The Third Son (18 page)

“There is nothing coy about her,” said Damien. “Perhaps she would be more open to speaking with you if you didn’t question her so endlessly.”

Lionus pushed his chair back from the table and stood, his mouth grim, his eyes narrowed. “And you know this for a fact, do you? I ask you, brother, what you know about her other than the feel of her open thighs?”

“Lionus!” exclaimed Isabelle, as Damien shot to his feet, his chair scraping back noisily before toppling over backward. “Don’t be crude,” she pleaded, placing a hand on Lionus’ arm. Damien placed both fists on the table and leaned forward menacingly, the muscles in his biceps and forearms drawn tight as a bowstring.

“Do not think to insult the lady in my presence,” he hissed, his voice laced with hostility, his body nearly shaking with the force of his anger. “If you are ever so foolish again, I will call you out. Don’t think I won’t, brother, and don’t forget who the better man with a sword is.”

Damien stepped over his toppled chair and whirled from the room, leaving his shocked brothers and Princess Isabelle staring after him. He paused outside the door and leaned against it, unable to believe the threat he had just issued against his brother.
Damien
was surprised to realize that he had meant every word.

“That was uncalled for.” Damien heard Isabelle’s voice easily through the double doors.

“Agreed,” Serge said. “You don’t know the girl, Lionus.”

“Do any of us really?” Lionus asked. His was voice calm yet edged in frustration. “What do any of us really know about her? Have any of you stopped to think that she may be a part of this plot against the royal family? Wouldn’t it be clever of the masked man to use Damien’s weakness for a pretty pair of long legs against him? Of course not,” he said after a long pause. “None of you are thinking of this and instead have decided to make me the villain in this little drama. Well then, so be it, if that is what it takes to keep this family safe.”

Damien curled his hands at his sides and resisting the urge to go back into the room and smash Lionus’ face in, stalked out of the house and off toward the stables. He found Nicolai already there, grooming one of the three horses he had brought from his own estate.  

“I was going to say good morning,” Nicolai began, lifting his head as Damien approached. “But it would seem for you, that that is not the case.”

Damien relaxed a bit as he approached Persephone. “Hoping to get a ride in before the tournament?”

Nicolai nodded. “Just looking for a moment away from all of the ruckus.”

“Mind if I join you?” 

“Not at all.”

Damien quickly saddled Persephone, knowing he wouldn’t have long before he would have to start readying for the tournament. He and Nicolai raced off across the open countryside, circling the small copse of trees around their pond before heading back. They slowed to a trot as they neared the stable.

“Will your father be joining us for the wedding?” Damien asked.

Nicolai frowned, his brow lowering over turbulent eyes. “I doubt it,” he said, his voice edged in agitation. “He stays at the bottom of the brandy bottle these days. He wouldn’t be very good company.”

“He grieves for your mother,” Damien said softly. “He needs time to heal.”

“He is weak,” Nicolai spat bitterly as he dismounted and handed the reigns over to a groom. “He reflects poorly on all of us. It’s not as if he is the only one hurt by her death.”

Damien digested Nicolai’s words thoughtfully. He had never heard his usually good-natured cousin speak so angrily. In fact, Damien had never seen an expression other than amusement on Nicolai’s face. Damien handed the reigns over to Desmond and followed Nicolai from the stable.

“I know it can’t be easy for you either,” said Damien. Nicolai was an only child and so had not had to compete for his
parents’
affections. The two had been close. Nicolai did not respond. The pair walked back from the stables in thoughtful silence.

****

Esmeralda was grateful for Princess Isabelle’s presence beside her, beneath the colorful awning fluttering in the balmy fall breeze. The lady’s warm smiles and idle chatter helped to distract Esmeralda from the cool, narrow eyes of Queen Alexandra. The woman had been listening intently to their conversation and watching Esmeralda quite rudely. Damien had sent Isabelle in his carriage to fetch her that morning and so Esmeralda had assumed that Damien trusted the girl enough to keep Esmeralda’s identity a secret. Isabelle had said nothing of Esmeralda’s modest home in a quaint little corner of the city
. S
he merely greeted Esmeralda cheerfully and linked arms with her, leading her to the carriage. It would seem she had found allies in Serge and Isabelle and the thought warmed Esmeralda’s heart. 

