A Royal Affair (5 page)

I wanted to ask him many questions. We had much work to do, but for the first time, I became aware of the other people in the room. I looked about me for a sympathetic face, someone I could enlist in my quest for answers, but my gaze was met by stony glares or looks of complete indifference. Two or three of the men, I knew instantly, were doctors like myself. Yet… not like me, for they were…. I suppressed a smile. They were yellow and hunched. I nodded in their direction. I could not blame them for their antipathy. No professional man likes to see another treating his patient. But they had failed. They had little choice but to let me attempt a cure. Besides the doctors, there were men who reminded me of Mme. Costain’s husband, and I thought them similarly ministers or counselors. There were servants, one or two pageboys, and some women and young men less easy to place. I did not know whom to address.

I was saved from the attempt when a man strode into the room. The ripple his arrival caused led me to believe he was the crown prince—Prince George. I stood up and bowed my head a little. He came close. He was shorter than I, which was to be expected, as I was well over six feet and something of an oddity for it. He was not a bad-looking man, but something soured his features for me. I gave him the benefit of the doubt that he was merely suffering from anxiety for his father. I did wonder, though, whether the heir to any throne could ever truly be said to be keen for the continued good health of his monarch. He would have to be a saint, a man unwilling to assume the privilege of majesty. Europe abounds with such men, does it not?

Masking my thoughts, I inquired the history of his father’s illness. I had guessed his identity correctly, for he did not find the question odd but looked around the room for a moment before summoning one of the doctors. He was the best-looking of the three, not in terms of beauty but as a professional man who knew his business—despite being unable to cure a king. I bowed once more and wandered to a large window recess, where the chosen doctor joined me. I introduced myself. He did likewise. He was French, Doctor Jules Lyons. I said I had heard of him, which I had, and this pleased him no end. We spoke in French. I had only a bastardized patois learned in the colonies, but we understood each other well enough. He had some English as well, and between these two languages we managed to piece together a history of the king’s sickness.

He had taken sick upon returning from a holiday to his summer villa some six months previous. It was ironic, everyone said, that he had been so healthy just as ill health had struck him. I asked my usual questions, not outright who would want to harm the king but general ones to build up a picture of his routines, his close associates, and those with whom he had most contact.

Doctor Lyons was not stupid. Not only did he know that poison was being openly discussed in connection to the king’s health, he immediately saw where my questions were leading. He seemed an honest man and told me candidly that he had considered all this himself but had been unable to come to any conclusion. No one person prepared the king’s meals; they all ate from the same dishes. No one had access to the king alone. It was a mystery. I nodded and pursed my lips, thinking.

Before I could comment further, there was a commotion near the door. Prince George appeared to be remonstrating with someone in the other room, and some of the counselors had begun to intervene. I glanced at Doctor Lyons. He winced and mouthed something at me that I did not catch. Before I could ask him to repeat it, a man burst into the room, shouldering aside the older men who had gathered to listen nervously to the argument. I blinked. I moved back farther into the alcove, assessing this wholly unexpected turn of events.

My forest bandit, Aleksey, had just burst into the room—only now he was not filthy or bedraggled. If I doubted that this beautiful man in leather and silk
was
my bandit, his identity was confirmed when Faelan trotted in and joined him alongside the bed. Aleksey spoke a few words with the ailing king. I looked around. Was no one intervening? No one was, and I heard a murmured, “Your Royal Highness,” from a bowing courtier. I looked again, and the bandit was no longer there. He was Prince Christian. Christian
Aleksey
. I should have listened to my hostess more attentively.

I heard the king murmur the word doctor, and Aleksey turned, his penetrating green eyes scanning the room. He saw me, and I came forward. I wanted to say something, but for the life of me I couldn’t think of anything that actually conveyed in words what I felt, and this confused me so much I said nothing of any import at all. Instead I began to mention something noncommittal about our previous meeting but saw a tiny shake of his head, and his eyes held mine for a moment longer than appropriate. So in the end, I just bowed and said I was pleased to make his acquaintance. Faelan graced me yet again with a slight snarl and raised lip. I glanced at the wolf and mentally apologized for the lie by omission. The place was beginning to affect me. Prince Christian returned to his father’s side and idly tucked a blanket in as he stared forlornly at the shrunken figure. This small gesture, more than anything I had seen that day, seemed to be a genuine expression of concern. I noted it with interest.

The prince suddenly turned from the bed and pointed to me. “Come, we will walk.” He swept out. I gathered this was royal for
may I speak with you, and would you like to take a walk with me
? I debated ignoring the summons but decided that, in the interests of my new patient’s health, it would do more good to obey. It was not in my nature to obey the imperious summons of a mere boy, however, and I was in no pleasant mood by the time I caught up to him in the long gallery that led away from the king’s apartments.

My anger was immediately mollified when the prince, sensing my presence (which was hardly a compliment to his great perception, because the damned dog thing at his heels growled at me yet again), turned with a smile and said simply, “Sorry. You threw me there. I should have made the connection. You said you were a doctor, but we didn’t believe you.” He smiled more privately and added, “You don’t look
at all
like a doctor, trust me.”

I couldn’t help but smile back. “Well, then, I apologize for thinking you were a bandit with pretensions to land that was not yours. It
was
your land. I
was
trespassing.”

“You thought I was a bandit?” He laughed. “Do bandits share breakfast with lone travelers and then leave them with their honor and life intact?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met one before. I thought you might be having an off day.”

He turned from the gallery and pushed open some doors. They led out onto a stone walkway around the ramparts. The view was quite breathtaking. I went immediately to the battlements and peered over. There was a sheer drop to the sea below, which was calm, lapping gently at the rocks. The air was soft, and I could hear gulls circling somewhere toward the town. I lifted my face to the weak sun. It would be winter soon, and days like this were to be treasured. I felt a stab of intense pity for the man I had just left so sick and weak in his bed and resolved that if I could do nothing else, I would insist that he was taken out for some sun and air today.

