A Royal Craving (8 page)

Prosper found Spencer laughing with Eamon, the cook, as he entered the kitchen. They were rolling bread, while Spencer watched Eamon's lips. The old man, in his late fifties, smiled at him.

That was impossible. He hated everyone in the house but Prosper, who had hired him. Prosper could not believe that he had taken to his companion the way his family had not.

“Have you found a new friend, Eamon?” Prosper asked, as he approached the counter.

The cook nodded. “I believe so, Master,” he said, nudging Spencer.

His lover looked up, still laughing, to follow the cook's nod toward Prosper. His eyes lit up on seeing him. “Eamon promised to teach me to cook.” He beamed, bubbling with joy at such an ordinary offer.

Prosper crossed to stand by him, finding a need to be close.

“Do you eat?” Spencer asked, with a frown.

“Yes, little one, I can eat,” he said, smiling fondly at his inquisitiveness. “It is a side effect of my condition. I am forever in limbo, between vampire and human. I must feed as both or I become weak,” he explained. He had already explained he could not be a hybrid; half vampire and half human. His father had made sure of that, conducting countless experiments over the years. No one quite knew what he may be, but they had ruled out a hybrid, at least.

Spencer continued to roll the dough, never breaking eye contact. “What about sleep patterns?” his human wondered.

Prosper had slept peacefully last night, holding Spencer and talking, in between bouts of sleep. But he propped his hip against the counter and folded his arms over his chest, giving it some thought. “I do not normally sleep well,” he confessed.

“The daylight does not harm us, as the sun does not shine as it once did, but it can make us tired and weak. That is usually when Asher and I travel. He is human, for that purpose. As we travel during the day, I sleep in the carriage or read and he sleeps when I am dealing with business.” He continued to explain what he could, glad to find him interested.

“What about…children?” Spencer wondered, keeping his eyes downcast, pretending to be focused on the bread he rolled.

Prosper had his first hint of his companions thoughts, as a vague, unfamiliar thought pattern entered his mind.

Secretly, he was embarrassed the question had escaped his lips. He had asked about children on his second night; Spencer thought it wrong and silly, but it was neither.

Prosper did not want him to be scared to ask questions. He touched his chin and made him look up. “I do not know. Normally we cannot have children,” he explained, curious as to why it mattered.

Only exceptionally rare blood lines, in the olden days, had ever carried a child within their own bodies. As a human, and male, Spencer would be physically incapable of having a child.

“We adopt humans after the age of three and begin them on a blood diet. Three is when their bodies are mature enough to handle our way of life.” He began to explain the process they used. It was not the same as blood born children, but that ability had died out long ago. “They become like us as they grow. Because of my father’s experiment and my situation, stuck between two worlds, I have no answer for you. I am sorry,” Prosper apologised, wishing he had the answers his companion sought.

He had never contemplated being able to give him a child. He assumed that, as two men, it was impossible. Now he did not know.

“Perhaps we should be careful in the future,” he suggested, thinking about their night and how they had risked finding out the hard way.

“Maybe we should not?” Spencer spoke quietly, but he heard him regardless. He blushed wildly, gazing into his eyes, in hope of a response.

“If this is your way of saying you wish a child, I will take you to bed this moment,” Prosper offered, with a heartfelt promise. “It may not be possible, but I will do my best.”

“You are unique in the world, Prosper;” Spencer said, with soft, doe eyes. “There is no other like you. Do we not owe it to science, to yourself, to discover all we can about you?” he asked, with a mischievous smile. “You forget, the prophetess promised that I would find love
for a man and a child of my flesh,” he explained, in the quietest voice.

Prosper knew his words were true. The prophetess had foretold their meeting and this future for Spencer. Her other insights must be true.
He chuckled and kissed him, in agreement. It sounded wonderful.

Eamon tapped Spencer's arm. “You will have to watch yourself, Master. He is a feisty one,” he warned, bringing a bright blush to his companion's cheeks.

“That he is,” Prosper agreed. He wished he could stay to talk about it in detail, but he recalled other duties. “I must make some phone calls. Will you be content, if I leave you in Eamon's safe hands?” he asked, willing to give him the choice. He never wanted to lie about his commitments, but he had asked Spencer to be his companion in all instances and that included his Kingly duties.

