The Third Son (48 page)

As he neared Largess Hall he allowed his thoughts to turn toward the changes that had occurred in the long year he had been absent from his body. Many things were the same, yet everything had changed. After his father had been poisoned by his treacherous nephew, whom no one had known was really his illegitimate son, Serge had thought that no pain could compare to the emptiness he had felt then. Adare Largess had been a great man, as well as a great king, with more love in his heart for his sons than any man could have wished for.

He could remember vividly the night they had been attacked on the road leaving the city.

While Serge, Lionus, the queen mother, and Lionus’ new bride, Isabelle, had traveled down the road toward one of Lionus’ country estates, Nicolai and his hired band of cutthroats had waited for them, their purpose sure, their intent deadly. Serge remembered that night with a bitter taste in his mouth. He and his brother had fought together, each terrified for the women that they protected, neither willing to just stand aside and allow them to be killed. He remembered with an aching flash the moment when Lionus had been felled by their half-brother’s sword. He remembered being held down by two men, stunned by a blow to the back of his head, forced to watch as his brother was run through.

He could remember the white hot fury that had struck him like lightning, and his shock and dismay upon discovering the identity of the man who had killed his father and wounded his brother. He had fought madly, with every ounce of his strength until he was bound, hand and foot and lashed to the back of a carriage. After that there had been only darkness. He could faintly recall flashes of pain so unbearable that his mind has instantly retreated back into unconsciousness. In fact, he could remember reaching for wakefulness several times, only to be snatched back into darkness when the agony of his injuries overtook him.

He continued to carry the scars that that night had left upon him. His left leg, which he was told had been broken in several places pained him still, and caused him to limp slightly. Serge had refused to accept the cane that the doctors tried to force upon him and felt that his leg had actually grown stronger once forced to bear his full weight. Only one scar was visible when he was fully dressed. It haunted him when he glanced in a mirror, or even now, when he held his fingers up to his face to trace the jagged line marring his otherwise unspoiled countenance. It ran almost the entire length of his face on the right side, slashing from just beneath his eye, diagonally to his jaw.

Every time he looked into a mirror, he felt as if he were looking at a stranger. It wasn’t just because of the scar, which had not done much to alter his appearance, nor was it because of his hair which hung loose and untamed down to his shoulders when he had once kept it cropped short and neat. Something else was there; he could see it in the depths of his eyes. There was a pain, a deeply rooted agony that he could not seem to cover up no matter how hard he tried. Even when he smiled, he knew that it never quite reached his eyes.

Serge nodded to the footman who held open the double doors leading into the main hall. He appreciated the familiarity of the space with its marble floors, high domed ceiling and towering arrangements of fresh flowers upon polished mahogany tables. He was relieved to find it quiet, save for the servants bustling about, tending to their various tasks. He knew they were all observing him from under lowered eyelids as they stopped what they were doing to bow or curtsy as he walked past. At least they weren’t dropping things or stopping dead in their tracks to stare at him as if he were a ghost. It had taken more than a week for them to become accustomed to seeing him roaming the halls again.

He headed toward the smaller dining room reserved for intimate family meals. A table just large enough to seat ten was set with an white table cloth and canary yellow lace overlay, which matched the flowing drapes. The windows were thrown open to the pleasant fall air, filling the room with the fresh scent of the outdoors. He was relieved to find it almost deserted though luncheon was being spread out on the sideboard. He took a seat across from his sister-in-law, Damien’s wife, Esmeralda.

“Good afternoon,” he said with a nod as he lowered himself into a chair.

“Hello,” she answered with a striking smile. Serge could not help but smile back. Esmeralda had an inner beauty that rivaled her outer beauty and always seemed to show through her smile. He must think of her as queen now, he reminded himself. It was hard to think of her that way. When he’d first lain eyes on her she had been dressed in Gypsy garb and dancing for the finely dressed members of the court. It was easy to see why Damien had been so entranced by her that night and Serge had been more than pleased when he’d learned of Damien’s plans to marry the girl.

They were married and had one daughter, who Serge had fallen in love with the moment he’d laid eyes on her. The child was beautiful and sweet, and she was the only person in the entire castle that did not know how much he had changed. Esmeralda’s true identity as a Gypsy dancer was a closely guarded secret, one that Serge was pleased to find had not been revealed. No one had ever guessed she would become queen, but then no one could have imagined that Damien, the third of Adare’s sons, would have become king.  They seemed happy enough, he thought as they moved to the sideboard together once the footmen were done setting it with steaming dishes. No one would guess that either of them had not been born for the roles of king and queen, for they fulfilled their duties admirably.

Once they were seated again Serge attacked his food with vigor, hoping that he would soon regain the weight he had lost over the past year. His own clothes hung loosely from a frame that had once been broad and powerful. He had taken to wearing Lionus’ clothes as his brother had been much thinner than him..

“Damien has been looking for you,” she said after a few moments of silence. He looked up to find her observing him carefully.

“I went for a walk,” he said simply.

“Yes, I’m sure you needed to get away from all the whispering and staring.”

. “They act as if I’ve risen from the dead.”

“It is as if you’ve risen from the dead, Serge. No one expected you to live.” She smirked. “You sure showed them.”

Serge returned her smile. “You know, I suppose you are right. Where is Damien, by the way? I hadn’t intended to avoid him.”

She stared into the murky depths of her teacup and sighed heavily with obvious relief. “I am glad you feel that way, because he thinks that you are angry with him.” She tore her gaze away from the painted china cup in her hand, her eyes filled with worry. “He fears that you resent him for taking the throne. Even now he is petitioning the High Council, hoping to right the wrong he feels he has done to you.”

