The Wrong Prince (2 page)

“YOU CALL THAT A SALUTE?”

Dmitri glanced up, as if just noticing his brother’s presence.

Geo laughed. “Hello in there? That overactive mind of yours wandering again?”

His elder brother grinned, sapphire eyes alight. “Perhaps. Only I was just contemplating the latest novel by Goudeaux. In it, he crafts a most fascinating verse, comparing an orchard to the parliament of—”

“Ugh.” Geo ejected an exaggerated groan, twirling his ep
é
e. “Spare me the tiresome details, I beg you.”

“En-garde,”
announced Dmitri, flinging down his mask and posing in stance.

Geo assumed his position. “Ready? Play!” With no further warning, he advanced, heel to toe along the piste, lunging before his brother even knew to retreat
. “Touch
é
!
Touch
é
!” He cackled as he repeatedly assaulted the man with playful prods of the weapon.

“Whoa, halt!” cried Dmitri, attempting—and failing—to parry the blade. “Only one touch per bout. You’ve made your point!”

Geo crouched over, hands on his knees as he shook with continuous laughter.

Dmitri lifted his mask. Thick blond hair fell just past his ears, and he tucked it back. “I can’t see worth a damn without my spectacles, anyway.” He fished in his pocket for the lenses in question.

Geo held his smile, though a wisp of discomfort hung unspoken between them. The royal family could blame all they wanted on Dmitri’s shoddy vision, but the fact remained that the Crown Prince was mediocre, at best, in combat. Geo strongly suspected it had more to do with Dmitri’s roaming imagination and frivolous obsession with prose, however, than anything of a physiological nature.

Both princes knew that Geo was the better athlete. Geo also knew that Dmitri did not resent him for it, either. In fact, the man did naught but admire and encourage his younger brother. But the Crown Prince’s shortcomings were not a matter to be discussed—or even acknowledged—in the Kingdom of Tybiria.

“I know what distracts you.” Geo removed his mask to expose his own ash brown mop. “It’s the Reveal Banquet on the morrow, isn’t it?”

Dmitri looked flabbergasted. “It’s tomorrow?”

Geo sighed. His brother’s thoughts were perpetually elsewhere. Yet how could Dmitri neglect to remember the date of his own engagement celebration? Especially since his elected bride-to-be would be revealed to him, and the rest of the kingdom, for the first time. The man didn’t even know whom he was to wed, and he was idling about in his chamber with books!

“Time encroaches swiftly.” Dmitri shrugged.

Geo gaped at him. “You are to marry a complete stranger in a matter of moons, and that is all you have to say?”

Dmitri didn’t respond, and Geo glanced away. Were it him, he’d be sweating sabers, jittery with anxiety. Of course, being the younger prince, Georome Straussen would not undergo the same ceremony for his own nuptials. Oh, it would still be the talk of the nation, whomever he was to wed someday…but it didn’t hold the same importance as Dmitri’s wife, who would one day become queen.

With a sore heart, Geo’s mind drifted, yet again, to his last encounter with his former lover, the Baron of Backshore’s beautiful daughter. In the fleeting hours of passion exchanged with her over the course of several moons, Geo had dared to dream that she could become his princess.

Curse her.
He had unveiled his authentic self to her. It had never occurred to him to be unfaithful. Yet when, at last, he’d summoned the courage to
attempt
to profess his love for her, she’d snubbed him with a callous confession of her longstanding betrayal.

A game, as it turned out, was all he had been to her. For sport, she’d said. During which, all the while, she’d been consorting with another. Geo tried to shove the girl as far as possible from his mind. But still, he was plagued by her heartlessness and couldn’t fathom her capability of deceit. And to her own prince, no less! Why, was she unaware that he possessed the authority to revoke her and her father’s standing, even to lock her in prison, should he possess the slightest whim? But she didn’t respect him. He’d merely been her toy.

And yet…something had been incongruous with Lucie Camerlane’s dismissal of him on that ill-fated evening. While her words had been flippant, those enchanting brown eyes seemed to brim with sorrow. Geo could make no sense of it.

Presently, his brother rested a hand on his arm. “Now it appears to be your mind that wanders,” he remarked gently.

Geo clenched his jaw. No one knew about Lucie. And no one would. “Come,” he entreated Dmitri, tossing his ep
é
e aside. “Let us go and see what the boys are up to.”

“MAD AS A HATTER.” SIR Kellan spat onto the soil. “The whole of Halvea shall benefit when the King of Llewes is finally defeated.”

“Isn’t he, though?” Geo folded sinewy arms, leaning up against the stone wall. “We slew his heir in our last battle. I don’t expect he’ll be provoking us again anytime soon.”