“Yes.” Spencer nodded and kissed him quickly. “Go be King.”

Prosper left him to enjoy his new hobby. The smile never left his lips, as he realised what he had implied.

In Spencer's eyes, he would be his friend, lover and a man before he would ever be his King. That delighted him more than he could put into words.

S
ienna waited outside the kitchen door, as Prosper left Spencer to his lesson. Her frown and the hands on her hips told him she did not approve of his new happiness. He chose to ignore her, continuing upstairs to his office, situated in the dining room.

“Prosper!” Sienna screeched, the moment they reached his desk.

Prosper leaned on the desk, with a curious look. His twin shrugged his silent reply; he did not understand her anger, either.

He chose to wait it out, as he perched on the edge of his desk and picked up the Candlestick receiver.

“You are not being careful with a human?” she raged, shocking him.

He looked up and stared at his sister. He did not like to be challenged; it remained the only aspect of his personality that made him a good King. “That conversation was private. Do not interfere!” he ordered, turning to the handset.

Sienna sped into view and ripped the phone from his hand. “He is human!” she screamed, as if he did not know that.

Prosper could sense Parry's amusement; as his twin, he leaked emotions and thoughts into his head. He wanted to smack him for humouring her temper with a smile.

“What is your point?” he asked. He would have ignored Sienna's outburst as a side effect of her 'infection', but he could see this was not a symptom, but her true nature.

“We do not know what you can do to him,” Sienna said, the words bursting forth.

Silence followed and even Parry's smile faded.

Prosper could not control the pure hatred that ran through his blood. Sienna had crossed a line, but she could not stop herself from making it worse.

“We do not know if you will hurt him or if he can get infected. We know nothing about what risks you pose,” she warned, as though he had not considered the risks of beginning  a relationship with a human.

Prosper saw her true meaning loud and clear. He was a monster who risked infecting the entire house, as he had infected her.

“Prosper?” Spencer's voice interrupted the silence.

Prosper turned to his young lover and offered a smile, while Parry flinched, as though his companion's presence had stunned him into reality.

His brother raised a curious eyebrow, as if to ask what he should do, while Prosper acted sensibly.

He moved away from Sienna, before he acted recklessly. He focused on crossing to Spencer's side. “What is wrong, little one?” he asked, trying to keep this unpleasantness from touching him.

“Eamon asked me to return these to you. He thought you may need them, if you are working,” he explained, frowning as he held out a pair of glasses.

Prosper had forgotten all about them, in his rush to the council meeting last night. He took them gratefully and kissed Spencer's forehead, lingering longer than he should. If there was anyone he did not want hurt by this argument, it was Spencer.

“Thank you, little one.” He forced a smile, that wavered as Spencer grabbed the front of his shirt and looked up with such sad eyes. As though his pain were Spencer's pain.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

Prosper did not know what to say. How could he find the words?

He felt Parry deciding to intervene; they were at an impasse, with Spencer afraid to push too hard and Prosper unable to explain because it would hurt him.

His brother crossed to his side, before Prosper would have no choice but to answer. “Typical sibling rivalry,” Parry passed it off. “Shall we ask Eamon to make his famous chocolate cake? I hear the servants raving over it, constantly, yet I cannot taste it. It is quite cruel,” he suggested, teasingly.

Prosper watched his companion hesitate. He nodded, both in approval for his brother's intervention and to reassure Spencer he could handle Sienna.

Spencer willingly left the room, with no clue that, as he walked to the kitchen, Parry stalled in the doorway.

“Apologise, Sienna, before you upset us all,” he ordered, before leaving and shutting the doors behind him.

Prosper did not care that Sienna started crying, because her opinion would never change. She had looked down on him since birth, because she wished to be Queen and knew their father would never pass over two older brothers to crown her Queen of the Vampires.

“I do not care for apologies, Sienna. Just leave.” He spoke without looking at her. “I have business to deal with. I would like to do so in private.”

Prosper took his seat at the desk, wondering how to explain the argument to Spencer, tonight. He deserved the truth, but the pain was too raw to find the appropriate words.

Sienna knew not to push him.
It may have been her house, but, as King, he had the right to become the Lord and Master of any home he entered. This one time, Prosper would use that power to his advantage, if she did not leave at his request.

She had no idea the trouble she had caused.

