The Third Son (40 page)

Desmond nodded. “I know.” “I hope that you will remain here,” Damien added. “I also hope that you and I can still be friends.”

Desmond nodded abruptly and turned to go back into the stable. Damien decided to give the boy time.
H
e had not attacked Damien on sight and that was something, he supposed. He knew that once everything blew over, the boy would warm up to him again. At least, that was what he hoped would happen.

Once Persephone had been saddled, Damien swung up onto her back and took off at an exhilarating pace, breathing deeply in the cold air of winter’s morning. He pushed Persephone hard and fast, thundering over the cold, hard ground.
Damien
only wished he had the freedom to dig his heels into the mare’s sides and just keep riding, over the mountains and away from the world he had been born into.
B
efore long he had to turn back and face the inevitable.

Hopkins was waiting in his dressing room when he returned, prepared to shave him. Damien endured Hopkins’ fussing over him absently, staring off into space as the valet shaved and groomed him. Jarvis entered his chambers just as Hopkins finished tying his cravat. He wore all black, save for his white shirt and linen; he had decided that it was more than appropriate for him to wear mourning colors on his wedding day.

Jarvis stood watching him silently for several minutes, the disapproval on his face more than clear. Damien ignored him. Jarvis cleared his throat noisily. “What the devil is it, Jarvis?” Damien snapped, glancing toward the frowning butler.

“Your Highness, if I may be so bold-“

“You may not!” Damien barked
. T
he warning in his tone was clear. “There is nothing to discuss,” he said, his tone softening a bit.

Jarvis inclined his head and bowed slightly. “My apologies, Your Highness.”

When Hopkins was finally finished, Damien went to the waiting carriage prepared to take him to the cathedral. He did not know if Davina had gone before him or not and quite frankly, he did not care.
Damien
stared absently out through the window as he rode silently in the carriage with Hopkins and Jarvis, who would serve as the best man.

The rest of the morning swept by him in a blur. He faintly remembered standing at the front of the chapel, which was filled to the rafters with guests. Even the courtyard outside of the chapel was filled with Cardenas’ citizens, all seeking to gain just a glimpse at the new king and queen. Damien tuned out the priest’s droning voice. He kneeled for prayer when it was time and partook of the ceremonial communion.
Damien
repeated the vows mechanically, though he could not have told anyone later what he was promising.

The priest pronounced them man and wife and a stone weight seemed to settle itself within him. He lifted Davina’s veil and barely brushed her lips with his. It was done. He was married.

A few hours later, he found himself seated beside his bride in the ballroom. He downed glass after glass of champagne, effectively drinking himself into oblivion. Friends and well-wishers lifted their glasses in toast, one after the other. Damien was glad when the first course arrived and the toasting finally ceased. If one more person wished them a happy and prosperous marriage, Damien thought he might just become violently ill.

Of course
,
no one was so bold as to mention his previous betrothal to another woman. All of this seemed a distant memory to his guests, though there had been several rumors as to why the sudden change of bride. Many speculated that Esmeralda had grown homesick and returned to whatever land she had come from, unable to go through with the marriage. Others thought that she had run off with another man to elope. Still, others were certain it was because the king’s former mistress was with child and of course
,
Damien said nothing to confirm or deny those rumors. Everyone would know soon enough, when the child was born.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t drink so much champagne,” Davina hissed in his ear when he signaled a waiting servant to bring him another bottle.

“Nonsense my little wife,” he said, accepting the open bottle and pouring himself another liberal glass. “This is a celebration. Come, join me in celebrating this joyous day!”

Alexandra shook her head in disapproval from her seat on Damien’s other side. “Shameful,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the bowl of soup in front of her.

Damien barely touched his food and as course after course were brought before them, he ignored them all in favor of the bubbly champagne. At some point
,
he pushed his glass aside and took to swigging straight from the bottle, relinquishing it only long enough to lead Davina to the midst of the ballroom for their obligatory first dance as man and wife.

Despite his inebriated state, he managed to lead her gracefully through the waltz and wow their guests with his superior command of the dance. He then left Davina in the company of several young admirers and took his place once again at the table. Davina was partnered by an endless stream of men and barely had time to notice that Damien was upon his third bottle.

Finally, it came time for Damien and Davina to retire for their wedding night and Damien found himself grateful to escape the stares and smiles of his so-called friends. He’d been on display the entire day and had grown quite weary of it. He collapsed onto the edge of the bed and lay there for a few moments until the room stopped spinning. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to drink so much champagne, but he felt so deliciously numb and nonchalant. He hardly cared that a woman he detested was now next door to him readying herself for their wedding night.

He struggled into a sitting position bent at the waist to remove his formal shoes. With slow, clumsy movements, he fumbled at his cravat until he had succeeded at removing it. Where the devil was Hopkins anyway, he wondered. Probably off somewhere with Jarvis shaking his head in disapproval. Well they could damn well hate their new queen all they liked; hell, he hated her too.

Just as soon as he had removed his starched white shirt, the connecting room between his and Davina’s suite opened and his bride entered. She was dressed in a wispy bit of white material that was nearly nonexistent against her pale skin. Her gleaming brown waves had been brushed and fell loose around her shoulders. She stopped and struck a provocative pose in the doorway.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long, my husband,” she purred, walking slowly toward him. “I see you are nearly ready to receive your bride.”