Sir Roc slowly shook his head, along with the rest of the knights. “We assume the contrary, Your Highness.”

“Aye,” said Sir Kellan. “Rumor has it, King Ira is plotting his next attack upon our kingdom, and soon.”

Dmitri’s brow creased above his spectacles. “How soon?”

They shrugged.

Ever since the King of Llewes lost his wife to sudden illness, the old man seemed to have become ill in the mind. His ruthless attacks upon Tybiria of late, and his recent, senseless ambition to conquer all of East Halvea, were thoroughly unfounded. His grief had apparently unhinged him.

Geo frowned, recalling his fellows who had perished in combat against the Llewesians. “Why does he persist?” he demanded. “And why do the other nations permit him to? By all means, the lunatic ought to be locked up.”

“All we can do is defend our land, sir.” Roc nudged a stone with his boot. “Your father has ruled against any preemptive attacks against Llewes.”

Geo shook his head in frustration.

“Well, let’s hope it’s only a rumor.” Dmitri’s voice was somber. “We’ve lost…too much already.” He glanced among the stalwart warriors, from whom several of his and Geo’s closest childhood companions were now noticeably—and evermore—absent.

“Aye, such rumors have surfaced before,” Geo muttered. “But none have materialized since our last victory. Perhaps King Ira will finally cease his savagery now that his son has been slain.” He clasped Dmitri’s shoulder in support.

“Perhaps,” said Sir Roc, his tone plainly doubtful.

“TIME TO GO, MISS CAMERLANE.”

Lucie glanced up from the vanity, nodding. The maid was gone from the doorframe with a swish of her uniform skirts. Looking back into the round mirror, Lucie scanned past the caramel complexion of her face and neck, until her eyes rested upon the amethyst pendant at her breast.

With a sigh, she arose from the plush chair. A lilac gown cascaded to her brown ankles, creasing with each movement as she walked to the door. A waste of time, attending the royal Reveal Banquet that night, she thought, annoyed. Why must she exert the effort to doll up and swathe herself in a silken gown, anyway? It wasn’t as though, of the droves of other hopefuls at the ceremony,
she’d
be chosen as the Crown Prince’s bride-to-be. She was already betrothed, for heaven’s sake.

“We are obligated to show our support of the royal family,” was all her father had said when the matter was addressed. And Lucie had had no choice but to grumblingly obey.

Perhaps the year before, she would’ve been full of dreams and delight to attend such an event. But Lucie would never divulge the true reason why she dreaded returning to the castle. She descended the staircase, brushing intimate thoughts of Georome Straussen—his heavy hands on her body, rough mouth hot against hers—from her mind. She begged her cheeks to cease blushing.

She had first met the prince at the previous autumn’s harvest festival. Lucie was instantly taken. And what girl wouldn’t be? Georome was rugged and olive-skinned, with a vibe of recklessness. And, of course, he was royalty.

To her pleasure, the man had seemed drawn to her, too. Those brooding eyes had followed her all through the ballroom, until he’d finally asked her to dance. For nearly a year thereafter, Lucie had been sneaking from Backshore’s manor to the other side of the lake for many a memorable tryst with the prince.

Presently, her fine slippers connected with the ground floor. The young woman tossed her hair behind her shoulders and stepped outside to the roundabout, where her father’s carriage was parked, coachman at the ready. “Evening, Lu,” the baron greeted her as she hoisted herself inside. He sounded unusually energetic.

Lucie eyed the six snorting horses that anticipated the coachman’s command. “The whole ensemble?” She arched an eyebrow. “Surely, we don’t need a half-dozen horses to carry us less than a mile?”

“Ceremony, daughter,” replied her father. “Although, I do not doubt you’d know your way to the Straussens’ castle on foot.”

Lucie held rigid in her seat as the horses commenced in a trot. Did her father mean something significant by the statement? What—and how—could he possibly know? But when she dared glance over at him, he was already lost in thought, watching the scenery pass outside the window. Lucie exhaled, relaxing against the bench. She was being paranoid.

The ride was over in a matter of minutes, and they halted before the welcoming limestone castle. Turrets unfolded from each wing, and arranged on the sprawling back lawn were long tables, countless chairs, and a hundred hanging lanterns to greet the dusk.

Lucie walked slowly at her father’s side, bored by the faces both new and familiar that eyed her with interest. She was accustomed to the stares. While her mother, the late baroness, had been a thoroughbred Tybirian with skin as pink as a summer’s peach, Lucie had inherited her father’s darker complexion. As ambassadors, his parents had emigrated from Heppestoni, a land to the west.

