The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (11 page)

“Enjoy?” Alejandro repeated incredulously. “Enjoyment does not enter into it, Esteban. Only discipline, duty, and honor. There is nothing else for me.”

“You navigate life by enforcing the strongest will I have ever encountered.” Esteban released his breath in frustration. “Can you not consider, Alejandro, that discipline is a tool, not a goal?”

“Decidedly. The welfare of Spain and its people is the only goal.” He shook his head, and his wavy dark-brown hair fell in his eyes before he pushed it back into place.

“Extreme discipline leads to being distanced from oneself. You don’t know how to receive, Alejandro.” Softly he added, “You don’t even know
who you are
.”

“Who I
am
?” Alejandro snorted, studying his gloved hand. “I am the crown prince of Spain. Outside of that, it is of positively no importance who I am.”

“You are admired and envied by everyone. You would rather be anyone else on earth.” Esteban tapped his elegant cane on the floor of the carriage for emphasis. He held on tightly to the wooden inlay handle that hid a sword inside the cane.

Alejandro tapped his fingers on his thigh. It was true, but he would never admit it. It was beneath his dignity.

“Do you remember, Alejandro, when you were in school, that you often used your position to help the other boys but never yourself? It was anathema to you to use your position to your own benefit.”

“What is your point, Esteban?”

“What do you do for yourself, Alejandro?”

“You know my weakness, Esteban.”

“I do not speak of your women. They are not for your pleasure, Alejandro.” Esteban shook his head. “Would that they were.”

“Not for my pleasure? If they are not, the delusion is sufficient.”

“They are to satisfy your need. And they will never meet it.”

“They do their best, that is all I ask.”

“I love you, Alejandro.” Esteban sighed. “What does that mean to you?”

“I thank you, my friend,” replied Alejandro softly. “It is my singular good fortune.” He looked out the window, hoping they were not far from their destination.

“No, Alejandro, how do
you
feel about it?”

Alejandro frowned, crumpling the piece of paper in his hand. Esteban reached for the paper, which Alejandro deposited into his hand. “It is unfortunate that the English diplomat to France—what is his name? Ravensdale?—was unable to join us this evening due to illness. More than any other issue at hand, I wish to improve Spain’s relationship with the English. The war with the Americans hurt Spain in more ways than can be counted. Five years later, and we are no closer to recovering than we were in 1898. Cordial relationships with influential dignitaries cannot be overrated.”

Esteban stared at him, his mouth opening slightly.

Alejandro considered his dilemma. “When do we dine with the French prime minister, Esteban?”

“Thursday evening, my friend,” Esteban replied softly, his eyes sad and hollow.

Raising his eyebrows in disapproval at the sigh that had escaped from Esteban’s lips, a sigh that no one else would have dared, Alejandro forced himself to address the issue once and for all. “Esteban, I grow exhausted from this discussion. I have long accepted that my life is not my own. I have been born into certain responsibilities. If I had been able to choose my family and my life, I would have chosen far differently. But I take my responsibilities extremely seriously.”

“Far too seriously.”

“The lives of my countrymen depend on it. If I waver from my purpose, people will
die
. My mistakes, and successes, will be passed down for generations long after I am gone.”

“Very true. You must correct your greatest mistake. As you say, your country
and your life
depend upon it!”

“I know my course, and nothing you say will deter me, Esteban. My purpose is to rule Spain, and that I will do to the best of my ability. I know what I owe to my country.
Everything
.”

“Everything? Fulfill your purpose and
live
, Alejandro. Answer me this. Do you have any value outside of this purpose?
Who are you
outside this role?” He patted Alejandro’s hand gently, his expression impassioned.

Alejandro returned his eyes to the window.

“In the moment of being abandoned by your parents, you were taught your only function. Most royal-born persons have a vastly exaggerated sense of entitlement. Not so with you, Alejandro.”

“I am no different from any other royal,” Alejandro replied wearily.

“As the second-highest titled person in your country, you, Prince Alejandro are, in fact,
not entitled
.”

“Not entitled to
what
?” Alejandro demanded.

“To
anything
,” replied Esteban without pausing. “To your
life
.”

Alejandro shut his eyes momentarily.
Bloody hell
. He loved Esteban, but he was so damned serious. And about all the wrong things. “Esteban, have you been sleeping well?”

“
Ave Maria
, I am concerned for your heart, Alejandro! Do not treat me as a child to be abated.”

“My heart? You cannot be serious. As you say, there is nothing left to destroy.” He added in Castilian in low tones, “I am well past that, Esteban, my friend.”

“I see,” murmured Esteban.

“Good.” Alejandro was relieved to see that the carriage had reached the Palais Garnier.