Isabelle was excited
. T
he tournament was a yearly tradition, one that the men of the court looked forward to with great anticipation. Their enthusiasm was contagious. There would be several contests, Isabelle had explained, including archery, swordsmanship, and jousting. The three princes always competed, she’d told Esmeralda, and were almost always the most formidable opponents.

“I vow, Nicolai is the best swordsman I’ve seen,” Isabelle said, her voice lowered. “Damien is a very close second. One of them almost always wins in swordsmanship. Lionus is best with a lance.”

“Isn’t jousting dangerous?” asked Esmeralda. She had heard many stories of the sport, though she had never seen it in person.

Isabelle patted her hand reassuringly. “The lances are blunted, of course. There are few injuries, though those are caused when one is thrown from his horse, not from the lance itself.”

Esmeralda breathed a sigh of relief, no longer worried that she would have to watch Damien become impaled on the edge of someone’s lance. 

“Here they come!” Isabelle squealed, pointing out the parade of tournament participants. They rode on horseback, each dressed in armor that gleamed brightly beneath the noonday sun. Each man also carried a shield boasting the crest of his family. A page followed each horse on foot, carrying his master’s lance, bow and quiver, and sword. Lionus lead the parade, his hawk’s eyes surveying his surroundings sharply, his firm mouth quirked into the beginnings of a rare smile. Damien and Serge rode side by side, behind their brother. Esmeralda’s heart quickened at the sight of Damien, regal and proud as he rode easily on Persephone’s back. Desmond walked behind him as his page and Esmeralda waved excitedly at him as they passed. Desmond, whose arms were full, could only return Esmeralda’s smile.

The contestants were presented in order of station, beginning with the crowned prince. Before the tournament began, each competitor sought out the lady of his choosing for a favor to wear on his person. Damien brought his horse up alongside the canopy where Esmeralda sat with Isabelle and the queen. He smiled down at her and bowed gallantly at the waist, no easy feat considering that he was in the saddle.

“My lady,” he said, his eyes traveling approvingly over Esmeralda’s pale green gown. “I beg of you, a favor to wear for good luck.” 

Lionus rode up beside him, holding his hand out for Isabelle’s offered hair ribbon. Lionus nodded his thanks and tied the ribbon around his forearm. He placed a chaste kiss on Isabelle’s hand and rode away. Damien stood waiting for her favor
.
Esmeralda hadn’t thought to wear anything small enough to give him.

“Esmeralda, your shawl!” hissed Isabelle, indicating the white and green paisley shawl draped across her shoulders. Esmeralda removed the shawl and stood to tie it loosely around Damien’s neck. 

“One more thing, my lady,” he said, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he leaned closer. “I require a kiss for luck as well.” 

Esmeralda hesitated for a moment. Isabelle was looking on with irrepressible anticipation, obviously awed by Damien’s romantic request. The queen frowned, her narrowed eyes fixed on Esmeralda in blatant disapproval. Ignoring the malicious glares of the queen, Esmeralda raised herself up on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to Damien’s. She had meant to kiss him quickly and appease him while avoiding angering the queen further. But Damien’s strong arm swept her up off her feet as he lifted her for greater access to her mouth. He kissed her deeply for several seconds, causing her to nearly forget where they were.
Damien
loosed her and slid her slowly to the ground.

“With such inspiration, no man will be able to beat me,” Damien murmured before moving his horse away to join the others. 

“A shameful display,” the queen muttered as she rose slowly and regally from her seat. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said to Isabelle, “I believe I see Lady Worthington and would like to have a word with her.”

She floated away with a swish of her elegant skirts, leaving a flustered Isabelle alone with Esmeralda. She sighed and turned to Esmeralda with a small smile. 

“Do not let her Highness intimidate you,” she said softly. “She can be an overbearing woman, but you will learn to abide her.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass anyone.”

Isabelle laughed. “The only person who should be embarrassed is me,” she said, her usually melodious voice laced with something akin to sadness. “I am the one who is betrothed and my intended does no more than kiss my hand as he would some distant relative.”

