A Royal Affair (6 page)

“The account I was given…. I was only told the official version of events. I want to know what really happened. You were… unsettled when I came across you asleep.”

“Unsettled?” I turned to face him. “Unsettled? I have not slept since. I see him every moment in my mind. Unsettled? They laughed and tormented him as he died in agony, but I could do nothing! I—” It was too much. I tried to shoulder past him, but he caught my arm. It was nothing more than a tiny pinch of fabric, so light a child could have broken free, but it bound me to him.

I glanced down at his fingers. His nails were chipped and needed a good scrub. I laughed. It came out as a sob. He drew me into his arms and held me. He could not know that this was the first kind embrace I had been given for many, many years, the first time I shared a true emotion with anyone for just as long. It was like finding a long-lost brother. Better, a father. Better—but I could not go there. I took the hug for what it was and did not question it further.

Eventually, I eased away, my eyes downcast. “I apologize. This is not how I intended to present myself, Your Highness.”

“Aleksey. My friends call me Aleksey.”

I raised my eyes. His were shining, as mine must have been. I frowned. Suddenly I felt a stab of insight and then anger, jealousy, and…
suspicion
. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “You
knew
him!” I thought more than this but could not come right out and accuse him of such a crime.

He blinked, and one tear escaped, rolling down his cheek. He swiped at it angrily. Suddenly I became aware of the wolf. He was standing mere inches from me, muzzle drawn back, canines exposed, saliva dripping steadily in pace with the low, menacing rumble from his throat. Again I had that totally unreasoned belief that this creature somehow understood its master’s thoughts—beyond that normal ability dogs have to sense human mood. I resisted stepping back and turned to Aleksey once more, repeating my observation—my accusation.

He looked away for a moment, then down at the wolf, as if he’d only then noticed him. He patted his head, a distraction to give his hands something to do and his eyes somewhere to look besides my angry face. “Yes. He was a friend. We had gone there to take him hunting with us.”

“A friend. You know what he was condemned for.” I wasn’t sure myself whether this was a statement or a question so was not surprised he didn’t appear to either. He pursed his lips, looking slightly mutinous. I suddenly realized what I was saying, what I was thinking, what I had almost accused this prince of, and immediately regretted it. But I couldn’t so easily repress the little inner voice that kept repeating in a whisper,
He is outside my jurisdiction. God will judge him
….

This was getting me nowhere. He had brought up this subject. I did not want to think about it at all. I needed to get back to my patient. Time, for the king, was of the essence. I murmured something to this effect, and the prince immediately straightened and pulled himself out of whatever gloomy thoughts were engrossing him.

He nodded. “I will have servants appointed to you and your things brought from Mme. Costain’s. His Majesty will be prepared for your examination this afternoon. Is there anything else you need, Doctor?”

“Yes. For you to call me Nikolai,” I murmured with a smile of apology for things he did not know I had been thinking about him. “My friends call me Nikolai.” But I was wrong. Apparently he had known only too well exactly where my thoughts had strayed, for he replied sadly, “You may come to find that counting me as a friend is a very dangerous practice, Nikolai.”

I held his gaze. “I think I am willing to take that risk.” I had some inkling that by this simple declaration I had declared far more than an offer of friendship. He seemed to agree.

I saw a flash of emotion in his eyes, a quick flick from one mood to another, and he mock punched my arm. “Good. I like risk.”

I did not point out that it was not he who would be at risk. How could I? I truly did not know of what we spoke other than a vague impression of a friendship based on that small illicit first meeting, which was now, by his wish, a secret between us.

Instead of leaving through the door by which we had entered the apartments, he went through to the adjoining sitting room and then through another door to the side. After a few moments’ hesitation I followed out of curiosity and opened it after him. Another sitting area greeted me, this one full of possessions carelessly scattered around: books, clothes, a chessboard, some sketches—the usual things found in an educated, wealthy young man’s rooms. He was at the window, in the act of pulling off his shirt. His torso was lean, ribs evident, and with musculature that proved he did not spend a great deal of time reading the books he owned, unless he could read and ride and fight at the same time. He turned, startled, dropping the shirt to the floor, where no doubt some poor servant would eventually pick it up for him. I apologized and began to withdraw. He came closer. His chest was broad and flared out from a lean waist, the skin unblemished except for a prominent scar grazing his ribs and running down under the waistband of his leather breeches. He must have seen the direction of my gaze. I hoped he took it for professional interest.