Guests poured in from every direction as she was guided to a chair. She rolled her eyes at the other young ladies with their hair coiffed and garnished with fresh flowers, figures draped in expensive garments and flashy jewels, as though each was certain that the party was held just for her. In truth, no one but the parents of the spouses-to-be knew the identity of the Crown Prince’s bride, to be announced after the meal. And every young woman who’d been invited was hopeful for her own prospects, except Lucie.

She had no part in this game. Resigned, she took the seat adjacent to her father’s and spread a white linen napkin over her lap. The harpers played, the jester teased and the king’s announcer made extensive introductions. Lucie yawned as servants brought out the dinner courses, one by one, and she ignored the excited blather around her. Yet, all the while, she couldn’t help but scan the crowd for Geo. She dreaded, yet simultaneously prayed, to spot the man. After all, she hadn’t seen him since….

Her insides jolted as she caught a glimpse of the younger prince standing near the head table, where his family was seated. He was grinning, engaged in conversation with a circle of knights. He was popular among them, Lucie knew. A fine warrior himself.

He then turned his head, glancing into the crowd, and Lucie immediately lowered her gaze. Her heart skidded. What was she was playing at? If she caught his eye, what would it accomplish? Cause the prince to simply hate her more? Or tempt them both to perpetuate an affair that would only become more dangerous, the closer she approached her wedding day?

At last, the guests hushed as the announcer stood to his stocky feet at the onset of the dessert course. A pair of sisters across from Lucie gripped hands beneath the tablecloth. The announcer launched into a grand preamble on the significance of the event, the impending moment about to sweep the land of Tybiria and change one woman’s destiny forever.

Lucie plunked a grape into her wine, muttering, “Oh, get on with it.” Her father shot her a startled look.

“And now, Her Royal Majesty, our beloved Queen Emaxandra, shall come forth to reveal the identity of her lawful daughter-to-be.”

The lawn fell silent as the Queen of Tybiria, Lady Emaxandra Straussen, made her graceful way to the front of the gathering. Everyone stood and bowed. She graciously entreated them to resume their seats, and Lucie sat, stealing another glimpse at the head table. Geo remained standing among the knights, watching his mother with polite interest.

Lucie’s eyes then panned over to the Crown Prince Dmitri. She pursed her lips. Even for a ceremony of this gravity, the man could not remove his clunky spectacles? Surely, someone needed to inform the poor fellow how awkward and unbecoming they appeared on him. She surveyed him a moment more, registering the anticipation in his magnified blue eyes and the anxious gulp of his Adam’s apple, before returning her focus to the queen.

“What a splendid tradition to celebrate with you this evening.” The regal woman smiled. “I daresay, it recalls to me the king’s own Reveal Banquet, when I was chosen among my peers.”

Several seats down, a girl clutched her mother’s arm. The ladies behind Lucie appeared to be praying.

“And so, with great joy, I announce the engagement of my eldest son,” the queen drew a breath, and her audience held theirs, “to Miss Luccia Camerlane of Backshore.”

Silence.

Lucie blinked, staring at the untouched petit-fours on her porcelain plate. A symphony of applause built among the guests. The lanterns around her blurred, while the clapping sounded brassy and distant, as though reaching her ears from the opposite end of a tunnel. In disbelief, she looked up at her father.

“Go on,” he grinned.

Unsteady, Lucie rose, wondering how she would manage to walk while her legs felt like the contents of a jar of preserves. She tried not to notice the defeated frowns of the other girls, their perfunctory clapping, even the few who’d burst into tears. She felt like a fading star, shuttling aimlessly through space, with every reluctant step toward the queen, who awaited her with outstretched arms. At last, Lucie approached the woman, her breath gone from her lungs the moment they embraced.

Was this really happening? Why had
she
been chosen? Lucie hadn’t considered herself fit for the younger prince, no less the elder. A baron was the lowest rung of nobility. It wasn’t as if her dowry or standing could contribute anything of value to the Straussens.

Over the queen’s brocaded shoulder, Lucie cast one impulsive, terrified glance at the head table. This time, her eyes connected with Geo. With a look of utter devastation and disgust, the man clenched his chin and gave a single, hardly perceptible shake of his ashen head.

Lucie’s heart plummeted. Why, she’d led him to believe that she had been regularly intimate with her betrothed behind his back. The prince thought she’d betrayed him with his own brother!

The queen planted a soft kiss on her brow. “Congratulations, Luccia. Welcome to our family.”

The young woman felt ill, the meal and wine she’d just consumed threatening to resurface. Desperate, she turned again to the head table. But Geo was gone.