The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (44 page)

Alejandro sighed, setting his mask beside the foil and opening the telegram. He frowned as he felt the full impact of the missive.

“What is it, Alejandro?” Esteban asked with concern, swinging his sword as he loosened his muscles for their morning practice.

“Esteban, we must depart for Spain immediately.”

“Is it bad news?” Esteban demanded, his expression concerned.

“Si, mi amigo.” Alejandro nodded distractedly, crumpling the note in his hand. “The king has fallen ill.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Since yesterday I’ve been chilled

to the bone

He left me last night,

Saying: It’s all over

—
Giacomo Puccini
,
La Bohème

“May I come in? I believe it is something of some urgency.” There was a strange misgiving in her mother’s voice, audible even through the thick mahogany wood

Nicolette jumped from her bedroom seat, where she had been enjoying her morning tea at the garden window, unaccustomed to hearing anything but perfect calm in her mother’s voice, and hurriedly put her silk dresser on. She rushed to open her door, fabric swishing as she walked.

As she opened the door, Emily followed her mother, carrying an enormous flower arrangement of a dozen white roses, a dozen red roses, and a single fire-and-ice rose in the center. Nicolette bathed in the scent filling her room, astonished as her mother handed her a note and a box. A very large box. Speechless, she opened the elaborately wrapped package.

“Oh my,” Lady Ravensdale murmured, leaning over her shoulder. “Impressive.
Antonio Muñoz Degrain.”
In her hands was the painting she had admired on the evening she had sang to Alejandro. She stared down at Sancho and Don Quixote discussing their windmill adventure on a lonely stretch of road.

Frantically she opened the white linen envelope sealed with Spain’s royal seal.

As you requested, flowers and a painting
.
To the incomparable Lady Nicolette, who transformed a ravaged soul and reawakened a lost life. You are truly my angel and the fire to my ice.

Alejandro—Ice?
Hardly.
Nicolette somehow managed to release her breath.

She continued reading.
You gave me the ability to dream again.—Prince Alejandro.

“What is it, Nicolette? Is anything wrong?” asked Lady Ravensdale, her countenance far from her usual tranquility.

“Oh, Mama,” she gasped. All too soon Nicolette knew the reason for her mother’s uncharacteristic anxiety. A great sadness overtook her as the full impact of the missive began to form. “Prince Alejandro has returned to Spain unexpectedly. The king has taken ill.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

My room is a squalid den…

I’ve no fire

The cold north wind comes in

and blows all round

She sings and smiles,

and remorse assails me

—Giacomo Puccini,
La Bohème

“En garde,
Diablo
!” his opponent commanded.

Devil?
Alejandro picked up his rapier with an instinctive swiftness. “
Your Majesty
might have been a more appropriate greeting. Absent the sword, of course.”

“Prepare to perish,
Your Majesty
!”

Ah, there it was. One must never omit the niceties. Society would otherwise fail to flourish. His opponent lunged his saber toward him, apparently bent on killing him. The double-bladed weapon was reminiscent of the Napoleonic wars, built for war.

Alejandro was happy to oblige. He felt like dying. But he would not die
today
. It was back to duty and drudgery, an existence he had grown very accustomed to and had fully accepted before meeting Nicolette.

His eyes had been opened—no, his heart had been opened—and now he truly knew what he was missing.

A life that was completely impossible.

“You have seduced my wife, you scoundrel!” his opponent boomed. There was not the slightest hesitation in either his tone or his movements, swift and unforgiving.

Oh, how he tired of hearing those words.

“No, sir, you mistake the matter.” He grinned broadly. “
She
seduced
me
. I merely obliged her.”

“You
lie
!” Momentarily, the tinkling of swords was the only sound in the secluded park, perfect for just such a meeting.

“Would that she had satisfied me,” he murmured under his breath.

Alejandro staved off his opponent, but he did not go on the offensive. There was so much to do, and he had little energy for anything. His body and soul ached for Nicolette. She who was utterly unattainable.

His opponent closed, and the two swordsmen found themselves locked together hilt to hilt, pushing strongly against each other for the advantage. Alejandro quickly sidestepped, leaving his opponent pushing against thin air. The man was too good to stumble, but he was forced to swing a wild slash behind him, hoping to parry a thrust that did not come. His expression deadly serious, he returned to Alejandro with a furious assault.

As the clinking sounds of the clash of swords grew louder, he resolved to see Nicolette one last time. Assuming that he survived.

He needed to see her. He must devise a way.

Allow yourself to receive love
. He heard the words coming from her lips yet again, and they thrilled him, captivated him, filled him with the hope of something he never thought he would have.