P
arry seemed to forget that Spencer could read lips, as he left him with Eamon. He understood enough of his mutterings to know Parry was intent on having a private argument with Sienna, about her accusations.

Sienna had surprised him. Her brothers were different to her shockingly blonde hair and see-through, haunting grey eyes. Both men had dark hair, though his Prosper had faded green eyes, while Parry sported bright blue eyes. If he had been asked, he would easily have placed his King and Parry as brothers, but considered Sienna unrelated.

Alone with Eamon, Spencer decided to be inquisitive. “May I ask you something?” he wondered, as they enjoyed a cup of tea.

Eamon encouraged him with a wave and sipped from his cup.

“Is there much rivalry between Prosper and Sienna?” he asked.

“The Master and the Mistress? Oh no.” Eamon chuckled. “Why do you ask, child?” he wondered.

“They were fighting.” Spencer sighed, disheartened by the look in Prosper's eyes. “I could not hear anything, but Prosper…he…he looked stricken. I think Sienna said something that he will never forgive her for,” he admitted.

“I cannot say I understand; Jael would be a better one to ask,” the cook said, with a slight frown. “She nurses the Mistress, as she recovers from her sickness. But I believe the Mistress blames the Master,” Eamon explained what he suspected.

“Because he infected her?” he asked.

When Eamon looked up from his cup, his surprise evident, Spencer blushed. It seemed that Prosper had opened up to him in a way that shocked his family and friends.

“The Master attempted to talk sense into Sienna, after she drained a servant nearly dry,” Eamon began, with a sigh and shake of the head. “You see, child, Sienna has no respect for humans,” he complained, staring into his cup. “She believes us cows to slaughter, for her appetite. She would not have cared had that poor girl died, but the Master did. He respects all life, no matter what form,” he clarified.

Spencer frowned. All life should be sacred, no matter what the species.

“And that is when she got injured,” Eamon admitted, with a heavy sigh. “The Master was outraged and threatened the Mistress, if she dared stop him from saving the girl's life. The Mistress did not take kindly to that,” he explained, shaking his head. “When the Mistress raised her hand to the Master, she did so without thinking. Had her hand made contact, she would have struck his scars.” He sighed and looked up again.

“Son,” he said, leaning forward to touch a light hand to his knee. “Before you came, the Master walked these halls only in shadow. He did not make eye contact, would not allow any glance to linger on his scars or burns and would never allow any to touch them,” he explained, unaware how much those words hurt.

Spencer's stomach flipped uncomfortably, as he realised how lost and alone Prosper had been, before they found each other.

“Master Parry caught her wrist, before contact could be made, but it was too late. The Master had caught her by the throat and one of his nails pierced the skin,” Eamon recalled, gazing over Spencer's shoulder at the memory. “I was in the room that day, trying to stem the blood flow of the poor servant girl, as the Master fought to save her life,” he lamented. “You know of his illness?” Eamon asked, looking Spencer in the eye.

“Yes. Prosper explained that it continues to harm him, frequently.” He promised that he knew everything the cook might unwittingly reveal. He did not want him to worry that he had betrayed his Master's trust.

Eamon nodded and patted his knee, releasing him to put both hands to his cup. “Then you will understand what comes next,” he said, looking disappointed. “I will not ask how well you know it, but I trust you are acquainted with the scar on his cheek that travels to his lips?” he asked, with a faint blush.

His look told Spencer the staff had suspicions about how he and his King had spent the night. Trying not to smile, he nodded and gave nothing away. “I may be,” he hinted.

Eamon chuckled and nodded. “The Master has had that scar since childhood. To Miss Sienna's misfortune, that scar reopened and began bleeding profusely,” he explained. “Neither the Master nor his brother were able to prevent the flow of blood from reaching their wounded sister. The blood sprayed both siblings, as the wound broke open, but the broken skin of their sister's neck sealed her fate.”

“Since then,” Eamon continued, “he Mistress talks about the Master as though he is an uncontrollable monster,” he lamented, with another shake of the head.

Spencer could not contain his pride. Prosper was such a strong, independent soul. His mission in life seemed to be protecting all those he encountered. Young, old, weak or strong, vampire or human; his King would fight for justice and equality. It made his heart swell with love.

