The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (7 page)

King Don Bartolomé stared at his son in palpable disbelief, speechless. Alejandro knew that his father had no way of knowing that this remark was out of character, not knowing his own son very well.

“Do not think I will not do it.” As Alejandro studied his father, he enjoyed the knowledge that his parent had no inkling as to whether he was speaking the truth or not. “This life means nothing—
nothing
—to me personally. I live to serve my family and my country. But hurting the people I love, I will not allow.”

“
You
will not allow?”

“I only follow your example, Father. You have raised me to think thus. Do not stare at me in surprise.” Suddenly Alejandro felt light-headed under the scrutiny. But he was determined to see this through to the end. “You find it acceptable to sacrifice members of your family for the good of España. Why should I not act as you have taught me?”

King Don Bartolomé’s eyes remained fixated on his son, his expression fierce.

Alejandro had trained his mind to function even when threatened, ashamed that he had once not been able to do so. Considering the situation now, he knew well that his father would not change his mind nor would he consider his son’s preferences in the matter. Though Alejandro longed to beg or reason, it would do no good. Therefore, he had to address the only thing he might be able to do—
to assist the one person who had ever loved him to exit from his life
.

He observed a flicker of uncertainty cross the king’s face, and it gave Alejandro the tiniest glimmer of hope—enough to present him with an idea.

He took the opening.

He turned to the sovereign ruler of Spain and added, “I bow to your judgment on a tutor, though I beg you to reconsider, if my well-being means anything at all to you. If it does not, as I suspect, I expect a generous compensation and an excellent letter of reference for Señor Xalvador.”

“The only thing any of us ever think of is your well-being! And you have the effrontery, the absolute disrespect to come in here and make
demands
before your king!”

“I will wait in the sitting room for your decision and the letter and payment in the event you choose not to reinstate the worthy Señor Xalvador.” He drew very close to his father, deliberately forcing his expression to equal the king’s in severity and determination. “I will not leave without these or a letter of reinstatement sealed by your hand.”

“You will leave when I tell you to leave!” King Don Bartolomé boomed.

“Possibly. But if not on my terms, I will leave this world for good.” With these words the crown prince turned on his heel and walked out of the room, slapping his gloves on his thigh once as he walked.

When he reached the door, he turned and looked back at King Don Bartolomé. “Please send my mother and siblings to me. I wish to pay my respects before departing.”

He bowed to his father most elegantly, as if they were on the best of terms.

As the door shut, a slow smile formed on Don Bartolomé’s lips.

He had made a king after all.

Chapter Five

My life is…Music

Which I spin into star shadow,

Dreams, and laughter

Opening night.

Nicolette’s debut performance as the leading soprano. If she succeeded, she had a glorious opera career ahead of her.

If she failed, her life was over and everything that mattered to her destroyed.

She stood in the wings of the sumptuous Palais Garnier Opera House, surrounded by gold and red velvet, awaiting her entrance, her heart pounding as the proximity of her performance both thrilled and unsettled her.

Fingering the gold bangles in her ears, she peered around the corner. Oh! The arrogant prince who had had the audacity to belittle stage performers to her was seated next to the stage!

Pursing her lips, a calm swept over her as a heightened sense of purpose possessed her. His Royal Highness would never forget this night as long as he lived.

She would bring him to his knees…

“I wish to hear her sing,” the sultan of Constantinople and the supreme leader of the entire Ottoman Empire commanded in a tone of voice that indicated that it was not a request.

“Grand Seignior, a thousand pardons.” Lord Ravensdale bowed, his expression stony. “It is not appropriate in our culture for the daughter of an earl to sing in public. And my daughter has not yet even seen her twelfth birthday. A public display such as you suggest would be disgraceful.”

En route to his newly assigned position as British ambassador to France, Lord Ravensdale and his family had been directed to visit the palace of the sultan of Constantinople. The man before him was the keeper of great power.

A fact that did not appear to be lost on the man sitting on the throne.

“Do you suppose that I would behave inappropriately to your daughter even if she were not a mere child?” The sultan’s eyebrows raised ominously, his determination unabated. “Do you think me a heathen, Lord Ravensdale?” he asked, his fury clearly mounting.

Slowly the sultan lowered himself back into his golden throne, his chartreuse-and-gold velvet robe flowing about him, opening to reveal a bare, muscular chest. His dark eyes shone fiercely beneath a lilac silk turban, and his black beard accentuated chiseled features.

Well, there is the little matter of your nickname—the “Red Assassin,” I believe you are called?

Then there is the inescapable existence of the Seraglio—the nefarious pleasure dome—and your harem contained therein.

Last but not least, there are the eunuchs whose ranks I do not wish to join.

Sorely do not wish to join.

“Of course not! This has nothing to do with your great country, Grand Seignior, or your illustrious reign, and everything to do with our culture,” Lord Ravensdale replied apologetically. “And she is my
daughter
. She is not a stage performer along for the purpose of entertaining our hosts, however revered. Just as you do not present your wives for our entertainment, nor do I present my family for yours. Surely you must understand this.”

