlessly. Fortunately, we have not lost many men and have been able to discourage the rebels from attacking us again.

It seems that we will be finished with our efforts here just in time for the holiday. The men could use a rest, so we expect to return to Guthrie hall for a few days before setting out to Wyndon. I have been informed of your plans for a ball and can say with all honesty that we are all looking forward to it with relish.

Regards,

Serge

Chapter 16

Serge looked down from where he was perched on the roof of the unfinished schoolhouse. A rider was approaching at breakneck speed. The horse’s hooves kicked up clumps of snow and dirt. As he drew near, Serge recognized him as Nicholas, one of Isabelle’s bodyguards. His stomach clenched in apprehension and his heart plummeted. Something was wrong. He climbed down from the roof quickly and ran toward Nicholas.

When he dismounted, Serge was waiting. “What’s happened?” he asked, his voice as unsteady as his emotions. Every bad thing he had ever imagined happening to Isabelle in his absence flashed through his mind. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides and waited for the bodyguard to give him the bad news.

“Your Highness,” he said with a quick bow as he struggled to catch his breath. “Perhaps we should speak in private.”

Serge’s eyes widened. Could it be that bad? Was she hurt? Dead? Serge fought back his irrational fears and motioned for Nicholas to follow him to his tent. The grave expression on the guard’s face struck fear in the pit of Serge’s stomach, but he decided to hear the man out before wringing his neck for letting something bad happen to his wife.

Once inside the tent, Serge turned to him impatiently. “Well? What is it? Is it Isabelle?”

Nicholas nodded. “She is safe for now, but we thought you should know what she’s been up to.”

Relief flooded Serge as he realized that Isabelle was fine.  Relief gave in to suspicion and he narrowed his eyes at Nicholas. “What has she done?”

“She’s decided that it would be a good idea to join the women’s regiment.”

The corners of Serge’s lips turned up. He could not stop the laughter that spilled out at that ridiculous statement. He clutched his stomach, his shoulders quivering as he roared his amusement. Serge wiped a tear from his eye, for that is how hard he had been laughing, and turned back to Nicholas.

“Come man, you expect me to believe that my wife has decided to become a soldier?”

“Yes,” said Nicholas with a straight face. “She convinced us to take her to Gladstone for training a few weeks ago. When we got there, she forced us to leave her there. Only Vernon remains for her protection.”

Serge’s amusement faded as well as his smile. He felt the familiar tingle of rage in his blood. “You mean to tell me,” he said, his voice low and quivering with anger, “that my wife is in the middle of a military training camp as we speak?”

Nicholas nodded slowly. “Yes, Your Highness. She did not want you to know, but the four of us decided that it would be best if you knew as your orders were for her protection.”

Serge pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, trying to contain the pounding there. What on earth was Isabelle thinking? There was only one way to find out, he decided as he gathered up his armor. “Help me put this on,” he commanded Nicholas, his mind already racing toward Gladstone. “God help that woman when I get my hands on her.”

****

“Imagine that you are in the midst of battle.”

Isabelle stood in the main yard of the compound, her eyes closed against the hot afternoon sun. The first weeks of her training had been grueling, but her headstrong determination had kept her from giving up. Having fully mastered the bow and arrow, she was now ready to move on to her next phase of training, hand to hand combat.

Hanako, who had commanded her to close her eyes, stood in front of her. Isabelle focused on the sound of her melodious voice. “You have fought long and hard,” she continued. Isabelle could hear the crunch of snow under her feet as she paced back and forth. “But in the heat of battle your sword has been knocked from your hand. You have used all of your arrows and you have left your dagger in the heart of an enemy long gone. Now you must defend yourself using the only weapons you have left, your hands.”

Isabelle nodded with a tiny smile. How hard could it be to throw a simple punch?

“One of the most important things you must do is learn to anticipate the moves of your adversary. Like a game of chess, you should always be thinking several steps ahead of your opponent. Because our opponents are always men, this is especially important. A man may be stronger than you, but he is not more cunning. You must use your wits as well as your fists. You may open your eyes now.”

Isabelle opened her eyes, squinting against the brightness of the sun reflecting off the white snow below her. A rush of air against her skin was all the warning she had before Hanako’s palm connected with her face. Pain exploded behind one eye and brilliant bursts of color filled her vision. Her hand came up to press against her face and she turned her angry eyes on Hanako.

“What was that for?” she screamed, rubbing her stinging face.

“Pain is how you learn. If you don’t want to feel pain, then learn to avoid it. For this first lesson, I will use my open palms. After that it will be my fists, so you’d best learn quickly.”

Quick as lightning, Hanako was coming at her again, her limbs moving with fluid grace as she attacked. Ready for her this time, Isabelle ducked as Hanako’s arm whizzed over her head. Isabelle countered with an open hand to Hanako’s ribs. She smiled triumphantly and laughed as Hanako staggered backwards from the force of her blow.

Hanako crouched down and swung her leg in a sweeping motion, catching the backs of Isabelle’s ankles and sending her sprawling on the ground. She stood over Isabelle with a smug grin. “Did I forget to mention kicks?”

With a low growl, Isabelle leapt to her feet, slinging her heavy braid out of the way before advancing on Hanako. She swung wildly with first her left then her right. Hanako dodged both blows before her delivering another vicious slap to the side of Isabelle’s neck.

“You are angry,” Hanako said, her voice still surprisingly calm as she circled Isabelle. “Anger is a fatal emotion, one you must learn to control. Anger makes you irrational and sloppy and much less capable of defending yourself.”

Hanako lunged for her again, her open hand coming at Isabelle’s face. Isabelle dodged the blow and leaped forward, catching Hanako around her middle and taking her to the ground. The two rolled until Hanako was straddling Isabelle’s torso, her arm thrown back to deliver another painful smack.

“Enough!” a masculine voice bellowed. A large hand came to rest on the collar of Hanako’s tunic and she was yanked from on top of Isabelle. When Isabelle finally managed to struggle into a seated position, the hard blue eyes that met hers caused her blood to run cold.

Hanako bowed. “Your Majesty,” she said softly, her head lowered.

Isabelle ignored Serge’s offered hand and stood on her own, brushing the snow from her clothing. Ava, who had been watching the entire exercise, made her way toward them.

“What in God’s name are you doing?”

Isabelle opened her mouth to answer, but then realized that Serge’s tumultuous gaze now rested upon Hanako, who had yet to lift her eyes. “Serge, it’s not what you think!” Isabelle protested, one hand on his arm. He held his hand up to silence her and advanced on Hanako, towering over the tiny woman. Hanako finally lifted her head, her black eyes flashing as they connected with Serge’s.

“I am doing what Her Majesty has asked of me.”

“By assaulting her?” Serge’s voice raised an octave.

“By teaching her to take a hit as well as deliver one, Your Highness.”

A muscle in Serge’s jaw worked furiously as he looked from Hanako, to Isabelle and finally Ava. “This stops now,” he said to Ava as he grabbed Isabelle’s arm tightly. “She leaves with me.”

Ava and Hanako fell silent. They would not defy their king. Isabelle had no choice but to follow Serge as he set off toward the barracks, his hand still clamped around her arm. She trotted to keep up with his long strides and tried, in vain, to free her arm.

“Which one is yours?” he asked.

“The last one,” she panted as she moved swiftly beside him.

When they reached her room, Serge threw the door open. It crashed against the wall with such force that Isabelle was surprised it did not fall off the hinges. Vernon leapt to his feet from where he had been sitting at the rough table, his eyes wide with surprise. When he realized who had entered the little cabin, he bowed quickly and made a silent exit. Isabelle, knowing that he was behind her husband’s unexpected presence, shot him a venomous glare as he passed.

When the door was closed firmly behind them, Serge finally released her arm. He paced back and forth, filling the small space with his large frame and making it appear even smaller. Isabelle sank down onto the cot silently, watching him as he paced.

“I want you to put yourself in my position,” he said finally. “Imagine my immediate horror the other day when I looked up to see one of your bodyguards riding into Ulas as if his horse’s ass was on fire. Do you have any idea what kind of thoughts ran through my mind at the sight of him?”

“Serge...“ she began.

“I left them for your protection!” he continued, oblivious to her attempted explanation. “And to see that one of them had come to find me…I thought something terrible had happened.”

“I am perfectly fine, as you can see.”

“Yes,” he sneered, “though I wonder if there could possibly be something wrong with your head. We’re leaving this instant.”

Serge found her valise in the corner and tossed it onto the cot before going to the armoire. He flung it open and began tossing things inside.

“I won’t leave with you,” she said, her voice low. Isabelle avoided his gaze when he stopped to stare at her. She could practically feel the heat of his anger as he abandoned her bag on the cot and came near her again.

“What did you say?”

Isabelle looked up at him and squared her shoulders, determined not to be beaten. She would take this as the first of her battles, an obstacle to be defeated along this new path that she had placed herself on. “I said I won’t leave with you,” she repeated, her voice growing stronger with each word. “I am learning much here, Serge. These women are becoming like my family and I won’t leave them.”

“You don’t have any say in this,” he replied. “I left you at Guthrie Hall under guard for your protection. Do you have any idea how dangerous it will be for you if the enemy finds out you are here? Do you think he will hesitate to raid this village in search of you? Are you willing to let the people of Gladstone suffer for your foolishness?”

“It’s not foolish to want to be a part of something,” she said. “I am so tired of sitting around waiting for things to happen. I am tired of feeling helpless. Barony is my home. These are my people! I am just as responsible for them as you are and I will not stand by and wait for their fate to be decided.”

“So you think a few weeks of training are enough? Do you honestly think you can hold your own in the heat of battle? Soldiers die, Isabelle. Some of these women, they may die right before your very eyes. When you close your eyes at night, your dreams are filled with the cries of the dying and the sight of blood and gore. Never in your pampered and sheltered life could you imagine anything more tragic.”

Isabelle forced back the wave of apprehension that struck her at his words. She had not given much thought to how she would conduct herself in a real life or death situation. As she remembered her dream, she found the strength to square her shoulders and face her husband’s doubt head on. “I have only just begun learning,” she answered. “I may not have the experience of some of the others, but I am willing to do whatever it takes to learn. I have seen death, Serge. Lionus died right in front of me and not a day goes by that I don’t think about that day.”

Serge’s jaw worked furiously as he watched her silently. It was impossible to know what he was thinking by this expression, so she stood silently as well, waiting for him to move or speak. “Fine,” he said finally, turning away as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. “I wash my hands of this entire thing,” he said over his shoulder as he paused at the door. “If you want to get yourself hurt or killed then you go right ahead.”

Shock waves rippled through her as he exited the room, slamming the door shut behind him. She had hardly expected him to just walk away. Isabelle stood frozen in place for a few moments before running for the door. Serge was walking back to where he had left his horse. “Wait!” she cried as she ran, reaching out to grab his arm.

He turned and looked down at her. Isabelle could have sworn she saw something akin to hope alight in his eyes.

“That’s it?” she asked, dumbfounded at his sudden change attitude. He was prepared to ride away and leave her, where a few moments ago he had been demanding she come with him.

Whatever she thought she had seen in his eyes was gone and in its place was annoyance and anger. He pulled away from her touch and pushed her hand aside. “What do you want from me, Isabelle?” He grasped her by the shoulders tightly, his eyes burning into hers as he seemed to try to discover whatever secrets lay there. “You either want me to care or you don’t. When I try to care, you push me away. I’ve had enough of your hot and cold moods. So, I am leaving you to your own devices. I find I no longer have the strength to care.”

Something inside of Isabelle crumbled painfully as he mounted his horse and rode away, leaving her standing alone in the snow. The further he went into the distance, the emptier she felt until she was left feeling completely bereft. She turned back to where Hanako and Ava stood, pretending not to watch her.

Everything was so completely muddled in her life. Except for what she was doing now, she thought as she nodded at Hanako and raised her hands to continue their lesson. She threw herself into the exercise, giving as good as she got, putting all of her energy into expelling all of her pent up emotion. The future of her marriage may as yet be uncertain, but she was determined that the future of Barony would not be.

****

That night as Isabelle was preparing for bed, a letter arrived from Esmeralda. Glad for the distraction, Isabelle tore her letter open and sat at the small table across from Vernon who was reading a well-worn book. She held the letter close to the light spilling from the lamp between them and read:

November 10, 1865

Dear Isabelle,

I do hope that you are doing well. Grandmother tells me I shouldn’t worry, but I can’t help it. Things here aren’t quite the same without you, Serge, and Damien. I will certainly be glad when you all return for the holiday.

Leila is trying to walk! I hope she doesn’t before her father gets back, but she is pulling herself up on things and taking steps. She is growing so fast that I find myself longing for another baby. Don’t tell Damien but I suspect I may be pregnant again. I should know for sure within a few weeks.

Desmond is adjusting well. He has really blossomed under all of the attention he’s receiving at court. I worry that it may be a bit much for him, but he has handled himself well so far.

I should not be worrying over Desmond when Tatiana is acting so strangely. She claims to be in love with a courtier named Lord Andrew. They spend quite a lot of time together, and there has even been talk of marriage. I can’t explain it, but something about the man puts me on edge. I don’t quite know what to do about it. On the one hand, I want my cousin to be happy. She has always craved adventure, and coming to Barony has fulfilled her desire for a new and exciting exploration. On the other hand, I have seen Tatiana’s willful and adventurous nature get her into trouble countless times. I feel that she is becoming too attached to this Lord Andrew and that no good can come of this relationship.

I believe I’ve babbled on enough. Please drop me a line when you have a chance. We are all waiting to hear that you are doing well.

Your friend,

Esmeralda Largess

Smiling, Isabelle set Esmeralda’s letter aside and went to the armoire for fresh paper. Once settled back at the table she penned her response:

November 10, 1865

Gladstone, Barony

Dearest Esmeralda,

Do not worry for me, my friend. This experience has not been an easy one, but the rewards have been great. I finally feel like I have a purpose. I feel as if I really belong among these women. Akira is right, there is no need to fret on my behalf.

I am not surprised to hear that Desmond is flourishing at court. He always struck me as sort of quiet and shy, but being tossed in with the court is sure to bring him out of his shell.

As for Tatiana, I think you should leave her be. It wasn’t too long ago that you were willing to defy all for a certain young prince and look how nicely things turned out for you. I am not well acquainted with Lord Andrew, but perhaps someone at court can tell you more about him. Perhaps it will put your mind at ease. Tatiana is young and adventurous, but she is also smart. I am sure she would not allow herself to fall into a compromising position.

Soon I will be home for the holiday. I can hardly wait to start planning the ball. I will be sending a wagon full of the decorations and things that I have purchased ahead of me. I will trust you to see that they are properly stored until I arrive.

Your faithful friend,

Isabelle Largess

****

Another few weeks under Hanako’s tutelage sharpened Isabelle’s fighting skills. She became quicker on her feet and sharper within her mind. Isabelle had several bruises to prove it. In the time that she had been in Gladstone, she had slowly evolved.

Gone was the princess who hated mornings. She now found she could not sleep past five in the morning, even on the days that she was given a break from training. Now Isabelle loved to watch the sunrise as much as she did the sunset and to appreciate that instant just before the sun broke the horizon and filled the sky with brilliant color.

Her mind felt more at peace than it had in a long time, and she felt she owed it all to daily physical exercise. She was also pleased on the affect her training had had on her figure. Isabelle had never felt better and was more than eager to move on to the next phase of her training.

Ava was waiting for her in the armory after breakfast. She extended her arm toward a wall full of swords. “Take your pick,” she said, stepping aside so that Isabelle could inspect the weapons. There were quite a variety of them, but she could not quite distinguish one from the other.

She finally decided on one and grasped it by the hilt to pull it down from the wall. The weight of it almost dragged her to the floor. Her shoulders screamed in pain as the heavy weapon fell, jerking her arms with it.

“Why did you choose that one?” Ava asked.

Knowing that this was another one of her lessons, Isabelle gave an honest answer. “Because it looked to be one of the most deadly,” she said.

“Because of its size?”

Isabelle nodded. With a chuckle and a shake of her head, Ava took the sword from Isabelle and hung it back on the wall before pulling down a slimmer, lighter blade. She handed it to Isabelle.

“Better?”