Damien studied Davina with a mocking grin, his disgust undisguised. After a moment
,
he burst out laughing, doubled over at the waist, clutching his sides. When the laughter had subsided and he had composed himself, he rose from the bed, suddenly stone cold sober. She mistook his intensions as he walked toward her purposefully and smiled invitingly. Only when he drew near did she see notice the stubborn set of his jaw and the disturbing glint in his eyes.

He grasped her roughly by the arms, squeezing painfully until she cried out in pain, bringing a glint of satisfaction to his eye. “You disgust me,” he snarled. “Do you think you have anything to offer me that I haven’t already had from you countless times before? Let me assure you, I’m not interested sweetheart.”

“But….but it’s our wedding night!” she stammered once he had shoved her away and turned back toward his bed. She
gasped, her eyes widening at
the
sight
of his naked thighs and muscular buttocks as he divested himself of his trousers and flung himself beneath the covers. He blew out the lamp near his bed and turned his back to her.  “Good night, Davina,” he said. He was snoring within seconds.

Davina’s rage-filled scream could be heard halfway down the corridor had anyone been near enough to hear. Humiliated and outraged, she turned and stomped angrily back to her room.

****

Esmeralda burrowed her head beneath her pillow and tried to drown out the sound of
Raina’s
voice from the other side of the door. In the few days that had passed since she last saw Damien she had been feeling quite ill. She had slept for hours during the day and in the evenings had found herself too tired to give an adequate performance at the Golden Dancer.
After one performance she had to run quickly through the dressing room and out into the alley way where she was violently sick, spilling the contents of her stomach out onto the street.

B
y now her mother and grandmother were worried sick with wondering what was wrong with her. They tried special teas and soups and tried to coax her into eating, but nothing helped. They assumed she was simply languishing from a broken heart.
H
er heart was the least of her worries.

She was pregnant.

So much had happened over the past month or so that Esmeralda had not even realized she had missed her monthly. By the time she realized it, it was too late. Today was supposed to have been her wedding day, but now it was Damien and Davina’s. The irony of her situation had not been lost on her. After she had finished crying over it, she had laughed bitterly at how cruel a mistress fate could be. How plausible was it, that mere weeks after Davina showed up at Largess Hall claiming to be pregnant, she would discover her own pregnancy?

This discovery would have brought her endless joy a few weeks ago. Now the news of her pregnancy filled her not with
happiness
, but despair. If Damien were to find out that she was pregnant it would only confuse and upset him. He would be forced to choose between her and Davina, and though she knew in her heart that he would choose her, she was not so sure if his decision would be the right one.

Damien must never know, she decided. Her child would not know who their father was, and Esmeralda would raise it alone. The idea was not very encouraging, but what else could she do? The only thing Damien could offer her now was financial support and that would make their time together seem cheap and tawdry. Esmeralda refused to cheapen their memories in such a way.

So much had gone wrong already and she just wanted to be able to find a sense of peace and normalcy in her life; she wanted the same for Damien. Surely by now he had resigned himself to his marriage with Davina; even now, on their wedding night, he could be making love to her. Esmeralda tried not to dwell on it too much. She thought instead of the last night they had spent together, loving each other desperately, neither of them knowing that his seed had taken root within her womb weeks ago.

Raina finally ceased knocking on the locked bedroom door and declared that she would leave Esmeralda’s dinner tray outside the door. Esmeralda was relieved when her mother’s waning footsteps indicated her retreat. She needed time, time in which to think and devise a plan. When she was finally ready to tell her family, they would not be able to talk her out of whatever decisions she had made. But for now, she only wanted sleep. Her eyelids were heavy, and though she had slept for hours before, she felt as if she had been awake for days without rest. Fighting the waves of nausea that swept over her when she even contemplated getting up to retrieve her dinner, she welcomed the open arms of sleep. 

****

“But Tristan, I don’t understand. I thought you loved me!”

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest impatiently. He did not have time for this nonsense
. H
e had better things he could be doing, like comforting Esmeralda, who needed him as her friend. He stood in the dressing room of The Golden Dancer, where he had accidentally encountered Morgana while searching for Esmeralda.

The time had long passed for him to end their relationship. The girl had been diverting enough when he had needed something to take his mind off Esmeralda, but now that the woman he loved was suddenly available again, Morgana’s usefulness had run its course. Tristan had very gently told her that it was over and had been rewarded with an insipid bout of tears accompanied by an annoying amount of sniffling.

“I never said that I did,” he pointed out, wishing that he had never gotten involved with her in the first place. Morgana was young, barely nineteen and taking her virginity had been a
terrible blunder
. She had obviously mistaken their affair as one that would inevitably lead to marriage and now she saw all of her carefully laid plans falling down around her.

“Yes but we made love,” she whispered, as if this were explanation enough. “Did I do something wrong?” She grasped his shirt and pulled him close, pressing her lips to his ear. “Please Tristan,” she sighed, pressing her soft, wriggling body against his. “Whatever I did, I won’t ever do it again. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Please.”

Tristan grasped Morgana firmly by the shoulders and gently dislodged her from his clothing. Dark smudges of kohl streamed down her face and her cheeks were a mottled shade of red. Tristan grimaced at the sight and offered her one of his handkerchiefs. “Keep it,” he said.

Morgana swiped at her running eye makeup and stuffed the handkerchief in the pocket of her skirt. “Please don’t go,” she said with another sniffle, fighting back a
nother string of sobs
. “I’ll do anything for you, I promise.”