But he would never have
her
love. The love of the most amazing woman he had ever met. A woman who did not lie. Unlike himself, who lived a lie and rarely spoke the truth to anyone.

His opponent lunged again, and a furious battle ensued, traversing across the grounds. He met the aggrieved man’s onslaught with ease, as if he were painting a canvas in delicate strokes rather than combating lightning-fast thrusts from a rapier. Sidestepping again, he evaded a treacherous slash and placed the edge of his weapon against his opponent’s jugular. The gentleman fell back.

He knew that he should deal the final blow, but what was the point? He had no heart for anything. Instead, he turned and began to walk away.

“Is that the best you can do?” the gentleman rasped.

“It will suffice.” Alejandro turned and studied the fallen man.

“You did not give your best.” Esteban rose from the ground, dusting his knees. “Your mind was elsewhere.”

“I beat
you
, Esteban.”

“You began beating me when you were sixteen years of age. That is not what I said. You did not give your best. What is the matter?” He studied Alejandro with concern.

“Nothing which can be resolved,
mi compadre
.” He set his saber down on the edge of the
Fuente de las Conchas in the royal gardens, a fountain marking the dramatic half mile entryway to the west facade of the Royal Palace.
He removed his mask and set it beside his sword before sitting on the edge of the fountain to stare at the
sculptures of three children holding conches, each ignoring him as they stared at their shell treasures.

As a child he had loved the fountains, shady trees, and winding paths of the Campo del Moro royal gardens. To behold them now was a strange mixture of nostalgia and the memory of being banished from his beloved home.

It was strange to truly belong here—but who should belong at the palace more than the king?—the same place from which he had been exiled for so long. He glanced into those trees and saw guards keeping their distance but nonetheless surrounding him.

“There is a solution to every dilemma, Alejandro.” Esteban took some of the fountain’s water in his hands and splashed it on his face.

“Not always.” Alejandro shook his head, letting his eyes wander to the top of the statue marked by a child hugging a dolphin. The sea-green water flowed through the fountain, and he was instantly reminded of Nicolette’s eyes.

I must conquer this relentless longing
. “Sometimes there is only compromise and acceptance. It takes wisdom to know the difference.”

“I thought for a time you had changed, Alejandro.” Esteban studied him, worry in his eyes, as he sat down beside him.

“No one can expect more than one miracle in a lifetime,” he replied softly. “And…I
am
changed, Esteban.”

“You seem heavily burdened again.” Esteban stroked his beard. “This view could be your downfall as a ruler. There is little hope in you, Alejandro. Only acceptance and plodding ahead.”

“
Ave Maria
, Esteban! Of course I am heavily burdened! The king has died, my coronation is two weeks away, and I must build a coalition between parties of the far right and the far left, in all likelihood impossible. I think I know that which can be changed and that which cannot be changed.” He added resolutely under his fallen breath, “And that which must be attempted anyway.”

“No, Alejandro, no you don’t. You are different.” Esteban shook his head, stretching his legs out before him and shaking his now-wet hair. “And yet, I fear that you still view events through the eyes of that small boy who had everything which mattered taken from him.”

“Yes, some things never change. And yet one can’t lose that which one never had.” Alejandro returned his eyes to the children, so focused on their treasures. What a sight they must make, Alejandro mused. Just the two of them. And the three children. And the twenty guards.

“That child who thinks that nothing is
for him
,” Esteban murmured.

“No, Esteban, I have you.” He patted his friend’s hand, and his voice grew somber. He glanced at the
Palacio Real
, the royal palace, built of granite and white stone and twice as large as Buckingham Palace. It was his, and it meant nothing to him. “And though I have
lost
, as you say, someone dear to me, something remains.” He touched his heart. He closed his eyes momentarily, feeling a sudden optimism despite his somber mood.

“I hope it is enough,” Esteban sighed.

“And what if I am saddened and despairing?” He shrugged. “Even as a child with a broken heart I courted political alliances with both the left and the right.”

“You did all that through sheer determination, Alejandro. I have never seen a person with a stronger will or more discipline. You have done all these things in spite of having no hope, not because of it.”

He let his hand trail in the water, and the temperature began to cool him, but he made no comment.

“
En garde
, Señor.” Alejandro stood abruptly, thrusting his sword into an imaginary foe before turning to Esteban. “I shall beat you again, but this time in a manner which pleases you.”

As he fought, he was centered and complete, as one with the sword. In an instant, he realized what the lesson of Nicolette’s glorious serenade had been. He must rule,
he must live
, as he fought, connected to himself, trusting of himself, entirely aware.