Isabelle held the blade up and inspected it closely. The hilt was narrow and fit her palm perfectly, the steel lightweight. “Yes,” she said. “It doesn’t look quite as menacing as the other sword but it feels much lighter.”

“The first sword is made for a man’s hand,” Ava explained as she offered Isabelle a sword belt and sheath. She lifted a second sword down from the wall and slid it into the sheath at her hip. “It is bulky, a clumsy weapon in the small hand of a woman. That blade you are holding and the one I chose were made especially for a woman’s hand. The hilt is narrower and the blade lighter, yet sharp.” She turned to leave the armory with Isabelle trailing behind her. “Now that you have honed your reflexes learning to fight hand-to-hand, you will learn to apply those reflexes to the sword.”

Ava stopped and drew her sword, motioning for Isabelle to do the same. She spent the rest of the day teaching Isabelle the basics of swordplay. Of all her lessons, Isabelle liked this one the best. There was something about the feel of the blade in her hand and the fluidity in the movements Ava was teaching her. It was as if some dormant part of her had awakened after a long sleep.

Each day, she looked forward to learning more and every day she improved until finally, she was ready to put her skills to use.

“Are you certain?” Ava asked, her eyebrows raised when Isabelle asked her for sparring match. “You have only a bit over a week’s experience.”

Isabelle shrugged. “Hanako taught me how to fight by attacking me and I learned a lot from her. I would like to think that applying what you’ve taught me to a real fight will help me as well.”

Ava’s grin was wide, the gleam in her stormy eyes menacing as she drew her sword. Snow crunched under their feet as they took to the deserted training field. The archery range and endurance course were deserted, the other women gone in to dinner. Alone with weapons at the ready, Isabelle and Ava faced off for the fight. They saluted each other and the fight was on. Isabelle watched closely as Ava circled her, watching the captain with her eyes. She slowed her breathing to still her racing pulse and tightened her hand on the hilt of her sword.

Ava attacked first, taking a running leap and bringing her sword down over Isabelle’s head. Isabelle stumbled back, lifting her sword swiftly. Metal clashed against metal as the two swords met. Isabelle managed to keep her balance and her focus for the first few minutes. When Ava realized that Isabelle was holding her own, she increased her attack, her thrusts becoming quicker, her eyes brightening with the thrill of the chase.

Isabelle lunged, but Ava quickly dodged her blade. Before Isabelle could blink, Ava was behind her, her blade pressed up against Isabelle’s neck.

“Good,” she said before taking Isabelle’s long, heavy braid in her hand. She wrapped it around her hand twice before yanking viciously, pulling Isabelle to the ground. The air rushed from her lungs on impact and her sword clattered to the ground noisily. She reached up to grab her hair from Ava’s grasp, but Ava tugged even harder. “Your opponent will use every advantage available to him in the heat of the moment. This rope hanging from the back of your head has put you at my mercy.”

Isabelle struggled and squirmed, fighting to rescue her hair from Ava’s tight grasp, but to no avail. She stilled as Ava laid the tip of her sword against her collar bone. “If I were your enemy I could decapitate you right now, and you would be powerless to stop me.” She released the braid and stepped back, allowing Isabelle to stand. Isabelle rubbed her tingling scalp and shot Ava a malevolent glare.

“No man would result to hair pulling,” she pointed out as she shook the snow from the waist length locks.

“Men are not above anything when it comes to war,” Ava said as she slid her sword back in its sheath. “Even hair pulling. Think about that.”

Isabelle watched as Ava walked away, her hands still working to shake the clinging snow from her hair. Isabelle’s hair had never seen a pair of scissors except for the occasional trim. Her hair had always been the trademark of her beauty, from its length to its striking color. As she walked toward the dining hall, she looked down at the heavy braid hanging over her shoulder and saw it as the vanity that it was.

Before she could change her mind, she switched directions and headed back toward the barracks. She walked down the straight row of cabins before finding the one she was looking for. Nell sat in the doorway of the room she shared with another soldier, sharpening her sword.

The large woman was intimidating in appearance. As tall as most men and with limbs as thick as tree trunks, Nell was quite a threatening sight to behold. Isabelle had learned quickly that Nell’s heart was golden and that off the battlefield, the woman didn’t have a disagreeable bone in her body.

She looked up and smiled cheerfully as Isabelle approached. “I saw you practicing your swordplay today,” she remarked as she turned her attention back to her sword. “You’re a natural. Won’t be long before you’re as good as Ava.”

Isabelle frowned as she remembered the beating she’d just taken. She reminded herself that it had only been the first time she had sparred with anyone and that one of Ava’s advantages over her was about to disappear. “I need your help,” she said.

Nell stood and put her sword aside before wiping her hands on the legs of her leather breeches. “Certainly.”

****

Isabelle did not know why she was crying. It’s just hair for God’s sake, she told herself. With every snip of the scissors another thick lock of hair tumbled over her shoulder and into her lap and Isabelle would have to choke back a sob.

It was as if part of her was being put to rest. It felt like the ending of something, but also the beginning. She kept telling herself that it was just a haircut, but the more hair she lost, the more she began to feel the change within. When Nell finished and handed Isabelle a small hand mirror, she paused before looking into it. She wasn’t sure what she would find when she looked, but she knew it would be the beginning of the new Isabelle.

She stared wordlessly at the woman in the mirror. Free from the heaviness of its former length, her hair now fell in soft waves around her face, stopping just under her chin. She smiled at her reflection. This was the woman from her vision, the spoiled, pampered princess was gone.

“Thank you,” she said to Nell, before wiping away the last of her tears.

“You’re still a beauty, that’s for sure,” said Nell as she gathered handfuls of Isabelle’s hair from the floor and tossed them into the fireplace. “Been cuttin’ my hair for years now and wouldn’t wear it any other way.”

Isabelle helped Nell remove the rest of the hair before turning for the door. “Excuse me Nell,” she said, “I have a score to settle.”

She stopped by the armory briefly before continuing on to the dining hall where all the women were relaxing after a warm supper. Games of cards had begun at many tables, while loud conversation continued at others. Isabelle found Ava where she sat with Mudiwa and Hanako. The three looked up as she approached. Hanako smiled. Mudiwa gasped. Ava laughed.

Isabelle flung one of the swords she held onto the table. It landed in front of Ava with a loud clank. “I want a rematch.”

****

Serge rubbed his aching leg as he stared into the campfire. He sat alone, as he had been since he returned from Gladstone, as none of his men dared to come near him. His mood was black and his disposition sour. He couldn’t seem to help it and before long had given up on trying to snap out of it.

He threw himself into the rebuilding effort in an attempt to keep his mind occupied on something other than Isabelle. It worked during the day. He spent that time beside his men, building homes and a shelter for storing food, seeds, and grains for the winter. The small village was now coming back to life and Serge could not have been prouder of their success.

The rebels had been unusually quiet since their last attack, but he knew not to allow himself to let down his guard. Lucius Winthrop would not be beaten so easily and was probably planning a full-scale attack even now.

It was in the evenings that Serge’s morose thoughts dragged his mood through the mud. His last encounter with Isabelle still weighed heavily on his mind. He knew he had been acting like an idiot but could not seem to stop himself. Every time he told himself he would work toward repairing their relationship, her ill-timed words invaded his mind. The inevitable pain that followed almost always obliterated any and all thoughts of reconciliation.

He knew that he was taking the coward’s way out. By avoidance, he was ensuring that his heart remained protected. If he did not allow himself the luxury of a friendship with her then he could not fall victim to more of the crushing agony he had endured at her hands.

As he stared into the fire, he tried unsuccessfully to push her image out of his mind. He would have never thought that the sight of Isabelle in men’s clothes would turn his insides into a raging inferno. Try as he might, he could not get the thought of her indecently snug breeches out of his head.

Chapter 17

The light from the fire illuminated the small circle of women gathered around it. In the middle, stood Isabelle, Ava and Nell. She had completed her training and just in time to leave for the holiday. Ava informed her the day before that they had taught her all that they could. “The rest will be learned by experience,” she said.

In the morning, she and Vernon would leave for Guthrie Hall. She had convinced Ava, Hanako and Mudiwa to accompany her. Now, on her final night in Gladstone, she stood in the midst of her newfound friends, ready to be inducted into their sisterhood.

“We are gathered to welcome you, Queen Isabelle of Barony, into the sisterhood that is the women’s regiment.” Ava’s voice rang out over the crackling fire as she motioned for Isabelle to kneel. Isabelle fell to one knee, resting her arms on the other. She looked up at Ava and watched the firelight play over her features as she continued. “We continue the tradition of those brave warrior women who have gone before us. Women such as Queen Vishspla who continued to fight, even after losing her leg in battle. Women like Hua Mulan of China who dared to dress as a man and fight in her father’s place, Jeanne d’Arc who at the tender age of nineteen became one of the greatest warriors of her time. The courage that ran in their veins now runs in ours. They are our sisters and now so are you, Isabelle Queen of Barony.”

Hanako came forward with a long scarf that was red on one side and gold on the other. The colors of Barony. She draped the scarf around Isabelle’s shoulders before backing away. Mudiwa stepped forward holding a gleaming breastplate etched with the Barony coat of arms. She and Hanako knelt beside her and quickly molded the plate to her chest. Ava pulled a gleaming, jeweled sword from its sheath, extending it to her with both hands.

“Rise, Isabelle of Barony. You came here a pampered royal, you leave here a great warrior.”

Isabelle stared in awe at the sword that Ava had made especially for her. The winking sapphires at the hilt gleamed in the firelight and the polished steel practically glowed. Tears filled her eyes as she sheathed the sword. She turned to look into the eyes of each and every woman gathered, her comrades, her sisters.

“Before I came to Barony I could never have imagined that women like you existed,” she said. “But now I am proud to stand beside you, your equal. Thank you for accepting me.”

Beaming with pride Ava looped one arm around Isabelle’s shoulders and squeezed tightly. “I couldn’t have asked for a better student. We follow you to the ends of the earth, Queen Isabelle. Now, enough of this or you shall have us all crying!”

As the laughter of the women rang out, Ava led Isabelle toward the dining hall where a celebration had been planned. Isabelle accepted a mug of ale gratefully and threw herself into the celebration. Tomorrow she would embark on the journey home. The Isabelle who had left would not be returning and she wondered if anyone would know the difference. As she twirled a short, stray strand of hair around one finger, she knew that some things would be plainly obvious while others would not.

What would Serge think of her now? The new, stronger Isabelle would not stand by and watch her marriage and friendship fail. Serge was determined to ignore her, but she would not allow him to avoid her any longer. Her smile was wide as a plan began forming in her mind. If her husband thought she would just stand aside and allow him to continue to avoid her, he had another thing coming.

****

When Guthrie Hall came into sight, Serge visibly relaxed in the saddle and breathed a sigh with relief. Damien grinned with excitement as well. They had met on the road home and now rode together toward the castle and the two-day Christmas celebration.

Even though he had only been in Barony for a short time, he had come to see Guthrie Hall as his home. He found he was looking forward to sleeping in a real bed, eating food that wasn’t cooked over a campfire and actually immersing himself fully into a bathtub.

They were arriving just in enough time to clean themselves up for the ball that Isabelle was throwing. It was Christmas Eve and from what Damien had told him of Esmeralda’s letters, it promised to be quite an affair. Already, the court as well as common folk had arrived at Guthrie Hall. Every guest room was filled with many families sharing the larger rooms. No one would mind because everyone would be happy just to be invited.

The gate was raised for them as they approached and Serge gladly dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a waiting groom. Esmeralda and Leila were waiting in the courtyard and when Damien’s feet touch the ground they were in his arms. Serge turned away from the tender moment and chastised himself for being jealous. He should be happy for his brother. Damien had everything a man could ever wish for. Still, he could not help the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he realized that no one had come to the courtyard to meet him.

He entered through the doors to the main hall, briefly taking in the holiday décor that Isabelle had obviously put a lot of time into. He wondered idly where she was as he ascended the stairs to his room where his valet was waiting for him with a tub full of steaming water and his evening clothes.

For a brief moment, he considered skipping the party altogether. He did not know if he could stand to be in the same room with Isabelle after their last tumultuous confrontation. He supposed he would just have to put his best foot forward and make an effort to at least appear happy. All eyes would be upon him and Isabelle, after all. After his valet had tied and secured his cravat with a stickpin, Serge turned toward the door with a resigned sigh. He plastered an expression of slight interest on this face for the benefit of his guests, complete with a half-smile and headed for the ballroom.

****

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Isabelle.”

She turned to Esmeralda with a grin and shrugged. “It’s too late to change Esmeralda, we are already late. Besides, my husband has ignored me long enough. Tonight, no man will be able to keep his eyes off of me, Serge included.”

Esmeralda sighed and turned toward the mirror to adjust her hair and gave up on trying to reason with her friend. The bold, brazen woman who stood beside Esmeralda studying her reflection in the looking glass was not Isabelle. It was as if someone else had taken residence inside of her friend’s body.

When Esmeralda had heard Isabelle’s plan for getting Serge’s attention, she had vehemently protested. Provoking a man’s jealousy was one of the most foolhardy things a woman could do. Isabelle’s plan was sure to backfire.

She had been unable to talk Isabelle out of it and could only stand by when the dressmaker arrived a few days ago and shake her head. The scandalous creation that Isabelle was wearing was sure to ignite much more than Serge’s jealousy.

“I’m tired of waiting for my fate to be decided,” Isabelle said absently as she adjusted the daring neckline of her gown one last time before clasping several strings of pearls around her neck. “I have spent most of my life waiting for other people to make decisions that would influence my life. I am finally taking matters into my own hands, Esmeralda.”

After clasping the last string of pearls around her neck, she turned and looped her arm through Esmeralda’s. “Now come,” she said with a smile, “let’s go downstairs. I can hardly wait!”

****

Serge grabbed a glass of brandy from a passing footman and lifted it to his lips as he surveyed the ballroom. He spotted Esmeralda and Damien in a corner, their heads lowered toward each other as they talked quietly. Judging by the heat in Damien’s gaze and the flush on Esmeralda’s cheeks, Serge guessed they would not be present much longer.

Tatiana was on the dance floor with a man he could only assume was Lord Andrew. He seemed unassuming enough and Tatiana looked happy as she whirled in his arms, smiling radiantly.

As he searched the room, he tried to pretend that he wasn’t looking for Isabelle, but he could not keep his eyes from stopping on every blonde in the room. He noticed a large crowd, mostly men, gathered close to the dance floor. Curiosity ate at his insides as he neared the small gathering of courtiers. Knowing he was bound to run into his wife eventually, he forgot her for the moment and edged closer to the tight circle of men to see what the commotion as all about. What he saw made his mouth go dry and his heart plummet into his stomach.

At the center of the circle, chatting and laughing with a glass of champagne in hand was his wife. The half-empty glass nearly slipped from his hand when she came into view. He could only see her back, but he would know her figure anywhere. Now so would the court, Serge thought, as his eyes traveled over her body beneath the flimsy gown she wore.

Sheer black organza was molded to her body. The lining underneath was the same color as Isabelle’s skin, creating the illusion of nudity beneath. His fingers tightened around his glass as he realized that she was not wearing a corset. Dear God, she couldn’t possibly be wearing anything under that gown, he realized as she turned and gave him a full view of the front. The material fit her like a second skin, the neckline of the bodice so low that if she sneezed, nipples were sure to make an appearance. Strings of pearls in varying lengths dripped from her throat, the longest one ending right at her waist.

But the most provocative aspect of the entire getup was her hair. Serge would have thought he’d be upset at the prospect of her losing those glorious locks, but as he watched her, he found he rather liked it. The shorter hair only served to enhance her angelic face, as well as the delicate slopes and planes of her neck and shoulders, most of which were bare due to the almost nonexistent cap sleeps of her gown.

He fought with the myriad of emotions that flickered through him at the sight of her, smiling at the man who was leaning down to kiss her hand. Equal parts anger and desire mingled until his blood was near boiling and every muscle in his body was taut and tense.

The courtier whispered something in Isabelle’s ear and pointed upward with a grin. Serge followed Isabelle’s gaze to the archway above them and his mouth went dry. Mistletoe hung directly above their heads.