“Miss Jael is her companion, for the duration of her illness. But do not listen to her foolish romantic notions,” Eamon warned, though the message was not clear. “She has served within a vampire house before. The girl had been fed from three or four times a day and become bedmate to King Prosper's uncle, the Master of the house.” He sighed, with a pointed look.

Spencer understood the warning, but he was not Jael. He would never be a bedmate to Prosper; they shared something more meaningful than that.

“When the Mistress took ill, Jael came here, as she has training as a nurse. The silly woman wishes to return to him, as soon as the Mistress is well again,” Eamon disapproved. “She is not valued as you are, by the Master. Her Master does not love her and never will; his life mate died many decades ago and Jael is nothing more than a human replacement. When she is too old, he will cast her aside and find another,” he rambled on, clearly trying to make a point.

“Why do you disapprove, if she is happy?” Spencer wondered, intrigued by the idea of 'foolish romantic notions'. He did not know what others considered romantic, but he knew something of love and it was neither foolish nor a notion.

“Because she cannot be happy forever,” Eamon said, smiling consolingly. “Her Master will not turn her, to keep her as a companion. He will discard and replace her. Then she will be ruined and heartbroken; she will never find a human husband willing to accept her.”

“And what if she does not desire a husband?”

“It will not matter. The humans will distrust her and her talent will be ignored,” the cook complained, with warmth. “Up here,” he said, tapping his head. “She is the smartest woman I know. But here,” He tapped his heart and huffed. “Dumb as a rock.”

Spencer laughed. He liked the cook more and more, as he watched him talk of those in the house and in the family. He began to see why Eamon opposed Jael's chosen path, but Spencer believed she could not be swayed. If her heart had chosen Prosper's uncle, then no logical sense would warn her of the danger ahead.

“But you believe Prosper loves me?” Spencer asked, bravely.

The cook grinned and patted his knee again. “My family have served the Master's for three generations. I have watched him grow from a young, lost man into a fine King to his people,” he explained, happily. “But I have never once seen a lightness in his eyes, as I saw there this morning. When he looks at you, I see all of his pain floating away.”

“He is in pain?” Spencer asked, disappointed that he did not know that.

“Oh yes. He will not admit it to you, for fear of worrying you,” Eamon reasoned, though that did not reassure him. “His eyes grow a little darker when he is in pain. During the rain or thunder, he will take a special draft of human medicines to sleep through the storm. If he does not, he will not sleep and will be in much pain,” he explained, with a look that attempted to teach him.

“Can I stop that?” he asked, desperately.

“Yes.” The cook cupped Spencer's chin. “I do not understand how or why, but I believe you can. Be with him, Spencer. Love him as I see you do and that will be all he needs.”

“But is it enough?” he worried.

“Only the Master can say.”

Spencer took a deep breath and thought about all that Eamon had said. He knew the cook would be an ally now, eager to help him understand Prosper and make him happy.

His lover was selfless and no one should hate or fear him the way Sienna did. But Spencer did not need Eamon to tell him that. He had known those truths five years ago, when he stared into the shadowed face of a stranger.

“What happened to the girl? The servant Sienna fed from?” Spencer wondered.

Eamon smiled, happier to have a change of topic. “The Master had her taken to hospital and she made a full recovery. He placed her into service in the city, to a lovely human couple with three children. She is happy,” he promised.

“Do you blame Prosper?” Spencer knew he might not like the answer, but he must ask.

“Not a bit. That man has not done a cruel act his entire life. He would not start now,” Eamon reassured.

“Thank you for telling me this. I understand it is difficult when you have to choose between your own Mistress and the King.” He sighed at how he must sound.

“Do not thank me, child.” The cook rejected the gratitude, thoughtfully. “I should thank you. When I followed my father into service, he taught me that the key to serving the Royal family lay in keeping the King happy. Until now, the Master has had nothing to bring him joy.
You
are the key,” he revealed, smiling in wonder.

Eamon had been one of the few to see his King's continual loneliness, his isolation from his own family.

Prosper felt a burden to his people and family, something that should be washed away from the world. Spencer knew, because his King had told him. Knowing Eamon thought he could be a light in the darkness of Prosper's life, filled Spencer with such joy that he could not express it.

“Run along and see how hungry the Master is. I planned to make stew for your next meal,” Eamon announced, as he rose from his seat.

Spencer put his cup down and kissed his cheek in gratitude, before leaving the room.