“I suppose I should be thankful that yours is a function for good, my prince. But I cannot. You are being erased and swallowed hole.”

“My duty is to my people, as is yours.” Alejandro tapped on the door. “Let us serve them.”

* * * *

There was silence in the carriage until the footmen opened the velvet-lined doors. An entourage of Parisian dignitaries greeted the carriage and guided the prince forward. They found themselves surrounded by glamorous people showcased by the neo-Baroque style of the Palais Garnier, opulently decorated with elaborate, multicolored friezes, columns, and statuary. Esteban caught a glimpse of the magnificent Grand Staircase: balconies integrated into the stairwell and curled around to greet them.

Esteban whistled under his breath. Rumor was that there was even an underground lake in the Palais Garnier. It was well in keeping with the sight before them.

Prince Alejandro smiled and complimented the architecture of the Palais Garnier in French, bestowing his graces upon the notables surrounding him. Only Esteban could tell that Prince Alejandro found the opulence of the Palais Garnier discomfiting.

No one else saw past the prince’s genuine charisma, which captivated both men and women. Prince Alejandro had cultivated a phenomenal memory, which he applied not only to the prestigious and influential but to the poorest of the population. He remembered the names of gardeners, bricklayers, and innkeepers he had met two years prior.

And his soul is dying, Esteban thought, his gut churning. He himself had willingly foregone everything, a wife and a family, to stand by his prince.

He began to wonder if it had made any difference.

He needed to get some air, to take a short walk before the opera began, to clear his mind. He bowed respectfully to Alejandro and excused himself.

As he turned back before reaching the front doors, he saw that a child approached the prince. Alejandro bent to address the child, who was wearing an Eton suit and a wide, stiffly starched collar. The prince placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, which created a stir of approval. No one was supposed to touch Spanish royalty, so when royalty chose to touch, it was remarked.

Esteban smiled along with everyone else, certain that the prince’s heart had gone out to the child, recalling all the royal events he had been required to attend that were not age appropriate to children.

Alejandro’s saving grace was his compassion: he could feel love for others, but he could not receive their love in return. He might intellectually comprehend his status with them, but he did not
feel
it.

In almost everyone Prince Alejandro had trusted, he had been disappointed. And yet, the young royal continued to give of himself.

Esteban resolved to stand beside Alejandro, regardless of the path chosen.

He would support the prince with his last breath.

Señor Xalvador studied the boy, and for a brief instant in time he saw the child Alejandro had been—the openness, the curiosity, the sensitivity, an overwhelming abundance of love, and the extreme perceptivity.

The young prince’s teacher turned to face the door.
How much of that child was left?

Chapter Nine

The flower which you threw to me stayed with me

keeping its sweet fragrance for countless hours

On closing my eyelids, I became intoxicated from the scent

And during the night I saw you!

Why did destiny have to put you in my path?

—
Georges Bizet
, Carmen

Paris Opera House

September 4, 1903

“My dear Countess, I agree with you, however, I…” Everyone else in his entourage immediately turned to see who had so thoroughly absorbed the prince’s attention.

The first time Prince Alejandro saw her he stopped speaking in midsentence.

Ordinarily polished and precise in his presentation of the social graces, Alejandro forgot himself. She was the most entrancing woman he had ever seen. Dark, lustrous hair framed exotic features from which unexpectedly shone eyes the color of the Mediterranean.

She was, simply put,
breathtaking
.

He was surprised to realize that he did not capture her attention in return. He had been fourteen years of age the last time a beautiful woman had failed to return his regard.

She moved forward purposefully, not at all behaving as a woman of society whose every subdued utterance and delicate movement was calculated to win approval. She brought to mind instead a sensuous harem girl who had spotted the sultan and intended to be first in his eyes, displaying all her wiles for him to see.

The heir to the Spanish throne had never seen a woman move with more confidence and sense of purpose. She had the air of one who controlled every encounter from start to finish, who belonged to no man.

There is a first time for everything.
He watched the woman in black glide across the floor.
He had not failed yet when it came to the fairer sex.

A smile formed on his lips.
Perhaps it would not be a wasted evening after all.

He was suddenly perplexed to realize that her style of dress was not in keeping with the attire of the other women present. She definitely was in possession of the fashionable hourglass silhouette, but even he could see that she was dressed simply by every standard, even taking into account that he was no expert on women’s fashion.

And yet his knees went weak as he watched her sway across the room, dazzling in a classically cut black silk dress, which hugged her curvaceous figure and was lower cut at the bosom than style allowed, much to his satisfaction. She was draped in an exquisite lace shawl, which did nothing to conceal her shape but, instead, only added to her allure.