Serge felt the glass cracking in his hand as she leaned forward and allowed the young swain to kiss her cheek. When he made to pull away, Isabelle grabbed his shoulders and returned the kiss with a loud smack. Laughter and applause rang out and the courtier blushed. Serge set the glass aside before it broke completely and he injured his hand.

Fury, red-hot and blistering rose up in him as she turned to accept the arm of another man. Primus. Serge’s hands balled into fists as he began shoving his way through the crowd. Primus was leading her toward the doors that led out to the balcony. His eyes remained locked on them as he followed, weaving his way around his guests as he went.

As he neared the balcony doors, he could see that they had not gone far and remained just within his view. He stopped in the doorway, grateful for the cold air that slapped him in the face. It did very little to calm his rabid anger, but it was better than nothing. Serge leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and watched.

****

This had gone entirely too far. Isabelle had felt it the moment Serge clapped eyes on her. She could practically feel his fiery gaze as she flirted and laughed for his benefit. Her performance was working. She could see out of the corner of her eye that she had her husband’s full attention.

The mistletoe had not been part of the plan, but caught up in the moment, Isabelle had gone along with it. Perhaps that would not have been so bad if Primus had not appeared at her side, asking her to take some air with him out on the balcony.

Isabelle had lost sight of Serge and was now apprehensive about being alone with Primus on the dark balcony. She shivered at the cold and crossed her arms over her nearly exposed bosom.

“Are you cold?” he inquired, already shrugging out of his coat. “Here Your Highness, allow me.”

She accepted the coat gratefully, but stiffened when his arm remained around her shoulders. This had not been the best idea. Esmeralda had been right after all. She was now in completely over her head and although she had not flirted with Primus directly, she had not discouraged him either.

“Primus,” she began as she edged away from his hold, “perhaps we should go back inside.”

“Another moment please, my lady. I have something that I would like to say to you.”

Trepidation struck her and she wished with all her heart that she had never stepped out onto this balcony. “Perhaps it would be better...“

“Just hear me out, please,” he interrupted, grasping one of her hands in his. “I just wanted you to know how happy I am to see you here, in this castle, in this ballroom. It is good to finally have you home where you belong.”

Isabelle would not breathe a sigh of relief yet. The feeling that Primus was working his way up to something would not stop nagging at her subconscious. “It is good to be here,” she answered, attempting in vain to pull her hand from his grasp.

“You look so very beautiful tonight,” he murmured as he edged closer, his other hand coming up to snake around her waist. “It’s really a shame that His Majesty has not seen fit to notice.”

Isabelle opened her mouth to deliver a scathing retort when she caught the distinctive odor of liquor on his breath and clamped it shut again. Primus was in his cups, she realized for the first time. His words had even slurred a bit on that last sentence. “I really should be going back inside,” she insisted, choosing not to address his previous comment. Chances were he would not even remember it come morning.

He tightened his hold on her, pulling her close even as his eyes were closing and his lips were puckering for a kiss. Isabelle leaned away, sickened by the smell of whiskey and the thought that anyone could see them in this compromising position.

“Primus please,” she begged as she lifted her hands to push against his chest. When he kept coming toward her and Isabelle decided she had long since lost her patience, she balled up her fist and cocked her arm back.

Before her blow landed, Primus was flying from the bench head over heels. Isabelle gasped and shot to her feet as she recognized the sleeve of Serge’s navy blue evening coat mere inches from her face. Primus rolled to his back and groaned in agony, one hand pressed to his already bruised eye. Serge leaped over the bench they’d been sitting on and leaned over Primus’ prostrate form. He grasped the man’s lapels and lifted him up to stare into his eyes.

“If I ever catch you near my wife again I will have you horse whipped!” he roared before delivering another blow to Primus’ chin. When Isabelle realized that he intended to strike him a third time, she lunged forward and grabbed Serge’s arm. His bicep was hard and bulging beneath her hand and his face was just as severe and he turned to look down at her.

“Don’t,” she whispered, tightening her grip on his arm. “He’s drunk, Serge. He will probably not even remember this in the morning.”

“He had damn well better remember,” he responded as his hard gaze swiveled back to Primus. “I have no qualms over killing for what is mine. You would do well to remember that.”

Without another word, he yanked his arm from Isabelle’s hold before grasping her wrist tightly. Dragging her along beside him, he walked back toward the ballroom. Isabelle followed silently, knowing that anything she said at this point could only provoke him more. Whatever punishment was in store for her tonight, she deserved it for the embarrassing position she had allowed herself to fall into.

Ignoring the questioning gazes of their guests, Serge pulled her through the ballroom. Isabelle’s heart raced as they made their way out into the hall. Serge quickened his pace once they were out of view of the ballroom.

“Not a word,” he warned as they continued, at a near run now. Serge seemed to be trying to decide which door to go into before finally settling on the library. He yanked the door open and shoved her through it before following. Isabelle moved the center of the room and turned to face him, her shoulders squared. After he had closed and locked the door, he stood there staring at her silently. His chest was heaving with the heaviness of his breath, and his face was inscrutable in the darkness of the library. Thin slivers of moonlight streaming through the windows made it possible to see.

Wordlessly he moved toward her, slowly, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Isabelle’s breath caught in her throat as he neared. His hand came toward her and for a moment, she feared he meant to strike her. It was no more than she would deserve after what she’d done. Instead, his hand clamped down on her shoulder and in one swift motion, he turned her so that her back was facing him. He pushed her forward and pressed his front to her back, effectively pinning her against the wall. She could feel the outline of   every muscle as his body settled against hers.

“You played a dangerous game tonight Isabelle,” he said, his mouth pressed hotly to her ear, his chest rumbling against her back. One arm came around her waist like an iron band, pulling her even more tightly against him. The rigid evidence of his desire throbbed against her bottom. “You wanted my attention didn’t you?” he continued, his hand splayed wide on her stomach, his fingers just under her breasts. She secretly wished that he would move his hand up just a few inches. The tips of her breasts hardened and throbbed at the thought. Incapable of speech, she nodded.

Serge laughed and his chest vibrated against her back. “I know you did,” he said, his hands moving slowly upward toward her breasts. Isabelle held her breath and waited. “I can assure you, you had the attention of every man within a ten mile radius tonight my little vixen.”

One strong hand finally came up to her breast and Isabelle’s knees shook as the rough pad of one thumb caressed her nipple through the thin fabric. She pressed her lips together and stifled a moan when his other hand came up to treat her other breast in the same way.

“You liked the attention didn’t you? You enjoyed knowing that I was jealous, you reveled in it.”

Isabelle shook her head from side to side. Serge slid the bodice of her gown down to her waist before covering her breasts with his hands once more. “Don’t deny it,” he growled against her shoulder. “You used every weapon in your arsenal tonight and you know it. You knew you could set my blood on fire by wearing this indecent gown.” One hand left her breast before grabbing a fist full of her skirt. He pulled slowly until cold air caressed her legs. “You flirted with those men shamelessly to make me jealous, Isabelle. Admit it.”

Isabelle’s mouth fell open but no words came out. How could she possibly speak with his hand gripping her thigh so firmly and inching its way upward? Her breath quickened as his hand moved to rest just above the hot, throbbing space between her legs. The gentle pressure he exerted there teased her, tormented her until she had to bite her tongue to keep from begging for more.

“Admit it, Isabelle,” he said again, his fingers inching slowly downward. “You used your beauty and your body to manipulate me like a shameless hussy.”

Hussy? Dear God yes, she cried inwardly. She would admit to being the worst sort of hussy if he would only stop dragging out his exquisite torment.

“Admit it Isabelle.” His open mouth moved over her neck and his fingers paused, just above her slick opening.

“Yes!” she cried just as his hand finally cupped her. She moaned, her hips bucking against his as he pulled her back against him, his hand working her into a frenzy.

“There you are,” he sighed with satisfaction against her neck, scraping against the thin skin there with his teeth. “There’s the fiery vixen I know lies beneath that icy demeanor of yours. You’re my little ice queen, but we both know how easily I can make you burn don’t we?”

There was no way she could disagree with him while she quivered and shook against him. One finger found its way into her and then another. She cried out and trembled uncontrollably as his skilled fingers thrust into her desire-swollen sheath in an imitation of what he undoubtedly wanted to do to her with another part of his anatomy.

“Serge please,” she pleaded, not sure exactly what she was begging for. She only knew that if he did not finish what he had started, she would surely die.

“Please what, Isabelle?” he whispered, increasing his pace. “Please stop or please more?”

“More!” she screamed her frustration. Release coiled low in her belly. It was just seconds away. She reached behind her, searching for the button at the front of his trousers but his free hand clamped around her wrist before raising it high above her head, imprisoning it there. He pressed his body even more tightly against hers until she was completely incapable of movement. His fingers stilled inside of her.

“You’d like that would you?” he rasped. “You’d like nothing more than to win your little game by driving me mad with lust for you, turning me into a mindless fool.”

“No,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he rumbled in her ear. “That’s exactly what you want, for me to forget that you’ve made a fool of me tonight and caused me to have to assault and threaten one of my most valuable men, to forget that you manipulated me, along with every other man in the court. Well I hate to disappoint you, my ice queen, but you lose.”

Isabelle slumped against the wall as her skirts fell back into place and the heat and hardness of Serge’s body left her back. She did not have to turn around to see that he was headed for the door. As the door to the library clicked shut behind him, Isabelle crumbled into a heap on the floor, her face buried in her hands.

****

Serge paced his chambers like a caged beast, his hands clamped tightly behind his back. A few hours after he had left Isabelle in the library, he still could not sleep. He had been too restless to go back to the ball and had closeted himself in his room with a bottle of brandy in an attempt to calm his frazzled nerves.

“I deserve a damned sainthood for that,” he mumbled to himself as he remembered how close he’d come to taking her right there against the wall. She was practically begging for it, her body trembling and quaking against him with undisguised need. He knew that if he had done what his body had so desperately wanted, that he would lose control of his head. He refused to give in to the not-so-subtle manipulation she had attempted by flaunting herself and flirting so shamelessly.

With a frustrated groan, he flopped onto the bed and jerked the covers over his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on finding sleep. After a few minutes of trying, he realized that it was going to be impossible with his body so tense and his emotions so on edge. Even though he had exercised an enormous amount of restraint by walking away from Isabelle, he had to admit to himself that he had not really wanted to. He had been seconds away from finishing what he’d started with her. He was, even now, seconds away from storming through the connecting door and giving in to his desires.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, turning to his side and pounding his pillow in frustration. He had been dreaming of sleeping in a bed for weeks and now that he was in one, all he could think about was the fact that he was in it alone. He laid his head on the cushion and closed his eyes again.

The sound of a door opening and closing startled him and he shot upright in the bed. Isabelle stood, her back against the door, watching him. She had taken off her provocative gown and now stood in his room wearing an ivory silk dressing gown. Her hair fell in gleaming waves around her face.

He sat there silently, watching her, waiting for her to speak. Serge did not know why she had come, but he hoped to God that she didn’t intend to leave now that she was here.

“I don’t care about winning anymore,” she said as she walked forward, pausing at the foot of the bed. Her eyes never wavered from his as her hands came up to the belt at her waist. “I forfeit. You win, Serge.”

He watched, fascinated, as the dressing gown fell to her feet. She was completely nude underneath. Serge could hear the sickening sound of his own teeth grinding together as she climbed onto the bed and moved toward him. As much as he had resisted her before, he found his resolve crumbling as she crawled across the bed toward him. When she was within his reach, he whipped the bed sheet aside and snaked one arm around her waist. He tumbled her onto the mattress beside him before yanking her against him.

His lips collided with hers and his hands came up to tangle in her hair. She kissed him back just as fervently as his hands left her hair and traveled over her body. It had been entirely too long. As much as he wanted to take his time with her, God, how he’d missed her, he was just too desperate with need to wait much longer. He grasped one soft thigh and hooked it over his hip, pressing forward until he was poised to enter her.

His grip tightened on her hip as he closed his eyes and slid into heaven. She moaned against his lips and moved against him, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck. He moved slowly, drawing out the inevitable end, reveling in the heated friction and the glide of her sweat-slicked skin against his. When she threw her head back and cried out her pleasure and the walls of her insides pulsated around him in finality, he gave himself over to the impending storm of his own climax.

When his racing heart had calmed and he could think clearly, he looked up to find Isabelle staring down at him.

“I really am sorry,” she said, reaching out to stroke a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. “I didn’t mean...“

He silenced her with a kiss and a playful slap in her behind. “Enough hussy,” he laughed against her shoulder. “That was all the apology I needed.”

Serge felt her relax in his arms as she sighed with relief. He lifted his hand and stroked her hair. “What have you done to yourself?” he asked.

“You don’t like it.” Her statement was filled with disappointment.

He grinned. “I actually do. More that I would have thought I could.” He twisted a curl absently around one finger. “It almost feels as though I’m making love to another woman,” he said, his grin growing wide and wicked before he kissed her again.

She rolled to her back and pulled him over her before wrapping her legs around his hips. “Don’t worry,” she said with a smile, “I won’t tell your wife.”

****

“You must hold him!” Isabelle cried, rushing around the other side of him to hold down Lionus’ injured arm. “He’ll rip the stitches in his shoulder!”

Blood seeped through the bandage in Lionus’ middle and Damien pressed his full weight on Lionus, who was surprisingly strong for one who had lost so much blood. Isabelle stared down into Lionus’ tear-streaked face, as Damien his body down to the mattress with all his strength.

“Lionus I know you are in pain by you cannot move about so much. Doctor Keane would be very angry to find you have ripped his fine stitches,” Damien said calmly, but his words had fallen on deaf ears. Lionus was delirious with the pain by now and blood flowed even more freely from the gaping wound in his middle.

Damien turned to Isabelle. “Doctor Keane stayed the night in case he was needed. He is staying just up the hall, go and find him!” he bellowed, struggling to hold Lionus down. “Hurry!”

Torn between following Damien’s directions and staying to help her husband, Isabelle decided it would be better to find Doctor Keane. He could do more for Lionus than she could. Doctor Keane came tearing in to the room with Isabelle on his heels. He quickly peeled back the linens that Damien held to find that they had soaked through. He commanded Damien continue pressure, while he rifled around in his bag.

“Do something!” Isabelle shrieked from the foot of the bed.

“All we can do is apply pressure to the wound and pray that it will stop. I can give him something to ease his pain but we must get that bleeding under control!” Doctor Keane produced a bottle of laudanum from his bag and forced Lionus’ mouth open. He poured a generous amount of the liquid down his throat and then proceeded to help Damien. Isabelle leaned against the wall, crying silently and shaking her head rapidly from side to side. “Please,” she prayed, her voice a whisper. “Please don’t let him die.”

Within minutes, the laudanum began to take its affect and Lionus stilled, his pain slightly dulled. He focused his glassy eyes on Damien. Doctor Keane lifted the blood soaked linens away again and shook his head firmly. “There is nothing else we can do,” he looked toward Isabelle anxiously. “I’m sorry, but he won’t last another hour.”

“No!” Isabelle shrieked and threw herself at the doctor, her voice shrill. “Do something! You have to try and save him!”

Doctor Keane looked to Damien, unsure of how to handle the sobbing woman. He appeared relieved when Damien plucked her from his arms. He bent back over Lionus, leaving the business of consolation to Damien.

“Isabelle,” he said firmly, taking hold of her shoulders and shaking her gently. “You must cease this. Lionus is going now and there is nothing we can do to help him, do you understand?” Isabelle hiccupped and nodded, but was silent. “You cannot let him go without saying good-bye. You have to tell him how much you love him and that he will always be in your heart. You cannot let him go without telling him.”

Isabelle nodded and fought down the wave of grief that threatened to destroy her composure. Damien and Doctor Keane stepped aside and allowed her to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. Blood soaked her gown, but she seemed oblivious to it as she ran her fingers gently through his unbound hair.

“Lionus,” she sobbed, pressing her lips to his, “I love you so much. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t die!”

Lionus lifted one hand to her pale cheek. His face softening as he studied her angelic face. “My love, I will never leave you,” he said, his voice a raspy whisper. “You will always carry me in your heart. For that is where you have always held me.”

