The Third Son (4 page)

Damien
stared into the fire, watching the orange and red flames dance upward, casting dark shadows against the floor and walls. He heard the footsteps of the palace sentries pacing back and forth in his wing of the palace.

“Well that was fast,” he murmured with a sardonic grin.  Damien drained what was left in the decanter before sliding into peaceful and welcomed oblivion.

Chapter
2

Damien was awakened the next morning by a swift kick at the bottom of his booted foot. He opened his eyes slowly, cringing at the early afternoon sun streaming through the opened drapes, stinging his bloodshot eyes. No one dared awaken him so rudely, save one of his brothers. A cursory glance about the room revealed which brother.

“Damn it, Serge. Good morning to you too.”

“More like good afternoon,” Serge muttered, kicking at Damien’s boot once more. “Couldn’t even make it to the bed this time, could you?”

Damien sat up on the large sofa, running his hands through his disheveled hair. “I happen to like this couch.” He held up a hand before Serge could continue. “Not before I’ve had my coffee. Yank the bell cord, will you?”

Serge pulled
on the heavy rope before sinking into a black brocade armchair across from Damien. Damien blinked his bloodshot eyes several times before he was able to fully focus on Serge. A brief knock sounded at the door before a chamber maid entered quickly. Her eyes widened as she took in Damien’s state of disheveled half-dress, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal much of his rippling torso, his hair falling in unruly curls about his head. She curtsied prettily. Her eyes never left Damien’s bare chest.

“Your Grace. Your Grace,” she repeated, turning toward Serge and curtsied once more.

Damien studied her with interest. The frilly cap on her head covered most of her silky blonde hair save for the few strands that had escaped to frame her round face. Dark blonde lashes lowered demurely over limpid blue eyes. Most interesting of all was her voluptuous form pressing against the constraints of her black and white uniform. What the devil was the girl’s name? Damien smiled smoothly at the simpering maid.

“Forgive me, my dear,” he said, his voice a gentle caress. “I seem to have forgotten your name.”

Surprise registered in her wide eyes. “You are, of course, forgiven Your Grace. My name is Lillian.” 

Damien nodded. “Lillian,” he repeated. “I shall not
forget this
time
,” he said with a wink. Serge rolled his eyes

“Have a breakfast tray sent up,” Damien ordered. “And have Hopkins sent to me as well.”

The girl curtsied again and backed from the room slowly, barely stifling a giggle when Damien winked slyly at her again. A few minutes later Jarvis appeared carrying a steaming coffee pot and two china cups, followed by a footman hauling Damien’s heavy breakfast tray.

“Will you be requiring anything else, Your Grace?”

“No, that’ll be all.”

Damien’s valet, Hopkins entered the room just as Jarvis and the footman were leaving. Like Jarvis, Hopkins was a permanent fixture at Largess Hall, having served several members of the royal family, including the king.

“Hopkins I’ll be going riding this afternoon,” Damien said, acknowledging the immaculately dressed valet. 

“Will you be requiring a shave as well, Your Grace?”

Damien nodded as he poured coffee into the two provided cups. Damien stirred in sugar and a liberal dash of cream, took a long swallow and nodded his satisfaction before focusing his attention back on Serge.

“Now then,” he began slowly, attacking his heaping tray. “To what do I owe your visit? No doubt Lionus is behind this meeting, which means I have done something in the last ten hours or so to anger him.”

Serge smiled. “I am only here to remind you how important the next few weeks are going to be. With so much going on, Lionus is going to be wound up even tighter than usual.”

“So you’ve come to secure my promise to behave, is that it?”

Serge snagged a slice of ham from Damien’s plate. “It’s only for three weeks,” Serge reminded him. “Try not to anger Lionus or mother for that matter as she is the one orchestrating this entire thing and you know how she gets.”

Damien needed no reminder. He had been dreading the time when Largess Hall would be overrun with visitors for the
time
of festivities leading up to Lionus’ wedding.

Lionus was to be wed at the end of the month to Princess Isabelle from the neighboring province of Barony.
Their
wedding had been long anticipated
,
the betrothal agreement signed mere days after Isabelle’s birth. The political state of Barony had been volatile for the past twenty years and would continue to be so until the two provinces could be joined through the marriage of the prince and princess.

Rebels seeking to overthrow the crown in Barony had created a dangerous situation for the newborn princess. Princess Isabelle had been a tool, used by her father to form an alliance between Cardenas and Barony.

Not long
after the betrothal agreement had been signed, the king and queen, along with several other members of the royal family, had been violently and publicly beheaded. The king’s Grand Vizier, who had been a close advisor and friend to the king, secretly smuggled the young princess out of the country, along with a small group of loyal subjects. Princess Isabelle had remained hidden in Cardenas, lavishly provided for but fiercely protected until the day she could return to her country as queen and take possession of the throne. Cardenas’ superior military would serve Lionus in regaining control of Barony. Their vast wealth would serve to refill the diminished resources of the struggling realm.

Within the next few days, those away from court, and even those subjects in Barony still loyal to the crown would descend upon Largess Hall. Three weeks of parties, dinners, luncheons, balls, picnics, and a tournament to celebrate the greatly anticipated marriage
.
Damien suppressed a groan at the thought.

“How could I forget,” he said, rolling his eyes. “The royal wedding of the century between our great prince and his ever devoted bride.”

Serge grinned, snatching a muffin from Damien’s tray. Ignoring Damien’s icy glare, he bit heartily into the sweet confection. “I would kill for such devotion, wouldn’t you?”