“The last war.”

“War?” I coughed, oddly disturbed, and looked up—reluctantly, if truth were told.

He was smiling and wobbled his hand. “Skirmish.” Another wobble. “Raid.” Then he laughed outright. “I was stabbed in an alehouse brawl, but I prefer the war version.”

“More medals?”

Still laughing, those incredible teeth making the look irresistible, he said apologetically, “I don’t really need medals; I’m head of the army:
General
His Royal Highness the Prince Christian. I sort of got given all the medals to start with.”

“Maybe a real war would be less dangerous, then, than visiting the wrong kind of taverns? Someone did good work stitching it.” He seemed amused by my eyes’ disobedience in continually returning to his abdomen. But it was extremely interesting—from a professional point of view—to see how the scar bisected the ridges of muscle, bouncing off them. It begged to be touched—again, in a professional way only, of course. Touching, fortunately, I did manage to resist. “So, we have adjoining rooms?”

He nodded and smirked. “Life in a royal palace can be like walking on rocks that are covered by seaweed. Sometimes, a steadying arm is welcome. I hope I have not overstepped some…
professional
line you would have preferred to draw.”

“No, Aleksey, you have not overstepped anything, and I would be more than grateful for your…
steadying arm
… whenever you think it appropriate.” With that rejoinder I left him. If he was playing games with me, then I was more than willing and able to play him back. He was master of his own little universe; this I could see quite clearly. He was beautiful, charming, intelligent, a royal prince, and, as he had so adroitly managed to inform me, head of an army, with all the attendant power and influence that gave him. But I was equally intelligent, and I could be charming when I cared to be. I had also spent my more than thirty years learning one or two things that he (a cosseted infant in my eyes) could not possibly guess at. I didn’t think war had been declared between us, more like cards dealt and the rules of the game yet to be agreed upon. I was good at cards too. We would see.

I
confess that I needed some time and space to recover from Aleksey, even at this very early stage of our relationship. My respite was merely a walk back down to the stables to ensure that Xavier was being properly cared for. He was; he was stabled with the royal horses. He would never be the same again. Perhaps he was thinking the same about me.

Very soon after leaving the stables, I was accosted by a young boy who declared himself to be my new page. When I raised my eyebrows at this title, he corrected himself to servant and heaved his shoulders theatrically. I smiled and beckoned for him to follow me. “What
is your name?”

“Stephen, sir.”

“What was your job before you became my… page?”

He grinned and came up to walk alongside me, against protocol I am sure but welcome nonetheless. “I didn’t have one, really. I’m the bastard.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m Prince Peter’s bastard. He was His Majesty’s oldest brother, but he’s dead now—my father, not His Majesty. His Royal Highness Prince Aleksey thought I would like you.”

“You mean I would like you.” He was confusing me.

He frowned, apparently as confused as I. “No, ’Sey said I’d like you and that you’d be good for me.”

“You’re my servant, but I’m supposed to be good for you?”

He grinned. “
Pageboy
. We’ve agreed on that. Are you hungry? I am. We’re supposed to attend luncheon. You have to meet the rest of the family. Lucky you.”

“How old are you?”

“Ten. Well, I will be next year.”

“Can you read and write?”

He gave me a derisive look. I could honestly not tell whether this was a
Yes, of course, how stupid are you
? or
Read? Write? Hardly
. I waited patiently with raised eyebrows, and he mumbled, “I prefer stories, if I do have to read.”

I chuckled. “So do I.” He led me through some gardens, and I saw again the sea. The wind had got up, and white horses flicked the top of the waves right across the harbor. “Tell me who else I have to meet, Stephen.”