As Lionus closed his eyes for the last time, the bedchamber around her began to fade into darkness. Both the bed she was sitting on and her dead husband disappeared. The blood soaking her hands and gown were gone. She was standing in the dark forest once again.

The fog was thicker than ever, Isabelle walked slowly so that she would not get lost in the thick, humid blanket surrounding her and the forest. She could hear an owl hooting overhead and the rustle of tiny critters in the leaves crunching below her feet.

He was there again, just ahead of her. Lionus walked slowly, stopping every few feet to stare at her over his shoulder with his piercing eyes. Instead of chasing him as she had before, she kept her current pace. She followed him slowly, her eyes locked on his back, determined not to lose him this time.

“Lionus,” she called calmly into the night. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. When she neared him, she stared up at him in awe. “Is it really you?”

She reached her hand up to touch his face. He stared down at her grimly, his mouth a firm line. “No, Isabelle. I am a projection from your mind, the last part of me that you have refused to let go of.”

Isabelle was taken aback. She was so unbelievably happy to see him, yet she could tell from his expression that he did not feel the same way. “Why didn’t you stop?”

They both knew she referred to the last dream. “Because if you will not walk away then I have to.”

Isabelle’s frown deepened. “Why would you want me to walk away from you? Don’t you want me to remember you?”

Lionus finally smiled. He reached up to stroke her cheek tenderly. “Of course I do,” he said softly. “I know that you could never forget me. I live in you, Isabelle. I live in the people around you, the people you love. I live in Damien,” he continued. “Can’t you see what becoming king has done for him? It has made him a man in every sense of the word. He carries on the legacy of myself and my father. I even live in Serge,” he paused pointedly.

Isabelle fell silent and lowered her eyes. Guilt washed over her as she recalled the passionate night she had spent in her new husband’s bed. Did the Lionus in her dreams know how much she’d enjoyed it? Did he hate her for it?

“There’s nothing wrong with loving him,” he said, grasping one of her hands between his. “By being with him, you will always have a part of me. Damien always said that he was the balance between us, the best of us both. Don’t you know why you thought you saw me in his eyes? It’s because he is everything that made up the best parts of me.”

Isabelle nodded. It was true that Serge had always provided a much needed balance between the stoic Lionus and the dreamy Damien. “It’s so hard,” she whispered as tears sprang forth in her eyes. “I loved you my whole life. We were married for such a short time and then you died. It hardly seems real.”

“It is hard to face reality, but you have to. You cannot continue to rely on your dreams of me to sustain you for the rest of your life. I want you to be happy, Isabelle, and I want my brother to be happy to.”

“I will always love you,” she said honestly, tightening her grip on his hand as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. He pulled away and smiled.

“That’s all right too,” he said before placing another kiss on her hand. He released it and backed away slowly, “But it is time to let go.”

As he disappeared into the swirling fog, Isabelle pressed one hand to her heart and watched him go. Tears flowed freely down her face as he faded into darkness. His voice resounded in her head long after he was gone.

“It’s time to let go…”

Isabelle stood at the large window in Serge’s bedroom, watching the sunrise over the horizon. After her time in Gladstone, she was still accustomed to awakening well before dawn.

Remnants of her dream lingered on the edge of her mind as she watched the changing colors of the morning. Had Lionus’ spirit really come to her to encourage her to let him go, or had wishful thinking conjured him up so that she would feel less guilty about her feelings for Serge?

Either way, she knew that it was time to face the facts. There was much more to her feelings for her husband than simple lust or platonic friendship. As she turned to watch him stirring from sleep, she felt the pangs of something very familiar rippling through her heart. Could it be love?

She turned back toward the window as Serge rose from the bed. He shrugged into his dressing gown and stoked the dying fire before joining her at the window. She leaned back against him as he wrapped one arm around her waist.

“I am surprised to see you awake so early,” he remarked, his voice still heavy and thick with sleepiness.

She smiled and leaned back against the solid wall of his chest. “After training with the women’s regiment and rising at four o’clock every morning, I find it hard to go back to my old patterns.”

He rested his chin on top of her head. “Well,” he said, “I suppose I should wish you a Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” she replied. “I cannot wait to give you your gift.”

He pulled away and turned her to face him, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Why don’t we exchange gifts now? I would prefer some privacy, wouldn’t you?”

“A fabulous idea,” she said, pulling away from his embrace. “Give me a moment to retrieve mine from my room.”

Isabelle hurried through the connecting door and threw open the door to her dressing room. Propped up in the corner was the brand new sword wrapped reverently in a black cloth. Isabelle lifted the heavy weapon, carefully to keep it wrapped in the cloth, and made her way back to Serge’s room.

When she returned he was sitting on the bed with two parcels in his lap. Isabelle extended her gift to him with both hands. “Mine first.”

Serge accepted her offering and unwrapped it carefully. His eyes widened and gleamed with delight as his hand closed around the hilt of the sword. “It’s beautiful,” he said as he removed it from its sheath and lifted it to the firelight. The shining steel gleamed brightly. The glittering sapphires glistened to match his eyes.

“The original sword of the kings of Barony was lost,” she explained, sitting on the bed beside him. “I wanted you to have an heirloom to pass down to our heir. This will be the new sword of the kings.”

Serge re-sheathed the sword and set it on the bed before crushing her against him. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he buried his face in her fragrant hair. “No one has ever done anything so thoughtful for me.”

He released her before pushing his gifts toward her on the bed. “I was going to get you jewelry,” he explained as she reached for her parcels, “but I thought that these would be much more suitable.”

The first gift was a dagger with a jeweled hilt. Isabelle fingered the precious gems along the hilt with awe. The dagger given to her by Ava was efficient but could not compare to this one in its deadly but stunning beauty. “I love it,” she said, running her finger lightly over the sharp edge.

“I thought that you would,” he said, watching as she ripped open the second parcel.

Isabelle lifted a worn, slender book from the wrapping and turned it over in her hands. She ran her finger over the words on the cover and read aloud: “The Ballad of Hua Mulan.”

Serge opened the slim volume to the first page. “It was your fathers,” he said.

Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears as she read her father’s name across the top, written in his own hand. She ran her fingers over the signature, tracing every letter carefully.

“Where did you find this?” she asked as she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“A few days before I left I was in the library and I happened across a collection of books from China. I remembered Primus telling me that your father was fascinated with the foreign land and its culture and took many journeys there. Apparently he brought several books home and had them translated and bound. This was one of them. I thought that given the time you’ve spent in Gladstone that you would appreciate it.”

Isabelle sniffled and turned to the first page; she read aloud:

“They ask Daughter who is in her thought

They ask Daughter who is on her memory

No one is on Daughter’s thought

No one is on Daughter’s memory

Last night I saw the army notices

The Khan is calling for a great force

The army register is in twelve scrolls

And every scroll has Father’s name

Father has no adult son

Mulan has no older brother

Wish to buy a saddle and horse

And serve in Father’s place”

She turned to Serge and smiled radiantly. “It’s so beautiful,” she said, closing the book and clutching it to her chest. “I will treasure it forever.”

Serge stroked her cheek gently before kissing her forehead. “I won’t pretend to understand why you have chosen to train with the women’s regiment. I will honor your wishes so long as you do not put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

“I promise.”

“Good. Now what do you think about a little breakfast? We have got quite a day ahead of us and I am practically starving.”

Isabelle nodded and left the bed, taking her gifts with her as she went through the connecting door to her room. “I’ll just go get dressed and meet you back here in a moment,” she said before closing the door behind her.

She placed her gifts on the bed before kneeling to pull a heavy trunk from underneath it. Isabelle had shoved her chest full of Lionus’ mementos under the bed after the day Serge had caught her crying over them. She lifted the lid and removed the contents before moving toward the fireplace. It was already stocked with wood and kindling just waiting to be lit. Within minutes, she had a roaring blaze going.

Isabelle stood, staring into the flames, clutching the nightgown from her wedding night tightly against her chest. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as her fingers caressed the white silk. In her mind she saw Lionus’ face as he laid her gently back onto the bed, his eyes filled with understanding at her nervousness, his touch feather-light as he loosened the ribbon at her chest. Isabelle fought down tears as the nightgown slipped through her fingers and into the fireplace.

She turned to retrieve his cravat and one of his monogramed handkerchiefs. She pressed them both to her nose and inhaled before releasing them to the flames as well. One by one, every reminder of Lionus that remained fell into the fireplace until Isabelle was left with only the stack of sketches that had been at the very bottom. She gazed into Lionus’ face one last time before pressing a kiss to the pages.

One after the other, the sketches found the fire. She chose to keep one, her favorite, but allowed the others to burn. Isabelle watched until the pages curled back on themselves and disappeared into ash. When she was finished, she turned away from the fireplace and closed the lid on the trunk before pulling the bell cord to ring for Gayle. She wiped at her tears for the last time and sank onto the bed.

“Good-bye Lionus,” she whispered.

Chapter 18

The rest of the morning passed festively. After breakfast, Serge and Isabelle met the rest of their family in one of the smaller sitting rooms, where Isabelle had erected a Christmas tree. Smaller than the massive creation that graced the main hall, this tree was meant only for them.

Serge watched with pleasure as Isabelle orchestrated the passing out of gifts. She was lovely in burgundy velvet and deep red rubies. The top half of her golden hair had been pinned back from her face, held in place by matching ruby combs. A stunning brooch given to her by Damien sparkled at her breasts. Her face practically glowed and Serge found her enthusiasm infectious.

Something about her had changed. As he watched her, he could not quite put his finger on it, but he knew for certain that something important had happened to his wife. She was happier and freer than he had seen her in a long while. The thought caused a smile to spread across his face. Whatever had happened, he would not question it for now. He chose instead to enjoy it.

After the gifts had been opened, Isabelle informed them that she had planned a variety of entertainments for the day. After hours of sleigh rides, gingerbread and snow ball fights for the children of both the court and Barony’s citizens, they retired into the ballroom for a performance by a hired troupe of actors.

The performance had really just gotten underway when a footman came searching for him. Serge saw the urgency in the young man’s eyes and followed him swiftly from the room. Isabelle, sensing his concern, followed.

“What is it?” he asked once they were in the privacy of the hall.

“A man has just arrived with news that Gladstone is under attack.”

Isabelle gasped from behind him as she approached. Serge placed an arm around her shoulders to calm her. “How long ago?” he asked calmly though his mind was racing.

“He says it has only been an hour or so. The women’s regiment are holding their own but they are vastly outnumbered.”

Isabelle stiffened in his arms. He knew that she was concerned for her friends, and those citizens who had elected to spend the holiday at home. They would be helpless against the fierce rebels. He released her from his hold and started off toward the main hall with Isabelle and the footman on his heels.

“Where is Lord Primus?” he asked.

“No one has seen him all day, Your Highness,” the footman answered. “I knew that you would have need of him so I took the liberty of going to his chambers before I came in search of you. He was not there.”

“When I actually need the idiot he is nowhere to be found,” he muttered as they entered the main hall. He turned back to the footman. “Go back to the ballroom. Calmly and quietly pull King Damien aside and tell him what has happened and tell him to gather General Adams and the soldiers. Remember to remain calm and not to allow your emotions to show on your face. There are hundreds of people in there with their families and I do not want them flying into a panic, many of them are from Gladstone and they would worry for their homes and friends who stayed behind.”

With a quick bow, the footman disappeared back down the hall at a near run. Isabelle grasped his arm. “I’m coming with you,” she said, staring up at him with determination in her eyes.

“No, you are not. You will remain here with your bodyguards and Mudiwa, Ava, and Hanako to protect you.”

“I do not need protection,” she countered calmly, her hold on his arm tightening. “I am more than capable of looking after myself. Hanako, Mudiwa, Ava and I can only be of value to you and your men. Let us come with you.”

He turned and grasped her upper arms tightly. “Listen to me Isabelle,” he whispered. “You are needed here. If the villagers find out what has happened they will be upset. It will be your job to keep them calm and occupied while my men and I ride out to Gladstone. Besides, I would be distracted with you riding beside me. I don’t want to have to worry about your being hurt or killed.”

Isabelle sighed in exasperation but chose not to argue with him. She nodded slowly in agreement before turning to walk away. Serge watched her retreating form until she had disappeared down the hall. When she was out of sight, he turned and ran for the armory as fast as his feet could carry him.

****

Isabelle watched as Damien silently gathered as many soldiers as he could find before leading them all out of the ballroom. The theatrical performance continued and while all of the children remained engrossed in the comedic spectacle, many of the adults began to notice that something important was happening. Mudiwa appeared at her side as Damien and the soldiers disappeared from the ballroom.

“What is happening?” she whispered.

Isabelle leaned close to Mudiwa and whispered back, “Gladstone is under attack.”

Mudiwa sucked in a sharp breath and her eyes widened. “We must go to them.”

Isabelle shook her head. “King Serge has ordered us to remain here, along with my bodyguards. He and his men, along with King Damien and General Adams, are riding out to Gladstone now. He has charged us with keeping the people calm and occupied while they are gone.”

Mudiwa sighed but nodded her concurrence.

“Inform Ava and Hanako,” Isabelle instructed before heading toward where her bodyguards were clustered together toward the back of the crowd.

“We have our instructions from His Highness,” said Vernon as she approached them.

“Good,” she said. “My hope is that everyone will remain calm and that the situation in Gladstone will be resolved quickly.”

Even as she said the words, the heavy stone of apprehension settled in her stomach. For some reason she did not understand, a tremor of fear raced down her spine. This day that had started off so happily was quickly spiraling toward something devastating, she could feel it in her bones.

****

Primus lowered his head against the biting cold and flurries of snow carried on the wind that slapped against his face. He dug his heels into the sides of his mount and yanked his thick scarf up around his face. Time was of the essence and after the things he had seen and heard, he knew that if he did not reach Guthrie Hall in time all would be lost.

After the embarrassing debacle that had occurred at the Christmas Eve ball, Primus had retired to his room to sleep off the inebriation that had so grossly clouded his judgment. When he had awakened, humiliation and condemnation washed over him until he was desperate to escape, too ashamed to face anyone in the cold light of day.

Before dawn he had packed a few belongings and headed for a small cabin he owned a few hours’ ride from Guthrie Hall. He’d needed time alone in which to sift through his muddled thoughts and try to make sense of his feelings for Queen Isabelle.

He feared he had made a terrible mistake, undoubtedly confusing the feelings he’d had for Isabelle’s mother with his admiration for her. She was so much like the former queen, in looks as well as spirit, that Primus feared he had confused them in his mind. After he had tried to kiss her the night before and been knocked senseless for it, he had come to this understanding. With startling clarity, he realized his egregious error and spent the rest of the morning trying to contemplate how to redeem himself in the eyes of his King and Queen.

When he left his cabin, deciding that a good, long ride would clear his head, he found himself surrounded by rebel soldiers. They were seconds away from killing him once they recognized him as the Grand Vizier, but he had been able to convince them that he had left his position at Guthrie Hall. They were suspicious at first, but eventually they believed his quickly fabricated lie. They had been willing to believe that he was angry over having to surrender his control of Barony to the young King Serge and were more than happy to accept him into their ranks.

They had taken him to Lucius Winthrop, who had excitedly told Primus his plan. The attack on Gladstone was no more than a diversion, one designed to get King Serge out of the way of Lucius’ real mission. He agreed to aid in the attack, but secretly waited for a chance to slip away and warn the king. When he found his opening, he rode away from the rebel camp as fast as his horse could carry him. He had been riding nonstop for nearly two hours and now Guthrie Hall was looming on the horizon.

He knew the rebels could not be far behind and were sure to pick up their pace once they realized that he was gone. The snowfall was beginning to slow and he knew he could no longer count on the weather to hold them back. His fervent prayers and breakneck speed would have to be enough.

****

Isabelle had just organized a game of charades when another footman came flying into the ballroom. He ran immediately to Vernon and the two whispered in hushed tones. Annoyed that she was being ignored in favor of Vernon when something important was obviously happening, Isabelle moved toward them swiftly. The footman fell silent as she approached. Vernon’s face was white as a sheet, his expression grim as he turned to her.

“Gather your women and the other three bodyguards and meet me in the hall,” he whispered before leading the footman at the door. Fighting down panic, Isabelle did as he asked, silently motioning for the six of them to follow her.