“I am not angry,” Serge said honestly. “I know that Damien did what he had to and that there was nothing underhanded about it. Hell, Damien is the last person who would ever have had aspirations toward the throne.”

“You know him well,” she said. “It has been quite an adjustment for him, for both of us really, but he has adapted well. He is a great king.”

Serge finished his plate and rose for seconds. He waved a footman over to refill his cup. “From what I have seen and heard, you are a great queen,” he remarked around a mouthful of smoked ham. Damn but he had missed the taste of food!

Esmeralda shrugged. “I have done my best. Damien and Isabelle have been very helpful in guiding me.”

“It is uplifting to see that becoming a queen has not changed you,” Serge replied. “You seem more refined, but you remain refreshingly kind and without the wiles that seem ingrained in many gently bred ladies.”

“Having my family here has helped to remind me of who I am and where I come from,” she said, allowing the footman to come and take her empty plate. She accepted a second cup of tea and relaxed in her cushioned chair. “I daresay it has been an adjustment for us all. We are used to working for a living.”

They lapsed into a companionable silence as Serge wolfed down the rest of his lunch and drained his cup with relish. He dabbed at his mouth with a linen napkin and stood. “I’ll go find Damien now,” he said, bowing over her hand and brushing a chaste kiss across her knuckles.

Esmeralda waved goodbye and Serge left the dining room in search of his brother. He walked toward Damien’s wing of the house and was a little more than halfway there before he remembered that Damien had moved into the King’s chambers. Turning on his heels, Serge set off in the right direction. It seemed as if the corridors of Largess Hall stretched on forever. Really, one could lose oneself here, never to be seen again if one truly wished it. At this point, Serge thought, it did not seem such a daunting prospect.

Serge found Damien in his study, talking with the newly appointed general of Cardenas’ army. Damien was still wearing formal court dress and Serge knew he had just come from meeting with the High Council. General Adams stood as Serge entered and bowed reverently. The man eyed him nervously and Serge forced a smile to put the man at ease. The new general had been appointed to take Serge’s place as leader of Cardenas’ armed forces and was undoubtedly nervous about Serge’s feelings on the matter.

As the second born prince, Serge was supposed to have taken his place as general when Lionus was crowned king. He had studied and prepared for the position his entire life, but that had been before. Before, Lionus was supposed to be king and he was supposed to be general. Before, he was a whole man, not only a ghost of his former self.

“Good to see you again General,” he said shaking Adams’ hand and taking a seat on the other side of Damien’s desk. Adams visibly relaxed beside him and Serge was relieved. It was hardly the man’s fault that things turned out the way they had.

“I was just taking my leave,” General Adams said with another bow. “I am glad to see that you are well Your Grace.” Serge inclined his head in thanks and General Adams left hurriedly.

“I searched for you this morning,” Damien said, shuffling a stack of papers around on his desk, signing a few and setting a few more aside for his secretary. “You were nowhere to be found.”

Serge shrugged. “I wanted some fresh air. After being cooped up in my chambers for the last year I have discovered a new love of the outdoors.”

Damien smiled. “I’m glad to see you up and about. You look as if you are feeling stronger.”

“I am,” Serge said with a nod. “Every day I feel just a bit better. I hope to be my old self again soon.”

“I hope for the same.”

“Have you just come from the council?” Serge asked, indicating Damien’s state of formal court dress.

“Yes.”

“And?”

Damien sighed and ran his hand over his tired face. He had always been the most handsome of the three brothers; everyone knew it and as his fraternal twin, Serge was even more aware of it than anyone else. Not that Serge was plain. He knew that he was attractive enough in his own way, but he was not so delusional as to think that his looks could rival Damien’s. His features were chiseled and refined and his physique was long and lean with muscle. He had often heard women say that Damien’s was the sort of face that could make angels weep.

Now, as Serge sat across from Damien, he could see what time and responsibility had done for his brother. The eyes, which had once held a limpid, heavy-lidded sort of boredom were now sharp and shrewd.Damien had chosen to grow a beard, which he kept neatly trimmed. The beard, a rich golden hue, only served to enhance his formidable stature and noble features.

It would seem that becoming king was the best thing that had ever happened to Damien. What it meant for him, he was not sure. He did not know, but he did know that he would not take back the crown from his younger brother, although it was his right as the second born son. Destiny would have to provide him with a different path. It had, after all, made him a different man.

Damien was silent for a few more minutes, silently turning over the thoughts in his head and deciding how to word them. He drummed his fingers against the desk rhythmically, staring at some point over Serge’s shoulder silently. Finally, he spoke.

“The council was at a loss at how to handle such a situation,” he began slowly, his eyes finally meeting Serge’s. He stopped drumming his fingers and clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him. “Never in the history of Cardenas has such a thing occurred. I allowed them to argue among themselves for some time before I stepped in. I told them exactly what I thought they should do.”

Serge’s brows shot up in surprise. He wondered how long it would be before he became accustomed to this new facet of his brother’s personality. A Damien who drank, gambled and whored was a man he was most intimately acquainted with. A Damien who commanded and led with passion and strength was an entirely new person all together.

“What did you suggest?” he prodded when Damien did not continue.

“I told them that I would abdicate the throne.”

Serge had been expecting the words, but in that moment when they were spoken, something within him rebelled. He knew it was the right thing to do and yet some tiny part of him, some innate thing knew that his feet had been placed on a different path. He shook his head. “No.”

Damien lifted one eyebrow. “No?”

“Exactly. You will not abdicate the throne, Damien. I won’t allow it.”

Damien smiled. Then he laughed. He slumped forward onto his desk, his chuckles ringing out through the library, his shoulders shaking gently. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “In case you have forgotten, brother, for the time being I
am
still king. You have no power until I
give
it to you.”