I sensed Aleksey come and stand alongside me. I opened my eyes and turned to find him staring openly at me. Perhaps it was a royal privilege, but he did not immediately turn away as another man caught so openly staring might. Rather, he continued his frank appraisal, his eyes resting where they wanted and only moving on when it suited him. I allowed the inspection. I was, after all, inspecting him just as closely.

In this superb light, I could now see that he was not so changed after all. He was just clean and well dressed. He was, as I had thought at our first meeting, in his early twenties. The vivid intensity of his green eyes had not been a trick of the campfire light either. Now they were almost the exact shade of green as the translucent ocean—the edge where it lapped still and tranquil against the seaweed-strewn rocks beneath. I had no doubt these eyes could storm and rage just as quickly as could the sea they resembled. His hair was raven black and cut short, as I had noticed before. He had the skull for it. I had a few phrenologists in my acquaintance who would have killed to run their hands over that head. I swallowed, my thoughts running away with me. As to the rest of his appearance, the parts I managed to take in that day, he was dressed in black leather breeches and tall black leather riding boots, which had clearly seen some life. A white silk shirt topped the simple outfit. I felt overdressed.

“You are very brown. Why are you so brown?”

He, I forgot to mention, was pale. It suited his green eyes and dark hair—another incongruity.

“I have been traveling in the sun. It is not uncommon.”

He nodded, then turned with a gesture that clearly indicated he wanted me to walk with him. “What did you think of my father?”

“He is very sick.”

He scoffed lightly. “And you come all this way to tell us that. How grateful we all are.”

“Sarcasm isn’t likely to improve his health. I will tell you that for free.”

He glanced at me. Perhaps, being a prince, he wasn’t used to people responding to his lack of manners quite so forcefully. He pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, and nodded slightly. It could have been an apology, or it could have been a mental note chalked up against me. I felt it was the former and let it go.

I did frown, however, and glance around. “Does your wolf have to quite so obviously dislike me? Could he not save his snarling disapproval until he was not walking behind me?”

He glanced back, clearly confused. “Oh, he likes you a great deal.”

I laughed. “You have discussed me at length, have you?”

He didn’t even smile as he replied, “Of course.” With a glance around to see if we were being overheard by the one or two couriers who scurried past, he added, “What do you need? For your… what is it called? Diagnosis?”

Still thinking over his previous comment and wondering what else had been discussed about me, I replied, “Information. I cannot determine what is wrong with your… with His Majesty unless I have free access to the people closest to him. Also, I need to examine him fully.”

“Of course. You are staying here, no?”

“Staying here? You mean…? No, I am a guest of Mme. Costain.”

Suddenly his mood seemed to darken. “Sorry, that was not actually a question. My natural politeness made me forget for a moment that I do not need to ask your permission. You are staying here at the castle. You must be available when you are wanted.”

I was too furious to respond. I merely nodded politely, as I was not in a position
not
to be polite. “In that case, perhaps you would be so kind as to have someone show me to my room.”

He stopped and toed the stone walkway for a moment, apparently assessing his boots. He idly scraped some mud off one edge. “I will. Follow me.” He strode off, the
click clicking
of his animal’s claws following him.

I followed too. Perhaps I should have seen that small capitulation on his part and the willingness to follow him on mine as omens of what were to become noticeable features of our relationship. Perhaps I did. After all, I followed him very willingly, despite my earlier anger.

T
HE
PRINCE
led me to rooms at the front of the castle with the same spectacular view as I had beheld from the battlements. I even had a small balcony from which to enjoy it. The rooms were very bare but all the more welcome for that. The overblown decoration of the king’s apartments had been oppressive.

Prince Christian wandered around the room picking up objects and placing them down, clearly a man who wanted to say something but couldn’t think of a way to introduce the topic. I let him sweat and went into the adjoining room. This was a small sitting room, which would serve very well as a study. I had no idea how long I would be here, but it was nice to know I would be comfortable in this godforsaken country. As if reading the direction of my thoughts, which was extremely off-putting, the prince remarked casually, “You must have passed through many of our towns and villages on your journey.” He had wandered into the room after me and was leaning nonchalantly against the stone doorframe.

“Indeed. Many.”

He went then to stand in the window alcove, staring at the view, and I could not see his expression. “What impressions did you form?”

“Impressions?”

He turned, a little impatiently, and I stopped being deliberately annoying and added more freely, “I found a great deal of poverty and not a small amount of superstition. Each feeding on the other.”

He stared for a moment. “Do not try to flatter me about my country, Doctor. Say what you mean.”

It had not occurred to me for a moment that he might have wanted a favorable report of what I had seen. I was stupid. I was somehow taking a small connection I had felt in the forest for more than it was. He did not think as I. How could he? He was a
product
of the medieval barbarism I had witnessed on my journey. I bowed slightly. “You have very beautiful scenery. Big mountains.”

He considered me for a moment more, then broke into delighted laughter. “Johan was right about you.” He did not explain this slightly annoying comment but continued more soberly, “I believe you had come from a village before we met you?”

I nodded. This was a topic I was by no means ready to discuss with anyone. I could hardly bear to think on it myself. He was watching my reaction carefully. “There was an incident.”

I turned away and went back into the bedroom and out onto the balcony. I could not have taken another breath at that moment without losing my very fragile control. I sensed him behind me.

“I… we went to that village after we had encountered you, as we had business there and were told what happened.”

I swallowed. “Then you do not need me, Your Highness, to tell it to you again.”