Once in the hall, Vernon spoke up again. “Lord Primus has just arrived,” he said. “He claims to have news of a rebel plan to attack Guthrie Hall. Apparently the attack on Gladstone was only a diversion.”

Isabelle pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the panicked cry that had risen in her throat. She forced herself to take a deep breath and think. Within seconds, a plan began forming in her head. She turned to Vernon. “Vernon, take Francis, Thomas, and Nicholas and find as many able-bodied footman as you can. Find every stable boy, every groom, any man with a strong back and take them to the armory. Gather every weapon and every piece of armor you can find and bring them to the ballroom.”

The four men raced off without hesitation to do her bidding. She turned to Mudiwa, Hanako, and Ava. “Go and gather your weapons and put on your armor. Find my chambers and bring mine to me as well.”

“What is your plan, Your Highness?” Ava questioned once Hanako and Mudiwa were gone. Her face was creased with worry lines. “What will we do?”

“We will defend this castle until our king returns.”

“But Gladstone is half a day’s ride away and King Serge and his men have been gone only two hours at best.”

Isabelle gripped Ava’s shoulder tightly. “We will fight, Ava. We will fight and we will pray.”

With a determined nod, Ava lifted her skirts and raced off down the hall as well, passing Primus as she went.

“Your Majesty,” he said as he bowed quickly, still struggling to catch his breath. “I trust you have been informed of our present circumstances.”

Isabelle nodded and motioned for him to follow her back the ballroom. “You will help me get these people organized and into the cave, Primus,” she said as they walked swiftly. “We have no choice now but to inform them of what has happened and pray that they do not panic.”

“Your Majesty, a moment if you please.”

Isabelle froze in the doorway of the ballroom and turned, annoyance flickering in her eyes. “You may apologize to me for your appalling behavior later Primus, though I feel the need to tell you that your actions may have just saved us all. For that reason, you have my forgiveness.”

“Thank you Your Majesty,” he said as she continued into the ballroom. She walked swiftly to the raised platform that had been erected as a makeshift stage and pulled Esmeralda up alongside her.

Isabelle raised her hands for silence and avoided Esmeralda’s questioning gaze. She was about to reveal all, and she could only hope her friend would grasp the dire nature of their situation swiftly and aid her in any way she could. When everyone had quieted and all eyes were on her, she spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am afraid I have some dire news,” she began. “I am sure many of you saw my husband leaving with his men a few hours ago. I know you have questions. I am saddened to report that Gladstone was said to be under attack.”

Shocked murmurs and cries rippled through the crowd. Isabelle raised her hands again once more, effectively bringing the noise level down tremendously. “We have also been informed that rebel soldiers are coming here. They mean to attack Guthrie Hall.”

The shock that had rippled through the crowd before quickly turned to panic. Everyone was talking at once, many angry, others afraid. Isabelle had to shout to be heard above the deafening noise.

“You have no need to fear!” she bellowed. “We have planned extensively for this eventuality. Through the doors behind me there is a secret entrance to a cave leading deep into the mountain that this castle was built upon. Inside there is wood for fires, toys for the children and food and water as well as warm blankets. I will now ask that you follow the instruction of Queen Esmeralda as she directs you in small groups into the cave. Please remain calm and do not panic. The cave is a closely guarded secret and the rebels are not likely to find you there. I am asking that every able-bodied man, both noble and common, lend a hand in defending Guthrie Hall. Armor and weapons are on the way, enough for every man here. These are your women and children,” she entreated them, sweeping her hand toward the crying women and frightened children in the crowd. “You must stand with me in their defense.”

When every man in the crowd had either nodded or shouted his allegiance, both common man and privileged lord, Isabelle smiled and continued. “Queen Esmeralda will now guide you into the cave in groups. Women, children and elderly into the cave. Men, remain here and await my instruction.”

As the women, children, and elderly moved slowly toward the platform to await Esmeralda, Isabelle turned to her friend. “You must keep them calm Esmeralda,” she said. “We cannot afford for anyone to panic, it would frighten the rest of them.”

Esmeralda nodded as Raina, Desmond and Akira appeared beside them.

“We cannot find Tatiana,” Raina cried, worry in her voice as she searched the ballroom with tear-filled eyes, clutching baby Leila to her chest. “She said she was going to lie down for a bit after the sleigh rides, but she has yet to return. Someone must go and find her!”

“She is gone,” said Akira, her eyes clouded as she stared unseeingly across the room. She pressed her hand to her forehead and shook her head. “There is a note on her bed,” she said slowly as if reaching for something with her mind. “She has gone with Lord Andrew to elope.”

Esmeralda gasped. “That swine!”

Isabelle frowned. “We will worry about Tatiana later,” she said grimly. “If she has gone with Lord Andrew, then she may be safer than us all. After this is over, we will spread the word that she is missing.”

“I hope she hasn’t married him,” Esmeralda said, her voice thick with concern. “I hope we can stop her in time.”

“It’s too late,” Akira whispered so low that only Isabelle could hear her.

“Let’s get moving,” she said to Esmeralda. She turned to Desmond. “Do you know how to use a sword?”

Raina and Esmeralda gasped. Esmeralda’s arm came protectively around her brother. “No Isabelle,” she said firmly, her yellow-gold eyes flaming in rebellion as she pushed her younger brother behind her. “Not Desmond.”

Desmond placed a hand on Esmeralda’s shoulder and kissed his mother’s cheek before stepping from behind them. “It’s all right Esmeralda,” he said. For the first time, Isabelle noticed the deep bass of his voice. When she’d first met Desmond, he’d been a scrawny seventeen year-old. Two years had added muscle to his long frame, and a great deal of hair to his face. He squared his shoulders resolutely. “Damien and Serge have been teaching me the sword. I am not as good as they are, but I am adequate enough. I will go with you.”

Tears flowed freely down Raina’s cheek as she clasped her son’s hand tightly. “Please be careful,” she begged him before turning away. Akira and Esmeralda followed. Isabelle led Desmond toward the small gathering of men who had volunteered to fight. Vernon appeared, leading the men he had found. Each held an arm full of armor or weapons. Once everything had been spread out on the ballroom floor, Vernon, Francis, Nicholas, and Thomas began assisting the men with strapping on armor and choosing weapons.

Ava, Hanako, and Mudiwa appeared, also dressed and girded for battle. Hanako handed Isabelle her breeches and tunic. Ava carried her sword, bow and quiver, Mudiwa toted her armor. Isabelle ducked into the hall and changed while Ava stood watch. She tossed her gown and undergarments aside and allowed Ava and Hanako to assist her in putting on her armor.

A footman came scurrying down the hall just as she strapped her sword around her hips. “Your Highness,” the footman choked between shaky breaths. “Lord Primus sends word from the east tower. He says the rebels are now on the horizon and riding fast. They will be here in less than an hour.”

Isabelle’s heartbeat quickened, but she maintained her outward mask of calm. “Tell the men to gather in the courtyard,” she instructed.

Isabelle walked swiftly down the corridor to the main hall. She flung open the front doors and made her way toward the outer curtain wall and the stairs leading up to the east tower. Primus stood at the top, his gaze locked on the approaching hoard of rebels on the horizon. Isabelle’s throat nearly closed as the black cloud of approaching soldiers filled her vision. Her knees trembled and her hands began to sweat inside her gloves.

“The men are gathering in the courtyard,” she said shakily.

Primus nodded. “Good. We have just enough time to get everyone into position.”

. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and waited for her to meet his gaze. “Your Highness, I will ride with you to the death,” he said. “I will fight for you like I fought for your mother and father. The rebels tried to take Guthrie Hall once, and though they succeeded in taking many lives, they failed in their goal of bringing Barony to its knees. The people will rise up, as they did before. This time I pray we will be successful in squashing the rebellion once and for all.”

Encouraged by his words, Isabelle squared her shoulders. She heard the soldiers filing into the courtyard and turned to descend the stairs. They stood waiting for her, with Ava and Vernon standing at the forefront. All eyes locked on her as she came into view. She found a crate nearby and decided to use it as a platform of sorts so that everyone could see her as she spoke.

“I want to thank you for standing up with me today,” she said, her eyes connecting with each and everyone one of them, one at a time. “I realize that most of you are not soldiers. Some of you are shopkeepers and farmers; some of you are privileged lords who have never worked one day in your lives. Many of you have never had to raise your sword in defense of anything. I understand how you must be feeling. Not so long ago I was a pampered princess who had no insight into the horrors of war or death.  Many of you have been able to do nothing more than watch as your villages and homes are burned and your families terrorized. I say unto you today that enough is enough! Now is our chance to stand and fight! Now is our chance to prove our mettle and show those rebels that we will not be moved! Now is the time to stand up to those injustices! We may be outnumbered and outmatched in skill, but damn it we will not surrender! We will not fall. We will give them hell before we do!”

The roar that met her ears was deafening. Men yelled and hooted, they stamped their feet, they banged their swords and shields against the cobblestones. Isabelle felt a tear roll down her cheek as she surveyed them all, pride swelling in her chest. She remembered her dream and hope filled her heart. The great warrior that she had seen in her dreams would now be put to the test. She would not fail.

****

Serge was flooded with relief when he rode into Gladstone to find that the women’s regiment had beaten the rebels back and had even captured few. A large blonde woman that Serge remembered as Nell stepped forward and bowed. Serge’s eyebrows shot upward at the massive club she held between her meaty fingers.

“It would seem that we were not needed here,” Serge said with a chuckle. “You seem to have the rebels well in hand.”

Unexpectedly, Nell frowned. “Why would you think otherwise, Your Highness? The attack was not well executed and their numbers were small. They may have been ignorant enough to underestimate the women’s regiment, but everyone knows that we are more than capable of holding our own.”

Damien dismounted and came to join them, a frown creasing his forehead. “We were led to believe that you were outmatched and in grave danger. We set out from Guthrie Hall immediately.”

Dread formed deep in Serge’s middle before spreading outward until he was tingling with it. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end as his eyes locked with Nell’s.

“It was a distraction,” Serge said, his voice hoarse as equal parts fear and grief washed over him. He had urged his wife to stay at Guthrie Hall and now she and everyone else with her could be in grave danger.

Damien’s face blanched and he cursed violently. “We have to get back,” he said once he’d finished damning all the rebels to Hades. “We’ll have to ride fast and hope that the rebels haven’t reached Guthrie Hall yet.”

Serge felt nausea curling in his stomach and fought the urge to become violently ill. He fought against the turn of his thoughts when he realized that they could already be dead or captured. Forcing down the bile that had risen in his throat, he turned to Nell. “Have every one of your women ready to ride for Guthrie Hall in five minutes,” he said before turning back toward his waiting horse.”

“What about the prisoners, Your Highness?”

Serge paused and glared at Nell over his shoulder. His jaw hardened and his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. “Execute them,” he said. “I have no more mercy to spare for these black-hearted bastards.”

Chapter 19

“Archers ready!” Isabelle shouted from where she stood in the east tower, her eyes locked on the rebels. They were riding hard and closing in fast. She held one arm up in a signal to the archers lining the outer wall. Mudiwa and Hanako stood together at the center. Each of them notched an arrow to their bowstrings and raised their bows.

“Steady!”

Isabelle watched, waiting for the rebels to draw close enough to be affected by flying arrows. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted Lucius Winthrop at the front of the pack, his sword raised high as his mount charged toward the castle. She remembered what Serge had told her of the man’s cruelty. Isabelle vowed to end his life should she find him at the other end of her sword.

She could see that four riders held a battering ram between them fashioned from the trunk of a large tree, no doubt they intended to break down the castle gates. Down in the courtyard below, those who were not skilled archers waited with their swords, clubs, pistols, and axes.

“Come on,” Isabelle whispered as the rebel force drew nearer. “Just a little bit closer.”

Time seemed to stretch on forever as they watched their enemy closing in. Many began to slow as they realized they were being targeted by archers. Having expected to surprise Guthrie Hall with their attack, they seemed to not know what to do when they realized that they were sitting ducks.

“Fire!” Isabelle screamed. The arrows flew through the air with a synchronized hiss before finding their targets. Many fell from the saddle with arrows imbedded in their flesh. “Fire at will!”

The battering ram was brought forward as arrows continued to rain down on the rebels. Several men lifted the heavy tree trunk and within seconds the curtain wall was shaking. “It will not take them long to break through the gate,” Primus said as he turned to her from where he’d been watching. “We should go down to the courtyard and prepare to defend the castle, Your Highness.”

Isabelle felt a lump rising in her throat and fear creeping up her spine. She forced the lump down and squared her shoulders before motioning for Primus to precede her down the stairs to the courtyard. “Please hurry back Serge,” she whispered to the wind as she made her way down the stairs.

She knew that the return of Serge and the rest of the soldiers could be their salvation, but only if they arrived in time. Isabelle knew that the fate of those hiding in the caves rested on how long she could continue to hold down their defense. When she reached the courtyard, she found the men watching, wide eyed as the battering ram pounding against the gate. Isabelle’s eyes narrowed as she watched. She could see the rebels through the gate, many of them cheering and whistling as the gates shook and bent from the battering ram’s powerful blows.

Isabelle retrieved her bow and notched an arrow. She closed one eye and aimed through the iron bars of the gate. Isabelle inhaled as Mudiwa had taught her and exhaled as she relaxed her fingers to release the bow string. Her arrow struck true, whizzing through the iron bars and into the throat of a rebel. Isabelle smiled in satisfaction.

“Archers, to the gate!” she shouted before notching another arrow. The thunderous sound of the archers’ feet flooded her ears as they descended to join her in taking down as many of the rebels as they could with their arrows.

The gates groaned and creaked and Isabelle realized that only seconds remained before the courtyard would be flooded with rebels. She replaced her bow and turned to her gathered men and women. Many still looked frightened.

“Hold this line,” she commanded over her shoulder. “We cannot allow them entrance into the castle. We must hold them back until King Serge and King Damien return. They are surely near by now.”

As she noticed the sun beginning to dip behind the horizon, Isabelle prayed fervently that she was right. Beside her Ava clenched the handles of her battle axes tightly and glared at the rebels through the gate. At her other side Desmond trembled. She grasped his hand and felt it still in hers. “Steady Desmond,” she said gently. “Just breathe and try to remember what you’ve been taught.”

A few more minutes with the battering ram and the rebels tore the gate off its hinges and began flooding the courtyard. Isabelle raised her sword and signaled her men to attack.

She barely had time to think as she countered an attack before plunging her sword into a rebel soldier. The hot gush of his blood stained her hands and face. Isabelle watched in wide-eyed horror as he fell at her feet. She quickly snapped herself out of her stupor when another rebel rose in that one’s place to attack her.

She had told herself to remember everything that she had learned in Gladstone, but she found as she fought off attack after attack, that there was no time to think. Isabelle allowed her body to move from memory, allowing her mind to go almost completely blank as she fought for her life. A few rebels managed to slip past their formation, but Mudiwa quickly dispatched them with her rifle. Some of the archers had gone back to the curtain wall, led by Hanako, and continued firing arrows down into the fray. The rebels fired their own arrows into the crowd as well.

“Hold the line!” Isabelle shouted as she lifted her foot to kick her opponent in the chest before slamming his head into the ground with the hilt of her sword. He fell unconscious at her feet. She stepped over him and raised her eyes to the horizon.

Her heart soared as she recognized the Barony battle standard. The men around her began to cheer as they realized their king had arrived. They fought with renewed vigor, determined to hold their defense for the several minutes it would take Serge to reach the gates.

Isabelle felt pain exploding in her leg. She looked down and found an arrow sticking out of her thigh. A crimson stain spread rapidly on her breeches. She glanced up to find Ava’s eyes on her, wide with horror. Isabelle reached down to grab the arrow. Ava leaped toward her and grasped her wrist.

“No, Your Majesty! Don’t pull it out. You’ll do more damage than good.

Ava wrapped Isabelle’s arm around her shoulder and dragged her toward the stairs leading to the main hall. She forced Isabelle to stand still while she broke off the feathered end of the arrow, leaving most of it in her thigh. Isabelle groaned in agony as Ava ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom of her own tunic before binding her thigh tightly. Isabelle gritted her teeth and waited for Ava to finish tending to her.