“The woman has been taught from the cradle to love, adore, serve and obey our dear brother. The poor girl doesn’t know any better. Though I have to admit she’s not bad to look at.”

“That has got to be the understatement of the century,” Serge scoffed.

Damien shrugged, his face a mask of indifference.

“The princess is a great beauty, and poised and graceful besides. But I know what type of woman you prefer, brother: independent, unattached and worldly. I can see how you would find a woman like Isabelle not to your liking.”

Damien arched a brow and smirked. “Back off Serge, the girl is not without charm. One would think she was your betrothed the way you carry on so.”

Serge pursed his lips and broke Damien’s gaze, falling silent.
He finished his coffee, then stood and returned his empty cup to the tray. 

“I will leave you alone now,” he said. “Just try not to cross Lionus
until this is all over
if you can. Once he is wed, his attention will be turned to his coronation and the problems he will soon face in Barony. He will barely have time to notice your usual antics.”

Damien saluted playfully and returned to his breakfast tray. “I shall endeavor to be a good little prince, Serge. If not for Lionus then for father’s sake.”

The sound of Serge’s laughter, hearty and familiar, echoed down the hall and caused a slight smile to curve Damien’s mouth. For all their differences, Serge and Damien had always been close and Damien loved him fiercely. He left the nearly empty tray before entering his dressing room, where Hopkins waited with suitable riding attire and a shaving razor.

“Have you seen my father this morning, Hopkins?” Damien asked the valet, knowing that Jarvis would have chosen him as one of the few who were allowed into his father’s chambers.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Hopkins replied, dabbing thick shaving soap along Damien’s jaw line. “He seemed to be feeling particularly strong this morning and in high spirits.”

“Perhaps I’ll visit with him them,” Damien thought aloud as Hopkins scraped the sharp razor against two days’ growth of beard. 

“An excellent idea, Your Grace.”

****

Adare Largess, King of Cardenas had once been a handsome and virile man. He was
adored
for his pleasant looks and physical strength. His forty years as Cardenas’ ruler had proven him to be powerful, decisive and fair. He was also known for his precision in military leadership and charisma. 

Anyone who had not known the great king before
the
illness had ravaged his body would not believe these qualities of the now frail man. Damien’s heart plummeted as it always did when he observed his father, who over the past six months had withered away to a shrunken shell of a man.

Damien approached the massive bed in his father’s chamber slowly, not wanting to wake him if he was napping. The guards who had allowed him entrance stood on either side of the door. Damien knew there were two more standing on the outside. 

As Damien neared the bed
,
he saw that his father was not only awake, but freshly shaved and wearing a black and gold brocade dressing gown with a snowy white shirt and expertly tied cravat at his throat. An emerald stickpin gleamed in the depths of the starched neck cloth, matching the color of his still vibrant eyes.

Adare’s smiling eyes, so like Damien’s, were the only part of him that hadn’t yet lost their luster. Damien stared into the face that was so like his own, his smile mirroring that of his father’s. His once golden blonde hair was now mostly white and thinning, but still curling riotously about his head and shoulders. Today it was brushed and tamed by a golden clasp at the back of his head.

His skin that had once been golden brown from the sun and stretched over bulging, sinewy muscles, was now papery and held a yellowish cast
. I
t hung from his fragile frame, greatly diminished from its original integrity. Damien reached out and took Adare’s outstretched hand, relieved to find it warm.

“Father,” he said reverently, kissing the rather large signet ring around his father’s bony finger. “You’re looking well today.”

“My son,” Adare replied, his voice warm with affection. “It is always a joy to look upon your face.”

Damien knew and it was no secret, that he was Adare’s favorite. “I am sorry I was unable to come to you yesterday. I was detained and lost track of time.”

Adare’s hearty laughter filled the large chamber. “Were I keeping such a fine woman as Davina, I would lose track of time very frequently.”

Damien’s laughter mingled with his father’s for a moment before he grew serious once more. “Lionus does not share your sentiments. He thinks me a disgrace, an embarrassment to the crown.”

Adare frowned, his eyes roaming to the great portrait of the royal family taking up much of the wall across from him. Lionus’ cold blue eyes, hard as steel, seemed to stare back at them from the painting.

“Much to my regret, your brother has grown into a very somber man.
Alexandra
and I meant well, but perhaps his education was too rigid, too structured.”

“He shall make a great king.” 

Adare nodded in agreement. “He will rule more than adequately long after I‘m gone.”

“Do not say that!” Damien protested avidly, gripping his father’s hand tighter as if he could gift
him
with his own young life force if he tried hard enough. Adare’s smile wavered and tears filled his eyes.

“My son, if I did not love you I would not tell you the truth. The physicians know that I will not live much longer.
W
ith the attempts against my life recently, I have come to realize that my time is almost up. I will not live much longer and at the young age of
twenty-nine
your brother will take the throne. I have decided that once he has married Princess Isabelle, he is to be immediately crowned king of Cardenas and Barony. I am no longer fit to rule.”

Sorrow clenched Damien’s heart fiercely, causing his throat to swell and his eyes to sting with tears he dared only shed in front of this man who loved and understood him so well. “You have always been fit to rule. Allow Lionus to continue serving as commander of our military; hold the crown as long as you can. You have a few years left in you yet!”

Adare’s trembling hands cupped Damien’s face. “It is time for Lionus to take his place as king. It is time for Serge to take his place in leading our armed forces. The doctors say I will live longer without the added pressures of ruling a kingdom.”

Damien nodded. He knew that the words his father spoke made perfect sense.
Damien
just did not want to believe that his father could be unfit for anything. Adare was a great king, a warrior. He had always thought the man near invincible.