For the first time since they’d met, Esmeralda saw despondency in Isabelle’s eyes. The sight was enough to break Esmeralda’s heart for the poor girl. She put on a smile and a brave face in public, but Esmeralda could only imagine how hard it must be for her. Her husband had been chosen for her at birth because of the dangers that awaited her in her own country
. S
he had lived in exile all these years, her life decided on by everyone but herself.

“I love him,” Isabelle said sincerely. “I have loved him all of my life. And I know that he feels something for me, even if it is not love. But I have to admit to envying you just a little bit. Damien’s feelings are so open, as are his affections for you. I wish Lionus felt such passion and intensity for me.”

Esmeralda was stunned. Perhaps Isabelle had not noticed the way Lionus had looked at her when he approached their canopy, or the way his normally cold eyes had warmed considerably as he’d kissed her hand. “I think he does, in his own way,” Esmeralda said. “He is not like Damien. Open affection is not his way.”

Isabelle nodded. “I think you’re right
b
ut that does not free me from my wishful thinking.”

Damien fingered Esmeralda’s paisley shawl around his neck as he watched her where she sat with Isabelle and his mother. She was watching the final event of the tournament, the joust and didn’t see him watching her. Serge and Lord Wilmington sped toward each other, their blunted lances gripped tightly, their horses’ hooves pounding rhythmically as they drew closer together. He watched her grimace slightly as the lances connected with their targets. Wilmington was sent flying from his horse, head over heels and landed some feet away from Serge, who had been struck by his opponent’s lance but had managed to keep his seat. A cheer went up from the crowd, Esmeralda applauded
.
Serge had won. He would now face Damien, who had defeated all of his opponents as well. Whoever emerged victorious between them would face Lionus.

It was widely known that most years, one of the Largess clan was sure to win in every category. So far
,
Damien had taken the prize for swordsmanship and Serge for archery. Lionus, last year’s jousting champion, was preparing in the large tent nearby to face the victor. Damien nodded at Desmond, who approached with Hercules, his dappled gray gelding. Damien patted Hercules’ neck before allowed Desmond to help him into the saddle
. H
is heavy armor made it hard for him to manage it alone. He pulled his helmet on and accepted the lance from Desmond. After three passes, Serge was unseated and Damien declared the winner of that round.  

“It matters not which of us beats Lionus,” Serge said with a laugh as he wheeled his horse past Damien. He had removed his helmet and sweat had plastered his hair against his forehead. “We can’t allow him the victory two years in a row.”

Damien nodded to his brother and returned to his place just as Lionus was taking his. Thunderous applause met the crowned prince as he waved to the crowd. Isabelle’s ribbon was now fluttering on the handle of his lance, and he raised it to this betrothed in silent salute. Both men lowered their helmets and waited for the signal to start. Damien narrowed his eyes in concentration
.
Lionus had the longer reach and thus the advantage, but Damien knew he could still win. The flag was dropped and Damien dug his heels into Hercules’ side. He raced toward Lionus, concentrating on the figure in gleaming silver armor charging toward him with lowered lance. 

Suddenly, Lionus’ horse’s legs buckled and the horse began to fall, face forward into the dirt. Horrified, Damien yanked on Hercules’ reins, pulling the beast up short. He lifted the face shield of his helmet just in time to see Lionus pitch forward from the saddle as the horse toppled. Lionus soared through the air for a few feet before he landed in a heap of battered metal.

Isabelle’s shrill scream rang out among a chorus of gasps. Alexandra fainted in Isabelle’s arms. Most of the royal court stood on their feet, hands over mouths, waiting to see if the prince would move. Damien leapt from his horse, racing toward the crumbled heap that was Lionus. Nicolai and Serge appeared from where they had been watching and joined him at Lionus’ side. Nicolai rolled Lionus to his back slowly before removing his helmet. Though the helmet had probably been the only thing protecting him from death, there was still a large gash in Lionus’ forehead. Blood trickled down the side of his face and back into his hair, which had mostly come loose from its binding. Lionus did not stir, but Damien detected a strong, rapid pulse at his throat.