“You should go to the infirmary,” Ava said as she helped Isabelle to her feet. “That leg could become infected.”

Isabelle tested her weight on the injured leg. It stung like hell but she found that she was able to abide walking so long as she ignored the pain. “Later,” she rasped as she lifted her sword. “I won’t stop until Serge arrives. We must hold them back a bit longer.”

Ava stepped aside, not daring to stand in Isabelle’s way, though she could not stop her gaze from wandering to her queen every few seconds to assure herself that she was all right.

****

Serge unsheathed his sword as they neared Guthrie Hall. He pulled one loaded pistol from his belt before yanking on the reigns and dismounted. Every man under his command followed suit and they charged as one toward the castle gate. Rebels mingled with Barony’s villagers and lords. The cries of the wounded and dying assaulted his ears as he leaped right into the fray.

He searched unsuccessfully for Isabelle as he fought, but he could not find her amidst the chaos. Vernon appeared at his side, his hands and face stained with blood and grime.

“Impeccable timing Your Majesty,” he said before running his sword through a rebel.

“Where’s Isabelle?” Serge asked as he fired a shot with his pistol.

“Somewhere in this madness,” Vernon replied grimly. “Your wife may have saved us all with her bravery.”

“I do not doubt it,” Serge said before moving away from the bodyguard. He fought his way toward the front doors of the castle, praying fervently that Isabelle had had enough sense to stay close to the inside in case things got too heated.

He had just spotted the top of her head when a rebel shrouded in black stepped between them and filled his vision. His hand balled into a fist at his side and trembled in barely suppressed rage as he recognized his adversary.

“Lucius,” he spat, narrowing his eyes.

“Your Highness,” he responded with a chuckle. “It’s about time you showed up. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to miss out on all the fun.”

“Not a chance, you swine.”

Serge went on the offensive, fighting for control over his boiling rage as he attacked. He knew that Lucius was both cold and calculating, losing his head could only lead to his death. Lucius countered his every attack expertly, his arm moving with the expert and fluid motions of one familiar with his weapon.

Serge felt his muscles screaming out in fatigue. After hours in the saddle to and from Gladstone, he was growing weary. His leg ached, but he focused on the fight and steeled himself for the undoubtedly long night ahead of them. The sun had almost disappeared in the distance and soon the full moon would be glowing above them. Serge prayed for the strength to continue on as he focused all of his energy on landing a fatal blow to his opponent.

Lucius feinted left and then struck right, thrusting his sword into Serge’s side. Serge clutched at the wound as he fell to one knee. He faintly heard feminine screams behind him as pain wracked his body. His vision blurred and Lucius’s face swam before his eyes. Lifting his clouded eyes to Lucius, his hand curled around the hilt of his sword. He urged the man closer, hoping that he would step close enough for Serge to surprise him. Serve fought against dizziness as blood drained from the wound in his side. He was weak, but had mustered up enough strength for one last attack.

Lucius stood over him, his mouth quirked up into a sardonic smirk. “You are not the first king to fall at the hands of a Winthrop,” he sneered, “but you will be the last.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” snarled a feminine voice.

“Dear God no,” Serge moaned, struggling to his feet as Lucius turned to face the voice.

Isabelle stood inches away, her sword raised and her eyes defiant. “If you want him, you’ll have to kill me first,” she cried, her chest heaving. By the time Serge had regained his balance and shook away the haze that clouded his consciousness, Lucius had already turned toward Isabelle, his sword raised.

His laughter as he walked toward her was sickening. Isabelle’s icy blue eyes narrowed as she parted her feet and bent her knees, motioning for Lucius to come for her.

“Isabelle no!” he bellowed, stumbling toward them. He was not fast enough. Within seconds, Lucius had lunged at Isabelle. He could only watch, his sword at the ready, waiting for an opening. If he tried to intercede too soon, he could distract Isabelle and she could be killed. He concentrated on drawing upon the last of his strength so that he would be ready when the time came.

He was surprised at Isabelle’s skill as she countered every attack expertly. She wielded her sword with surprising grace and speed and Serge could not tear his eyes away from her. She was like some kind of warrior goddess, her hair in wild disarray around her head, her face smeared with dirt and blood, yet still beautiful in its awesome fury.

He silently cheered her on, his sharp eyes still watching for an opening. The wound in her leg was obviously paining her and after a while she slowed, struggling to keep her balance on the undoubtedly throbbing leg. When Lucius brought his fist down on Isabelle’s wrist and her sword clattered to the ground, Serge launched himself forward.

He caught Lucius around his middle and took him to the ground, but not before his fist had connected with Isabelle’s jaw. She fell to the cobblestones. Serge snarled his rage as he cocked his fist back before slamming it into Lucius face. Cartilage and bone snapped beneath his knuckles and he distinctly heard the sickening crack of Lucius’ nose breaking. Pain flashed briefly in his eyes before he countered by digging his fingers viciously into Serge’s open wound.

Stars filled his vision and he struggled to maintain consciousness. In the moments that Serge fought to breathe through the pain, Lucius had reversed their positions so that Serge was now on his back. Lucius loomed over him, his eyes alight with madness, a hideous grin curling his lips back away from his teeth.

“Let it be known from this day forward that I was the one who toppled the mighty King Serge from his throne.”

Serge saw the flashing of the dagger in Lucius’ hand as he raised it, poised to kill. Before he could deliver his fatal blow, a hot spray of blood soaked Serge’s shirt and armor. The swine’s eyes widened, his mouth open in surprise, Lucius fell back onto the cobblestones, an arrow protruding from his neck. As he choked and gurgled, Serge lifted his head to find Isabelle standing a few feet away, her empty bow still raised in her hand. Serge’s heart swelled with pride as he turned to Lucius and laughed. The man lay beside him, choking and gasping for air as the flow of blood surged, soaking his clothes and the ground in the crimson gore.

“Let it be known from this day forward that the mighty leader of the rebellion was brought low by a woman,” he said with a chuckle. As Lucius lay choking and writhing on the cobblestones, Serge’s hand closed around the butt of his pistol. With one clean shot between the eyebrows, he put the rebel leader out of his misery.

He dropped his pistol, clutched at his side and groaned at the pain, taking Isabelle’s hand. She helped him into a seated position. Isabelle pointed to where Ava had gathered the men for one last hurrah and he fought dizziness and forced his eyes to focus on the scene before him.

Discouraged by the death of their leader, the rebel army quaked in fear as Primus led the charge with Ava beside him. The battle standard flew from Ava’s hand, high over their heads. Intimidated by Barony’s final show of strength, they remaining rebels turned tail and ran. Primus ordered the archers to take the cowards out and with one last volley of arrows, the last of the enemy’s forces was wiped out.

A great cry went up from the men and women who had fought so diligently against the rebels. Isabelle fell into his arms, crying deliriously into his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around her and used his other to keep them from toppling back onto the ground.

When she pulled away, he wiped at the tears that had left streaks of her skin showing through the grime on her face. “You’re hurt,” she said as she watched the blood draining from the wound in his side.

He shrugged and laughed. “Just another scar among many I’m afraid.”

“You’re going to be all right,” she said firmly as if commanding him to live. “You have been through worse.”

“Yes, I will be all right because you saved me,” he whispered, brushing at a strand of hair in her face.

She smiled through her tears and reached up to cover his hand with hers. “How could I not?”

Her voice was the last thing he heard before the edge of his vision grew hazy. As he fell limp in her arms, the world around him faded to black.

Once she was assured he was still alive, Isabelle reluctantly allowed Primus and Nell to carry Serge off to the infirmary. She wanted to go to the cave and inform those inside that the battle had been won, but Ava would not allow it.

“I will see to them, Your Highness. You need to have your wound tended to. If you do not have the rest of that arrow removed soon, you’ll contract an infection.”

Seeing the wisdom in Ava’s logic, she allowed Hanako and Mudiwa to escort her to the infirmary, trusting Ava to see to those hiding within the cave. The pain of the arrow being removed was so great that Isabelle nearly blacked out. She fought for consciousness as Akira’s face appeared within her line of vision. She had shooed the physician away after he removed the arrow and was now applying a foul-smelling poultice to the burning wound. Already heat and redness were spreading along the outer edge of the hole in her thigh.

“What in God’s name is that?” Isabelle wrinkled her nose at the pungent odor.

Akira chuckled as she wrapped a bandage around her thigh to hold the poultice in place. “It will keep you from fever and infection,” she said as she tied the bandage. “You may be sore and limp for a few days, but you’ll live.”

Isabelle studied the Gypsy woman as she removed the bloody rags from the small cot Isabelle had been lying on. When Akira’s eyes met hers, Isabelle couldn’t help but smile. “You knew this was going to happen all along, didn’t you?”

Akira shrugged, fighting the smile that was tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps,” she answered cryptically.

“And what of my dream of Lionus?” she questioned as she stood and tested her full weight on her injured leg. “Will you confess being responsible for that?”

Akira’s puzzled frown was genuine as her head came up sharply. “What dream?”

Isabelle fell silent as Akira moved on to the next cot to tend to Desmond, who had sustained a deep cut on his arm but was otherwise fine. Her mind reeled as she thought over her dream once more. Akira had not been responsible for it, as Isabelle had first suspected. It could only mean one thing, she told herself as she left the infirmary, walking slowly to favor her injured leg.

She loved Serge.

The realization hit her in the face like she’d been doused with cold water and she nearly collapsed onto the floor from the force of it. She loved him, really loved him. It went beyond everything physical, everything visceral and everything intellectual. Isabelle was madly, truly in love with the man who had been her best friend her entire life.

Her heart sang as Lionus’ last words to her in the dream flittered through her mind. It’s time to let go. It was time, she decided as she made her way to her chambers to wash and change. After she was presentable she would check in on Serge. Hopefully he would regain consciousness so that she could pour her heart out to him; it was near to bursting with the new revelation of her love.

You’re right Lionus, she thought, it is time to let go. It is also time to move on.

****

Hours later, Serge still had not awakened. Isabelle sat beside his bed, praying and waiting for him to find consciousness. Fever raged and ravaged his body. Akira had done all she could to avoid infection, but it had come anyway.

As she sat in the chair beside him, her hand wrapped tightly around his, her mind traveled back to the entire year she had spent in this exact same position. After Lionus’ death, there had been nothing left to hope for except for the possibility that Serge could someday awaken.

Now that the war had been won and everything was right again, Serge was once again teetering on the edge of death. He shivered beneath the covers, yet his skin was scorching hot to the touch. His teeth chattered and he mumbled incoherently as he tossed and turned in the bed. The fever raged on for three days.

She and Akira took turns sitting with him, changing the bandages wrapped around his middle and the poultice Akira had mixed to draw the venomous infection from his wound. Twice a day they forced broth down his throat and bathed his body with cool water.

On the morning of the fourth day, Isabelle was relieved to find him resting peacefully, his temperature normal. She collapsed in the chair beside him. Folding her hands on the bed, she rested her head next to his.

“Serge,” she whispered, reaching out to stroke his freshly washed hair, “You have to wake up. I need you to live so that I can tell you that I love you.” Emboldened by his silence and state of unconsciousness, she continued on. “I think I made a mistake before when I said I couldn’t possibly ever love you. You see, I thought that to love you I had to stop loving Lionus, but I was wrong. I was afraid that if I surrendered myself to you that I would lose Lionus’ memory. I was afraid that I would forget him. But now I know better. I’ve let go of him now, Serge. I’ve let go because now I have you. You. Not an extension of Lionus or Damien. I have you, the man who knows me better than anyone; who knows how much I love strawberries and cream and sunsets. The man who loved me enough to buy me a dagger and a book about a female warrior for Christmas because he knew that I would appreciate it more than a meaningless trinket. The man who taught me how to love again. So, you see, you can’t die. You have to live so we can be together. You have to fight, Serge.”

She sighed with relief, collapsing on the bed beside him.  Her relief over having finally confessed her love, combined with the elation of knowing that the worst of his illness was over caused Isabelle to relax. She laid her head on the pillow beside him. Isabelle was asleep in minutes.

Serge opened his eyes and stared down into Isabelle’s sleeping face. He smiled as he reached out to stroke her hair. He had stirred toward wakefulness just as Isabelle had come into the room. Serge was been about to open his eyes and greet her when she began pouring her heart out.

Knowing that she would never be so honest if he were awake, he continued feigning sleep and listened. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep from sitting up in the bed and crushing her against him. As he stared down at her, he saw the dark smudges under her eyes and knew that she was exhausted. He would let her sleep now.

His heart was so full and heavy and his joy so great, that he completely forgot about the throbbing pain in his side. Just as before, Isabelle’s voice had drawn him out of the darkness and pulled him away from death. Just as before, when he awakened to find her beside him, he was elated to see her there.

This time, though, he was filled with a hope and a joy that could not be matched. As he closed his eyes again and gave himself back over to slumber, a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. She loved him.

Chapter 20

The entire royal court was assembling for an event that Serge had managed to keep a secret. Isabelle had no idea what was going on and no one seemed to want to tell her. Whenever she asked Damien or Esmeralda what Serge had planned, they remained tight-lipped, telling her that she would just have to wait and find out for herself.

As she donned her formal court attire, Esmeralda entered her room, her face weary and drawn. Tatiana still had not reappeared, though Damien and Serge had sent a search party to every village in search of her.

“I pray that they haven’t left the country,” she said as she helped Isabelle rifle through the massive chest containing what was left of the Guthrie family jewels. “I have heard that Lord Andrew is in possession of a small vessel that sails to and from Cardenas frequently. Tatiana’s taste for adventure would prompt her to follow Lord Andrew anywhere if he so asked.”

Isabelle placed a comforting hand on Esmeralda’s shoulders. “We’ll find her,” she said softly. “Don’t worry. Besides, she is probably deliriously happy right now. Granted, I do not approve of what she has done, but perhaps marriage will be good for her.”

Esmeralda forced a tiny smile and nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I do hope that she at least sends word soon. Mother is so very worried and so am I.”

Esmeralda turned her attention back to the jewelry chest. She helped Isabelle choose a diamond choker and matching earrings. The two women embraced tightly.

“You are the bravest woman I know,” Esmeralda said, her voice thick with emotion. “The people of Barony are fortunate to have you as their queen.”

Isabelle smiled and looped her arm through her friend’s. “Let’s go,” she said as they headed toward the door. “No doubt the men have grown restless waiting for us.”

Serge’s valet had just finished tying his cravat when a knock sounded from the other side of the door. Just a few weeks after his injury, he was his old self again. The villagers had all returned to their homes, with the exception of the women’s regiment. He had asked them to remain for the ceremony he had planned.

“Enter,” said Serge distractedly as he inspected his appearance in the full-length mirror. He nodded his approval to the valet and dismissed him. When he turned, he found Primus standing in the doorway. They had not spoken since Christmas Eve. Ever since he had left his sickbed, the man had been unusually quiet and pensive. Serge chalked it up to embarrassment on Primus’ part for his behavior at the ball.

Primus stepped into the dressing room and cleared his throat. “Your Highness, I know that we are to leave for the chapel soon but I was hoping you and I could talk first.”

Serge clasped his hands behind his back and nodded slowly. “What is on your mind?” he asked.

“I feel that I owe you an apology as well as an explanation.”

“No explanation is necessary, Lord Primus. Even the best of men have succumbed to bad behavior while under the influence of drink.”

“But I do need to explain,” Primus replied. “I need you to understand.”

Serge nodded for him to continue.

“I thought that I was in love with Her Majesty. You see, I always had very strong feelings for her mother.”

When Serge’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise, Primus smiled.

“It’s strange, I know,” he continued. “Her husband was my best friend, but I wanted her.” He lowered his gaze to his polished boots. “She was like a fever in my blood. Nothing ever came of it, of course. She never even knew how I felt and I loved my friend too much to stoop so low as to pursue his wife. It was both a pleasure and a searing pain to have them both in my life.”

“I understand completely,” Serge said truthfully. When Primus’ confused gaze met him, Serge shrugged. “Isabelle was betrothed to my brother our entire lives. I despaired every moment of every day knowing that she would marry him when I wanted her so badly for myself. In a way, I know exactly how you felt.”