And he did. It was a well-known fact that the harem was for the sultan’s eyes only.

Hence the eunichs. No uncastrated man was allowed to cast his eyes upon any member of the sultan’s harem.

“I merely wish to hear her sing. Does she not sing for your fine English lords?” the sultan asked as he stroked his bearded chin.

The Grand Seignior made no effort to conceal his displeasure, but in the end he was more strategist than tyrant. “Is it that she sings for gentlemen but not for barbarians? I have heard that English ladies sing in their parlors to dinner guests.”

Lord Ravensdale swallowed hard. He made it a policy never to lie. “In the privacy of one’s home with close friends, yes,” he murmured softly. He reflected that the parlor generally did not contain a curtain behind which a harem of beautiful concubines listened.

“So be it,” replied the sultan as his lips formed a devious smile. “Then she shall sing after dinner in the
parlor
of the palace.” He nodded with a finality that indicated the discussion was closed, clapping his hands as he smiled happily. “And we are all of us friends, are we not?”

I wonder if the eunuchs would truthfully describe their feelings for you as those of friendship. Ah, well. Feelings are often difficult to put into words.

Lord Ravensdale bit his lip as servants answered the sultan’s summons. If he had not been so incensed, he would have appreciated the sultan’s political prowess.

“I am not personally afraid of the sultan’s wrath, but I am committed to preserving peace. Even more important to me is the safety of my family.” As he recounted the story to his wife, his eyes moved to her growing belly. She was small and had lost two babies since Nicolette was born, but she had assured him that she was well and that this child would live. “In order to protect you, Alita, I must avoid a perceived disrespect.

“Besides, if anyone is to suffer, it will be you, Nicolette.” He turned to his daughter. “You have put us all in danger by singing in a locale where you could be heard. Was this done on purpose?” he demanded, furious.

“Oh, no, Papa,” Nicolette pleaded, shaking her head, her eyes wide. She appeared to understand that he had never been so angry. And it was important that she did.

“I–I spoke to no one, just as you told me. I was singing to amuse myself. And the morning was so beautiful. You should have seen the morning sun through the silk shades as it caressed the gold and snow-white marble. The sea before us was the most serene color of azure, and the mountains behind us were green. And I could hear—well, it sounded like a waterfall in the distance. Happiness welled up inside of me, and how could I have not sung? And I thought I was alone.”

“And how is it that you were not with your mother?” He loved his wild child, but he would not raise a hellion who cared nothing for anyone but herself, so help him God.

Nicolette stared at him with an expression only children who have grave doubts about the intelligence of their parents can aptly duplicate.

* * * *

“I have always awakened before you and Mama,” she replied slowly. “I was singing in one of the more deserted hallways so as not to disturb anyone, and I glanced into a room and I saw baths and silks and
beautiful
women all sitting around a pool of water with a
waterfall
.” She gulped.

It was so unfair, all she was doing was singing, and she was being blamed. And for what, she didn’t know. How was she to know people were listening? She was too busy enjoying herself to worry about every little thing that people like to worry about.

“But you are nonetheless delighted that you will be singing.” Her father seemed to be growing more agitated by the minute.

“Do you expect me to be
sad
that I will be singing, Papa?” She stared at him, aghast. Had he lost his mind?

“Darling, you would not be critical of a fish for liking the water. Nicolette is not at fault,” Lady Ravensdale intervened. “Nor should you be displeased that she anticipates the performance. Thank goodness she does, most young girls would lose their voice in this situation.”

“Would that it were so. The day Nicolette loses her voice is the day trumpets sound, the heavens are on fire, and Jesus descends upon a cloud.”

“We are depending on you to restore our favor, Nicolette.” Lady Ravensdale hugged her daughter.

“But what if the sultan does not like my singing?” she asked in a whisper, suddenly feeling the enormity of the situation.

Lady Ravensdale smiled warmly, and her confidence increased in the glow of that smile. Suddenly her mother giggled in the midst of all this tension, taking Nicolette by surprise.

“What is it, Mama?”

“Even if the sultan loathes the performance, he will not
kill
us,” she stated definitively.

“That is a great comfort, my love. Perhaps he will only torture us or change our gender.” Lord Ravensdale frowned at his wife, but she only shrugged.

“He will do no such thing!” Lady Ravensdale turned to her daughter. “His curiosity will be satisfied, and without question he will appreciate the gesture, which he knows has cost your father.”

“
Loathes
, Mama? Do you really think…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling.” She hugged her daughter again. “I merely wish to point out that only good can come of it. The very worst case scenario will yet be to our advantage. And, if he enjoys your concert, as he no doubt will, it is frosting on the cake! So you have positively nothing to worry about, Nicolette. You are free to do your best and enjoy yourself.”