“Oh, there’s heaps of them. They all look alike, or the ladies do. And they all smell the same: pretty horrible sometimes. His Majesty has two brothers now, but His Royal Highness Prince Harold is visiting—”

“Stephen, just between us, can we drop some of the titles? Just Prince This or Prince That? I only have a few more years of life, and I feel them rapidly being used up.”

He nodded solemnly. “Aleksey said you were quite old.”

I spluttered. “He what? I’m thirty-five!”

He grinned suddenly and thrust his hands in his pockets.

I studied the smug look. “Did he put you up to that?”

He nodded. “He wanted to know how old you were.”

I couldn’t explain the sudden flush of warmth I felt wash through me at this. I wanted to ask the boy what else Aleksey had asked about me but had the certain belief that this would be reported straight back to the subject of the inquiry. I held my tongue. With some prompting and reminders to try and simplify the names, I managed to get out of Stephen that the king had two living brothers: Harold, who was never to be called Hal, and John, who was a fool. Whether the boy meant John was a literal fool in a cap with bells or whether he was just deemed stupid by a stupid nine-year-old with too much time on his hands, I could not decipher.

I was soon able to make up my own mind on this, as I met the prince almost as soon as I entered the dining hall. This was an impressively long, hi
gh chamber with two tables arranged to form a T: a short table at the top for the more important diners and the long one laid on both sides for the less significant. I gathered that the farther you were from the high table the less was your perceived importance and wondered where I would be seated. Apparently I was considered to be very important: I was right at the top, in the junction between the lesser beings and my illustrious betters. Before I could sit, a man who introduced himself as John accosted me. I will skip all the titles and His Highnesses and whatever else
he gave himself. I was tired of them already, and I’d only been in the castle a few hours.

I’m not given to snap judgments about others. Most people I have discovered have hidden depths, and if given a chance, they will reveal treasures they might otherwise have kept private. This man, however, I disliked on first sight. I might even go as far as to say detested. I almost recoiled from his handshake. Why? He was it. He was that one hidden fear we all have, that one secret we keep from everyone. He was a man who preferred the company of other men—as did I. I suspected he acted upon his preferences, however, in a way that I had renounced. But he showed me that terrible path. He reminded me that it existed and that with one slip, one weak moment, I too could be following its siren call. From the look he gave me, I believe he would have taken my hand and led me down that road personally.

I swallowed deeply, trying to concentrate on his words of greeting, not on his scent, his hand in mine, his knowing eyes. He was disturbingly seductive. I was extremely relieved, therefore, when Stephen tugged my arm and said I had to meet the rest of the herd (his word, not mine) and pulled me over to a small group of beautifully dressed men and women who comprised the main body of the court.

Prince Harold was away on a visit to southern Europe, so the only other member of the family I had yet to meet formally was George. I was about to ask Stephen where the king’s eldest son was, when there was a little commotion at the end of the room, and I turned to see Aleksey enter. The smile that had begun to creep over my face at seeing someone I was beginning to think of as an ally, even a possible friend, faded, leaving a slightly sick feeling in my stomach. A striking, beautiful young woman accompanied Aleksey down the room. They were arm in arm. I could not deny they made a stunningly attractive couple as, indeed, nature intended.

Stephen was tugging my arm. I ignored him, then changed my mind and asked in sotto voce, “Who is that with Prince Christian?”

He looked faintly amazed and then replied, “That’s Princess Anastasia,” as if he were surprised I could walk and talk at the same time, being so impaired as to not know the name of this apparition.

The paragon and her escort reached us. I bowed low. Aleksey waited until I’d straightened and then said rather grandly, “Doctor, may I introduce the Princess Anastasia,” and added after a slightly telling pause, “my fiancée.”

I gave him an open, unreadable look and turned to her. I went against all my better nature and used and abused the power I knew I had. I smiled; I had perfect teeth too. I spoke; I was educated and traveled, clever and witty. I charmed; I was amusing and self-deprecating. I totally and deliberately ignored Aleksey, and within half an hour I had the princess on my arm, and we were taking a slow turn around the room.