Primus’ shoulders sagged with relief at the king’s understanding. “When I saw Isabelle again after all this time…she looked so much like her mother, and I just…I fear I may have confused the two in my mind and transferred my feelings for the mother to the daughter. It’s completely sick and wrong, I know, but I’ve come to understand my error. You have my complete assurance that my behavior at the ball will never be repeated. If you were to see fit to dismiss me, I would understand.”

Serge stroked his jaw thoughtfully, studying Primus carefully. The man appeared completely honest and contrite, and Serge could not find it in his heart to remain angry with him. “Isabelle told me what you did,” he said. “If it weren’t for your brave actions, Guthrie Hall would have been completely vulnerable to the attack. My wife might have been lost to me forever. For that you have not only my forgiveness, but my undying gratitude as well.”

A wide grin spread across Primus’ face as he extended his hand to Serge. Serge grasped it firmly and shook it. The two turned together to exit the dressing room.

Isabelle stood at the altar of the cathedral, gazing into the faces of the gathered court. Each and every one had turned out in resplendent dress and the room fairly buzzed with excitement as they looked on. Serge stood with Damien and Primus on either side of him. Ava, Mudiwa, Hanako, and Nell stood with her.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the court,” Serge began, “I have asked you here to today to honor the brave women that saved the lives of many in this room with their bravery and selfless actions. It was said that a king would be the salvation of Barony, that by returning your princess to her rightful place and leading your armies, he would restore this province to its former glory. As I stand here today, I can say with conviction that no man can claim to be the savior of Barony. She saved me. Isabelle has saved us all. I am honored to present to you today, the person most deserving of your gratitude, a woman no less. My wife, Queen Isabelle.”

The applause that met her ears was thunderous. She met Serge’s eyes questioningly as he drew his sword. He smiled at her before turning to Ava, Hanako, Mudiwa, and Nell. “Kneel, brave warriors,” he said. Each woman, also decked out in rich court attire, knelt slowly. As the realization of what was about to happen hit Isabelle, she was grateful to already be on her knees. She lowered her head to hide her tears as Serge continued.

“Never in the history of Barony has a female soldier been knighted. In my opinion, this is an antiquated tradition, and a slap in the face to every woman that has ever laid down her life for the people here today. So I am proud to name you Isabelle Largess, Ava Longley, Nell Gibbs, Mudiwa Akua, and Hanako Kiyomi, Knights of Barony. For your bravery and courage I am proud to bestow this honor upon you, the warrior women of Barony.”

The tip of Serge’s sword rested on both of Isabelle’s shoulders. She looked up to watch him do the same to each of her friends. Tears streamed unchecked down Ava’s cheeks. The five women reached out to clasp each other’s hands as they rose and lowered their heads to accept the gleaming medals that Serge placed around each of their necks. He motioned for them to turn toward the court, which had risen to its feet.

“My lords and ladies,” Serge said proudly. “I present unto you, Isabelle Largess, your undoubted queen, and Ladies Longley, Gibbs, Akua, and Kiyomi, the Lady Knights of Barony.”

The tears flowed unchecked this time as every head of every courtier lowered. One by one they fell to their knees, their hands clasped before them in reverence for not just her, but the others as well. They bowed to Nell, the fierce club-wielding horse master with a heart of gold. They bowed to Mudiwa, an African refugee who had almost ended her life but now had a purpose as one of Barony’s protectors. They bowed to Hanako, the quiet but fierce woman who had defied her parents to start a new life. They bowed to Ava, the brave captain who had transformed a princess into a warrior queen. Isabelle raised her chin and smiled, proud to be a part of what these women stood for, courage, bravery, and sisterhood.

****

That night, Serge waited by the fire in his chambers waiting for Isabelle to come to him. She was preparing for bed in her chambers and had promised to come as soon as she’d finished. Serge stared into the flames, warmed by both the flames and the events of an emotional day. He was more than pleased with his decision to lift the restriction barring lady knights in Barony. His wife and her friends had more than earned the honor.

As he stared into the fireplace, his fingers habitually moving over the scar on his face, he thought back over Isabelle’s confession beside his bed weeks before. She had yet to say the words to him aloud since, though Serge had sensed a renewed passion in her when he took her to his bed at night. He so longed to hear the words from her mouth again, but knew that he should not press her. Serge knew that Isabelle loved him, felt it in every touch of her lips. He would wait patiently for her to say the words to him.

He was shaken out of his dream-like state when Isabelle appeared within his line of vision. Dressed in an ivory nightgown that hugged her breasts and generous hips before flowing to the floor, she looked like a vision from a dream. She stood nervously, fiddling with her wedding band as she watched him through lowered eyelids.

“Is there something bothering you?” he asked gently, watching her closely. She was nervous, he could see, and he had a feeling he knew why.

She shook her head and her luminous waves bounced around her face and shoulders. “No,” she said quietly, “but there is something I need to tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you so many times these last weeks but I never could find the courage or the right time.”

She paused and lowered her eyes again. Serge decided to have pity on her and smiled. “Darling, I already know what this is about.”

Her startled gaze met his and he laughed. “You do?” she asked, unconsciously taking a step closer to where he sat watching her.

He nodded. “I do. I wasn’t asleep that day. I heard every word you said. I know that you love me.”

The tension left her shoulders as she breathed a sigh of relief aloud. “I am so glad you know,” she said. “I’m so sorry for all that I put you through because I didn’t realize it before. I could have saved us both a lot of trouble.”

“While that is definitely true, I cannot deny that hearing you say the words I’ve long to hear you say for so long make it worth everything we have been through.”

When she fell silent and remained where she stood, staring nervously down at her feet, Serge reached out for her. “Come here Isabelle,” he said softly.

Her feet moved noiselessly on the carpet as she came toward him. When she stopped, she stood between his long legs. He gazed up at her and took one of her hands in his. “I was an insensitive ass,” he said. “I wanted your love so badly that it hurt. I wanted it so badly that I forgot about the bond you shared with my brother. In my jealousy I was not as sensitive as I could have been to your pain.”

She sank slowly onto his knee and took his face in her hands. Her eyes burned into his as she stared at him.

“What is it?” he asked as she stared at him wordlessly.

Her fingers reached up to trace the jagged scar slashing across his cheek. She ran those fingers over the line of his jaw to his lips. “I want to remember this night,” she said, lowering her head toward his. “I want to remember just the way you looked when I told you our surprising news.”

Serge leaned back to look her more fully in the eye. “What surprising news?”

A slow smile crept over her face as she took his hand and pressed it to her middle. Joy welled up in him so swiftly. He could barely contain it. “A child?” he asked, staring at her in wonder. Outwardly, she appeared the same to him, but within his seed had taken and sprung forth a new life. Her nod and widening smile confirmed it. He crushed her against him and buried his face in her hair. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “I’m going to be a father.”

He lifted his mouth toward hers and kissed her soundly.

“Akira says the baby should be here by summer.”

“Summer,” he said with a nod and a smile. “I can hardly wait for our new addition.”

“Actually,” Isabelle said with a laugh, “there should be two new additions.”

Serge blanched. “Twins?”

Isabelle shook with laughter. “No silly, not that I would know! I mean Damien and Esmeralda.”

Serge just knew he would need someone to scrape his jaw from the floor. “Does he know about this?” he managed once he’d snapped his mouth shut.

“No, so don’t say anything. I think she plans to tell him tonight as well. The two of you will have children the exact same age.”

Still reeling from her announcement, he could only stare up at her as she lowered her lips to his once more. She threaded her fingers through his hair and deepened their kiss, gifting him with the smooth slide of her tongue against his. His hands came up to her back, clutching her to him tightly and she loved his mouth with hers.

When she pressed a hand to his chest to push him back into the chair, he went willingly. He watched as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt and waistcoat, parting them both slowly. She pressed her hands against the heat of his skin, running her fingertips gently over the light dusting of golden hair across his chest. His pulse hammered at the junction between his throat and his collarbone as she bent her head toward him.

His head fell back and his eyes closed as her lips made contact with his tingling skin. Her hair tickled his chest as her lips moved over him and her tongue crept out to taste him. He held his breath as she moved steadily lower. The muscles in his abdomen and chest tightened as her lips seared his skin just above his belt buckle.

“Dear God woman,” he gasped as she slid his belt from its loop and unfastened his breeches. The fingernails on her other hand tickled his skin from chest to stomach. He quivered. “You really are a tease, you know that?”

She smiled up at him as she reached out to wrap one soft hand around the hard length of him. He gasped. “I’m a hussy, remember?” she said as she lowered her lips to the tip of him.

His breath came out on a moan as she opened her mouth to taste him. He gripped the arms of the chair to keep from rearing up out of the seat as she tormented him with her tongue. Serge could barely stand the torturous pleasure as he gazed down at her. Her eyelids rested on flushed cheeks and her hair fell in sensual disarray around her head.

He fought for control as he found himself spiraling toward the edge. Serge pulled himself back just before he could hurtle completely over the brink. With a rough jerk, he grasped her by her arms and tumbled her into his lap before he rose and carried her to the bed.

“What are you doing?” she laughed as he dumped her unceremoniously onto the bed before reaching for the hem of her nightgown.

“Taking control of this situation before you drive me out of my mind, my little minx.”

Isabelle fell back onto the pillows as he whipped the nightgown off over her head. She watched as he removed his shirt and waistcoat before completely stretching out across the bed. He parted her legs wide before opening his mouth and pressing it to her heated center. She jerked and quivered against him, held captive by his hold on her legs as he treated her to the same torture she had exercised on him. Isabelle writhed and shivered as her fingers clutched the bed sheets. He held her tighter as he felt the familiar spasms of her culmination against his lips. His name spilled from her lips as she screamed out her release, her heated flesh quivering against his tongue.

When the spasms stilled and she was all but limp from her rapture, he came up and lowered himself over her. He pressed his mouth against her neck and pressed against her entrance. “Tell me again Isabelle,” he whispered as he teased her with the tingling of anticipation, remaining just outside the love-slick walls of her sheath. “I need to hear you say it.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “I love you,” she whispered. With a groan of satisfaction, he clamped his mouth down over hers and drove home. As he loved her, his heart resonated within his chest. It sang of a future with a wife who loved him and a child that would adore him. It sang of battles fought and won, both past and to come. As he closed his eyes and soared toward heaven, it sang of a love that had once been unfathomable, but was now his reality.

****

Two months later…

The last snow of winter was finally melting away as spring began to appear. The grass that blanketed the grounds surrounding Largess Hall was turning green once again, and the smell of the freshness of the season filled the air.

Serge and Isabelle had come to Cardenas for a few weeks visit. After receiving word that Tatiana had been found in Ulas, they would be returning to Barony along with Damien and Esmeralda to retrieve her.

Many soldiers and volunteers still worked to rebuild Barony’s villages in their absence. From the letters they had received from Primus it would seem that things were going extremely well. Barony faced a long road to recovery, but Serge was confident that it would one day be restored to its former glory.

Serge and Isabelle now walked hand in hand over the rolling hills. The Largess family cemetery loomed in the distance. Today was Lionus’ birthday and since they were here they both felt it appropriate to pay him a visit. Serge held Isabelle close as he stared down at his brother’s headstone.

“I miss him,” he said, his voice strangled as he fought back tears. He still struggled with the fact that he had awakened to find that his brother had been dead for an entire year. Serge hadn’t even had the chance to say good-bye.

Isabelle leaned her head against his chest and sighed. “Me too,” she said.

They stood silently for a few moments before Isabelle pulled away from his embrace. “I have said my good-byes already,” she said. “I think you need some time alone to say yours.”

Serge’s heart warmed at her understanding. He leaned down to plant a kiss on her cheek and place a hand against the small mound that had started to show in her middle. “I’ll meet you back inside,” he said.

When she was gone, Serge turned back to the head stone. “You know,” he began, shoving his hands down into the pockets of his trousers, “I envied you most of my life. It seemed to me that you had everything, the crown within your grasp, a kingdom full of people who adored you and a woman who loved you more than life. I thought that I would spend my entire life playing second fiddle to you without any sort of identity of my own.” He paused as a lump welled up in his throat. He dashed the tears away from his eyes and sniffled. “Now that I am in the position you were in, I feel horrible for those thoughts. I could never imagine how burdened you must have been, knowing that the fate of Barony rested on your shoulders. I understand now why you had to be so uncompromising at times and why you had to put on a sober face for all of the people that look to you for guidance and leadership. I hope someday that I will be half as good a king as you would have been; the kind of king that our father would have wanted me to be.”

He turned to walked away, but had another thought and retreated back to the headstone. “You should know that Isabelle and I are expecting our first child,” he said with a smile. “I hope he is a boy so that we can name him after you.” His eyes lowered to his shoes as if Lionus were actually there staring at him. “I hope you can be happy for us, Lionus. I love her with all my heart and I promise you I’ll take care of her for as long as I live.”

With a deep, cleansing breath, Serge was finally able to turn away from his brother’s grave. He doubted he would ever return, even on his visits to Largess Hall. Good-byes were forever, after all. As he walked back toward the sprawling palace, his mind wandered back to the broken man who had awakened from a coma and found his life in pieces. Despite his many wounds and scars, he knew within his heart that he was now whole.

Isabelle waited for him on the courtyard steps. She gazed up at him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “All done?” she asked.

He looked down in to wide blue eyes and smiled. “Yes, my little minx,” he said, lifting her chin with his hand for a kiss. “I’m all done.”

“Good,” she said, turning toward the waiting carriage where Damien and Esmeralda were already waiting. “Let’s go home.”

Epilogue

The morning sunlight streaming through the window did nothing to cheer her gloomy disposition. As Tatiana reread the letter from her husband for the fifth time, her heart broke anew at his stinging betrayal.

My dearest Tatiana,

By the time you receive this note, I will be gone. Words cannot express to you the depth of my pain in this moment. It is with deep regret that I must end our marriage. Please do not despair my beautiful flower, you have done nothing wrong. The hearts of some men are so very fickle. I admit to being that very type of man. It is not that I am an unfeeling sort of fellow. After all, you and I did have some tender moments together didn’t we? I honestly thought in my heart that I loved you. I’ve come to see that we have made a terrible mistake. I hope that in time you will come to forgive me and that perhaps someday we can be friends again. In the meantime, perhaps you should go back to your family. I am sure they will be relieved to have you home once again.

Your heartbroken and contrite husband,

Lord Andrew Forsyth

After reading Andrew’s letter for the fifth time, Tatiana allowed the single sheet to flutter to the floor as she stared at the wall across from her. How could she have misjudged Andrew so badly? Foolishly, she had lapped up every word he said and taken it at face value.

Tatiana had left her family and stood before a minister to declare her undying love to him. She had given up so much for him and now he had left her after a few short months of marriage. Shame washed over her, followed by embarrassment and finally rage.

As she sat on the bed, staring unseeingly off into the distance, she heard footsteps on the stairs outside of her room at the inn. She knew that her cousin had received her letter and come for her. As Esmeralda flung the door open, Tatiana steeled herself for the inevitable lecture. For once, she would bear it in silence. It was no more than she deserved for allowing her impetuous nature to get her into trouble. Again.

As she followed Esmeralda silently down the stairs, toting her valise, Tatiana reached a very critical decision. Once inside the carriage, she turned a deaf ear to Esmeralda as she went on and on about the foolishness of her actions and the inevitable scandal to follow. How on earth would she make a good match now, Esmeralda wondered aloud.

Tatiana decided in that moment that she no longer cared. The glittering spectacle of the court no longer appealed to her. As she slipped her plain gold wedding band from her finger and allowed it to fall to the carriage floor, Tatiana raised her defiant chin and smiled as she gazed at the countryside through the open carriage window. She no longer cared if she made a good match at court, or if another man confessed his love to her or asked for her hand. Tatiana was never going to love again. She was never going to marry. In that instant, the last stone composing the wall around her heart fell into place.

Dear Reader,

I hope that you enjoyed reading ‘The Second Son’ as much as I enjoyed writing it. This book is the second in the ‘Kings of Cardenas’ family saga. Book 3, ‘Gypsy Rose’, will chronicle the story of the defiant and adventurous Tatiana. Will she find love despite her jaded heart? Well, you’ll just have to wait until Summer 2012 to find out, won’t you?

Happy Reading,

Elise

Historical Notes

While the kingdom of Barony and its regiment of female warriors is entirely fictional, the concept of women fighting to defend home and country is not as obscure as some may think. I learned a lot while researching historical women warriors in preparation to write this book. As it turns out, women like Isabelle have been kicking butt since the dawn of time!

The character Mudiwa hails from Africa. The Mino of the Fon tribe, were known to the Western settlers as the Dahomey Amazons. The actual existence of Amazons has been questioned over the years, but historically the stories of the Dahomey Amazons are accurate. The women were trained as royal body guards before being militarized. They learned to use rifles after the invasion of the white Westerners. Like Mudiwa, they were forbidden families and children so that they could focus entirely on their deadly craft.

Hanako hails from Japan. The onna-bugeisha, often called the female samurai, were also real figures in Japanese history. They were trained to defend their homes and family, and were considered part of an elite group. The onna-bugeisha became non-existent once the attitudes about male/female relations changed in Japan. Women were seen as servants and vessels for childbearing instead of equals.

There are so many other great women warriors in history, including Boudicca of England, Joan of Arc of France, Augustina de Aragon of Spain, and my personal favorite, Hua Mulan of China. Undoubtedly many of you have seen the popular Disney movie about the Chinese girl who joined the army dressed as a man to replace her old and infirm father. Her actual existence is still disputed today; the only record of her existence is the lyrical poem, The Ballad of Mulan. I like to think that she really did exist; her story, like those of the many others, serves as an inspiration to tough chicks everywhere.

About The Author

Elise Marion is a lover books and has a special place in her heart for sweet and sensual romance. Writing about love across all walks of life is her passion, as is reaching people through the written word. The Army wife and stay-at-home mother of two spends most of her time taking care of her children. Her second job includes writing stories about characters that people can fall in love with. When the Texas native isn’t caring for her family or writing, you can usually find her with her nose in a book, singing loudly, or cooking up something new in the kitchen.

More by Elise Marion

The Third Son (Kings of Cardenas Book #1)

Now available

The Lady Knights of Barony (Kings of Cardenas Book #2.5)

Now available

Fallen (Angels Among Us Book #1)

Now available

Tempted (Angels Among Us Book #2)

Now Available

Cake

Now Available

The Valentine’s Masquerade

Now Available

Coming Soon

The Secret Life of Avery O’Dea

Coming August 31 from

Bottom Drawer Publications

Redemption (Angels Among Us Book #3)

October/November 2012

Gypsy Rose (Kings of Cardenas Book #3)

December 2012/January 2013

The Mistress (Kings of Cardenas #3.5)

2013

The Gypsy (Kings of Cardenas)

2013

Please enjoy this excerpt from the next book in the Kings of Cardenas Series, The Lady Knights of Barony. Now available.

~Prologue~

Barony 1835

Riders cloaked in black hovered on the horizon like a swarm of angry wasps. The up and down motion of horses galloping was reminiscent of ships bobbing up and down on ocean waves. In a matter of minutes, the rebels would swarm the village. They would not ask for permission to enter, nor would they pause for pleasantries. Even from this distance, one could see that the intent of these riders was deadly.

Magnus Longley quickly locked the door to his shop, the tiny smithy at the heart of Gladstone. It was the most relied-upon business in the village. Everyone knew that Magnus Longley could be counted on when it came to the repair of a skillet or plow point. He was also a damn fine sword smith. As Magnus walked away from his shop, he glanced over his shoulder one last time, uttering a silent prayer that the small building would still be standing in the morning.

His long legs ate up the distance between the marketplace and his home. All around him people ran, their baskets full of supplies and their arms full of weapons. Tonight, they would do battle to save Gladstone. His eyes met those of the people he’d known his entire life; Matthew the baker, who now carried a sharpened axe, Timothy the reverend, who had traded in his Bible for a rifle, Grace the seamstress, who closed her shop with tears in her eyes and a dagger at her belt. Most of these people did not stand a chance, but by God, they would not go down without a fight.

Magnus’s heart swelled with pride as he turned down the lane toward the small two-bedroom cottage he shared with his wife and daughter. He was proud of the home he’d made with his beautiful Bella. His craftsmanship combined with her feminine touches created a cozy little corner of the world just for them. It was no castle, but as far as Magnus was concerned, it was fit for a king.

He could hear his wife and daughter bustling around as he neared the door. Magnus knew that they would be following his instructions to the letter as he had prepared them for this event.

The rebellion in Barony had come to a raging climax a few months ago when the king and queen were ruthlessly killed on the front steps of Guthrie Hall. Now the rebels were sweeping through the province, demanding loyalty for their leader, the merciless Silas Winthrop. Outraged by the murder of their beloved sovereigns, the people weren’t having it. They were fighting back, inciting riots and battles in the streets of Barony’s villages. Even those of noble blood were no longer safe, as evidenced by the deaths of the king and queen. Barony’s courtiers were prepared to fight as well. Just the other day Magnus had sharpened a sword for a young lord prepared to join the common man in battle.

Bella greeted him at the door, a rifle strapped to her back. Tendrils of honey blonde hair framed a heart-shaped face, falling loose from the bun at the nape of her neck. Her Cupid’s bow mouth was pinched and her cornflower blue eyes filled with worry. She held twin pistols in her hands, one of which she gave to him. Once he had taken it and shoved it into the waistband of his trousers, he accepted his axe from her as well. She lifted the lid of his arms trunk and placed a curved dagger in their daughter’s hand before peeling back the rug in the center of the sitting room. He opened the square trapdoor he’d built into the floor and ushered Ava into the tiny nook he’d carved out beneath the house.

As his eyes met hers, his heart melted, and he vowed to protect his family at all costs. Ava was the jewel of his heart, a miracle child that had come after years of heartache.

He and Bella loved each other deeply now, but it had not always been so. Her greedy, poor parents had sold her to Magnus’ father to repay a debt. Bella was given to Magnus as a gift.

Even then, he’d thought himself unworthy of her delicate beauty. He’d been afraid to touch her with his meaty hands, afraid to hurt her with his massive body. Magnus knew that Bella could never look upon his hardened, gruff face and feel the stirrings of desire.

As much as he’d wanted her and as beautiful as she’d been, he stayed away from her that first year. In time, they’d fallen in love and his young bride had come to his bed willingly, enthusiastically. She became pregnant almost immediately, much to Magnus’ satisfaction. Months later, she came home from working as a shopkeeper’s assistant with blood staining the front of her dress.

They had buried three deformed, tiny babies and lost all hope of ever having a child. Bella had fallen asleep many nights, crying in his arms, refusing to allow him his marital rights for fear of another heartbreak. He was too sympathetic to her pain to push her, too saddened by the loss of three sons to try to convince her otherwise. They didn’t make love for almost a year.

In a fit of passion too strong to control, they’d forgotten themselves one night and conceived. Worried, Magnus commanded his wife to her bed. Nine miserable months on her back passed and Bella finally carried a baby for a full nine months.

The birthing had been long and hard. Bella nearly died bringing their fourth child into the world, but in the end, both mother and baby thrived. With the waning rays of sunlight beaming through his bedroom window, Magnus had stood holding a tiny bundle in his hands, studying her scrunched, red face with tears in his eyes.

He named her Ava; it meant ‘life’. It represented everything that she was, a living, breathing testimony of his love for Bella. With her mother’s face, his inky black hair and  gunmetal gray eyes, she was certainly a wondrous creation.

As she gazed up at him from the hidden chamber in the floor now, Magnus willed her with his eyes to remember all that he’d taught her. The use of weapons was something he felt every person had a right to know, including the women he loved. He accepted his second pistol from Bella and lowered it into Ava’s hands.

“Remember,” he said with a forced smile.

Ava clutched the pistol and dagger tightly in her small hands and nodded silently, her wide eyes boring into his.

Suddenly, the door to the cottage was flung open and Magnus’ sister, Julia, came barreling in with her husband and daughter hot on her heels. Julia and Stephan carried weapons as well. Stephan thrust a pistol into the hands of his daughter, Nell, who was just a few years older than Ava. Julia and Bella often joked that Stephan and Magnus treated their daughters like the sons they wished they had. Magnus and Stephan insisted that it was not true, though as he slammed the trapdoor shut over the two girls, he was grateful that they’d been raised they way they had. No two girls could be more prepared for an attack.

Bella and Julia took their places beside the two windows facing the front of the house. The sound of horse hooves was thunderous and the clamor of screams could soon be heard. Magnus knew that the rebels would be upon them in a matter of minutes. He paused beside Bella and crushed her slight frame against his large one, pressing her up against his chest and placing a kiss on the top of her blonde head. She gazed up at him with tears in her eyes and the hands clutching the rifle shook.

“Last chance to run,” he said, fighting back the lump that had risen in his throat.

“I will remain beside you,” she said, her musical voice warming his heart as it always did. “Unto death.”

The four fell silent as the sounds of screams and gunshots rang out through the village. The rebels were here, killing, raping and pillaging. Tears rolled down Bella’s cheeks at the sound of women’s screams. Many of them were her friends and Magnus knew that her heart hurt for them.

They waited in silence, not one of them moving or breathing. Magnus’ eyes met Stephan’s and he nodded as the two came to a silent agreement. Horses were coming down the lane. The two men would go out to meet them together.

Magnus gripped the handle of his battle-axe tightly, his eyes flashing silver in the waning sunlight as the rebels approached. Stephan slapped a massive club against his palm rhythmically, his eyes locked on the approaching rebels as well. Surprise tore through him as he recognized the leader of the rebellion leading the small group of rebels toward his home.

“You must be Magnus Longley.”

Silas’ voice was smooth and silky. It reminded Magnus of a serpent slithering along the ground. Silas sat erect in the saddle, his dark brown waves peppered with silver. His equally dark eyes gleamed with mirth as he brought his men to a halt behind him.

“What do you know of Magnus Longley?” Stephan’s question was curt and barked out from between clenched teeth. Magnus could feel his friend’s seething, hot anger.

“It is said he is the finest blacksmith in all of Barony,” said Silas, his gaze cool as he glared at Stephan. “Rumors of his superior weapon-making skills are abundant.”

“I will not touch a single rebel weapon, you cur!” Magnus roared as he took a step toward the porch steps. The audacity of the man had his blood boiling. His fury was now a match for Stephan’s. “I will die first!”

“Come now,” Silas crooned in his silky voice. A slow smile spread across his lips. “The benefits of choosing the right side are vast. Your family will be protected and you will know wealth beyond your wildest dreams. In the new kingdom, your name will become synonymous with greatness.”

Magnus wondered in this moment, if this was how Christ had felt when tempted by Satan in the desert. As Silas’ silky smooth voice stroked at his spine, filled with promises, Magnus’s resolve hardened.

“Keep your money and your protection!” He lifted his axe menacingly. “I have chosen my side. My loyalty lies with the true king and queen, whom you murdered in cold blood.”

Silas sighed wearily and shrugged. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t offer,” he said, his tone now filled with disinterest as he motioned for his men to take over.

Magnus leaped from the porch, swinging his axe in a wide arc toward the man closest to him. The rebels had dismounted and were storming toward the house. His axe bit through flesh and bone before blood splattered across his neck and chest. He swiped at his face with his sleeve and charged toward the next man. From the corner of his eye, he could see Stephan swinging his club. He faintly heard the snap of breaking bones.

Bullets flew around them and Magnus knew that Bella and Julia had joined the fight. Both women were well trained and most of their shots struck true.

The number of the rebels seemed to swell as they surged toward the house. Magnus and Stephan tried to hold them back, but a few slipped past them and up the porch steps. Magnus prayed that their women could handle themselves. The constant crack of gunfire indicated that they could.

Eventually, he and Stephan fought back to back, surrounded by rebels. He could no longer see the house, but he could hear the feminine screams coming from the inside. He quickened his pace, undisturbed by the spray of blood and gore around him. This was not his first battle and with the rebellion going the way it was, it probably would not be his last.

Seeing that he had lost many of his men, Silas ordered the rest to retreat. They reluctantly followed orders. None of them wanted to be called cowards, but then none of them wanted to risk being at the other end of Magnus’ bloodstained axe or Stephan’s club, which was now coated in gore and brain matter.

“Until we meet again, blacksmith,” said Silas’s liquid voice.

There were still men inside, Magnus realized with horror as the majority of the rebels thundered away after their leader. Exchanging horrified looks, the two men raced toward the house, the terrified screams of two women drawing them toward it like a beacon.

Ava slowly lifted the trapdoor and pushed the heavy rug aside. The noises from outside had subsided and she was certain that the rebels were riding away. The screams of her mother and aunt could still be heard, as could the grunts and groans of the men still left in the cottage.

Nell, who stood behind her in the dark hidey-hole, gasped at the sight that greeted them. Both women were sprawled out on the floor, Julia on her back, Bella on her stomach. Their daggers and empty rifles were scattered about the room. Both women’s faces were bruised and their arms were pinned to the floor. Each of them was pressed to the floorboards by two rebels, one holding down their arms and the other rutting cruelly between their legs.

Her stomach turned at the sights and sounds of rape. Fury filled her as Bella’s eyes lifted to connect with hers. Her mother, so beautiful and fragile yet so strong. She shook her head at her daughter, a silent warning she knew that Ava would ignore.

“We have to help them,” whispered Nell. “Come on Ava, we can take them.”

Ava looked down at the pistol on her hand. It held one shot, as did the pistol that Nell had. With two rebels down, each of them had a fighting chance with their knives. Their fathers had taught them well.

“Yes,” she said from between her grinding teeth. “On my count.”

Even though Nell was two years older than Ava, she had always followed her younger cousin. Ava was a natural born leader, or so her father had always told her.

“One…” she whispered. Her fingers tight on the butt of the pistol, her eyes narrowed in concentration on the man pounding her mother into the floor. “Two…” the world seemed to tip on its axis, slowing and fading to silence as she and Nell leaped up from the hole in the floor, their pistols cocked and ready. “Three!”

Two bullets zipped through the air toward their targets. Nell’s bullet found its way into the left eye of the man violating Julia. Ava’s bullet ripped through her target’s forehead before exiting the back of his head. The two men fell on top of their victims, motionless.

“What the devil?”

The two cowards who held women down while others raped them barely saw the girls coming. Nell, who had always been quite large for her age, rushed toward her mother’s assailant and caught him around the middle. The two rolled across the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. In a matter of minutes, she had plunged her knife into the man’s stomach.

Ava leaped up onto the kitchen table, a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth as the last remaining rebel ran toward her. The lumbering brute thundered across the floorboards, grin smug, his hands stretched out to grab the little slip of a girl that had shot his friend. As he neared, Ava leaped from the table and soared forward to meet him.

The two collided, but Ava found the advantage as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She went at him like a wild cat, swinging her knife as well as her clenched fist. In her mind, she knew she could never forget the image of her beautiful mother, stretched out on the floor like a tavern whore, her dress up around her hips and that stinking rebel taking something from her that belonged only to her father. She knew it would haunt her forever.

Ava she took it out on the only enemy that remained, slicing into the skin of his face and neck with the dagger, soaking both her dress and his shirtfront in blood. She did not care. Ava enjoyed every second of it; the warm gush of blood over her hands, the metallic taste of it in her mouth, the pain-filled groans of the man who tried to fight her off but could not. She was strong in her fury, stronger than even she thought she could be.

When the giant finally fell to the floor with a thud, Ava landed on his chest with a satisfied smirk. She brought her knife down one last time, wedging it into her enemy’s heart. As she stood and wiped her bloody hands on her dirty skirt, she realized that the room had gone eerily silent. She glanced up to find five pairs of eyes boring into her. Five mouths hung open wordlessly.

Her eyes connected with a pair of gray ones, her father’s. His shocked expression transformed to one of pride as he stepped forward and opened his arms to her. With a smile and a laugh, she threw herself into his arms, hugging his neck tightly as he spun her around in circles.

Ava knew that things would not be easy in the days that followed. For the rest of their lives they would forever carry the scars left by this day. She would not remember the day just for the horrible things that had happened, but because it represented the defining moment in her life. She would remember this day because it was the day that Ava the warrior was born.