Tales of Enchantment 1: The Question of Royalty Page 3

  “But I heard the King of Hethlon has been busy finding suitors for his twelve daughters, Mother.”

  “So Hethlon’s out.”

  “What about Zallandine?” Giselda chimed in, her eyes eager.

  “Oh, no!” The queen shuddered. “Haven’t you heard? Everyone in the castle has been enchanted, and the prince was turned into a hideous beast. I wonder how the poor folk of that kingdom are getting on with their lives.”

  The two women continued discussing her origins over her head. Serena deemed it rude of them to do so, and she didn’t really think much of the underhanded way the information had been wormed out of her. At the same time, she didn’t comprehend the desperation in the queen’s move. There must be a compelling reason for her action. But why was it so important for them to know where she was from?

  The prince’s deep baritone voice pulled her out of her musings. Serena swiveled her head to look at him. “Stepmother, I don’t see the reason for the cross-examination and guessing games. Surely, letting her stay for the night wouldn’t bring a disaster down on our heads.”

  “But Frederick, we have to make sure she’s really who she says she is and ...”

  Serena didn’t know how it happened, but one moment, she was following the conversation, and the next moment, she lost it. Only one thought kept going over and over in her head. Frederick. Prince Frederick. His name’s Frederick. Frederick. She sighed, lost in the wonder of trying on his name in her mind. The next thing she knew, the queen was addressing her once again.

  “Assuming we accept your story, Serena, you do realize that we have to bring you back to your father, the king.” The queen frowned. “We don’t want him waging war on us for harboring his runaway daughter.”

  Serena could now understand her concern, but somehow, she had the feeling that there was more than what the queen was telling. She decided to ignore the queen’s second statement, for the moment. “But you can’t do that, not when you don’t know where I come from.”

  “True.” The queen frowned harder. “So that’s why you’re not telling us where you’re from.”

  “Can’t you see that it’s better this way for all of us?” Serena hated the pleading note in her voice, but there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it. “Mithirien wouldn’t be implicated in my actions if you don’t know who I am or where I’m from.”

  “But in the event your father finds out later on, it would be even worse for us.” The queen drew herself up sternly. “Young lady, it would seem that I have to remind you of a princess’s duty to marry whomever her parents decide is the best husband for her. My Giselda has learned that lesson very well.”

  Serena kept her face expressionless as she watched PB simper. There was a certain rude satisfaction in calling her that, even if just in her mind, though she didn’t care for what the acronym stood for. Added to this was a hot fury rising within her at the temerity of this woman -- even if she was queen -- to lecture her. What did she know of her situation? Nothing!

  “If you don’t know that and aren’t ready to abide by it, you are not a princess.” A triumphant smile played around the queen’s lips.

  And to accuse her of lying! It was too much. “I am born a princess, but how I live my life doesn’t have anything to do with being a princess.” Her hands clenched tightly around the cutlery.

  “If I remember my history lessons well, over the years, princesses have sacrificed themselves in order to prevent wars, to cement alliances, and to bring about better lives for their subjects.”

  Despite the anger washing over her, Serena paled. She couldn’t deny the queen’s words.

  “While you are here as our guest, you may want to think on that.” Malice shone from her eyes. “And while we have not convinced ourselves that you are indeed a princess, you wouldn’t object if we call you Serena.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  Chapter Three

  The next day, Frederick tumbled out of his bed in frustration. After washing up and donning his clothes, he strode down to the dining area. Trailing after him was Rodin, who had been waiting outside his door.

  Frederick’s head ached from the conflicting thoughts muddling his brain for the last twelve hours. Was Serena a princess? Or was she just faking it?

  He recalled the depth of his disappointment and the height of his rage at her obvious scheme. What were the odds of a lone princess arriving at their secluded lodge in the middle of a raging storm?

  None.

  Yet, she was well versed in a variety of subjects, as he had discovered during their conversation after dinner last night. Surely, only a princess could have received such an education.

  A moment later, he sighed. There was another way. If her father were a scholar and tutor to the king’s children, then she probably would have received that knowledge him.

  Frederick frowned. There was also that matter of the piano.

  After dinner, they had all adjourned to the music room. At the queen’s behest, both Giselda and Serena had each played a musical piece of their choice.

  It was true that princesses were expected to be well versed in the musical arts; it was part of their compulsory education. The fact that she had chosen to play a simple piece wasn’t proof that Serena wasn’t a princess. It could be that the piece was a favorite one, or that she only wanted to lighten the gloom that the storm had brought. But if she were really a princess, why hadn’t she used the opportunity to her advantage and presented everyone with some proof by playing the most intricate piece that she knew? Perhaps she had a faulty memory and could only remember the simplest pieces? No, no. The variety of subjects they had conversed about proved that her knowledge was vast. A simple mind wouldn’t have been able to contain so much.

  Which led again to the question of why she hadn’t given other proofs to testify to her status. If she was really out to trap him in marriage, as he believed, she should have been pulling one piece of evidence after another out of her sleeve to convince them that she was a real princess. Or was that her strategy? Don’t try too hard to convince, and they’ll fall into the trap eventually. There was that saying about convincing too much. Or was that protesting?

  Could it be because she wasn’t really concerned whether they believed her or not? If she was innocent of any schemes and really expected to leave once the storm let up, that could be it. If, on the other hand, she wasn’t a princess and she wasn’t out to tempt him, why lie about it in the first place?

  They entered the dining area. Spying Serena’s empty seat, Frederick’s brows knitted.

  “What a slug-a-bed, huh?”

  At Giselda’s comment, Frederick’s head snapped up and his lips drew into a hard line. A moment later, he chuckled. No matter what happened, he could depend on one thing: Giselda would always irritate him.

  However, the girl just didn’t know when to quit. He saw her mouth lift in a wide smile and her eyes roll in frantic horizontal and vertical movements. Finally, her gaze hit upon the window, which looked out into the black sky. Drops of rain pelted against it. “It’s such a dreadful day today, isn’t it, Frederick?”

  “Oh, no, I love the rain. I absolutely love to hear the pitter-patter of the raindrops against the windows. I just imagine the rain falling onto the fields, nourishing the dry ground, bringing sustenance to the crops; though I know I have no hand in it, I feel a great sense of accomplishment.” He nodded sagely.

  Giselda looked at him, uncertainty written across her face.

  His lips twitched, and he hurriedly bowed his head. Beside him, he heard Rodin trying, but failing, to smother his laughter. It was so contagious that his own shoulders shook with the mirth that couldn’t be contained. He threw back his head and laughed.

  “You’re making fun of me! How could you!”

  The queen cleared her throat disapprovingly. “You’re both too old to be --”

  Frederick followed the line of her vision and glanced behind him. He could see nothing out of the ordinary. Ther
e was only a servant girl coming in with a platter of what smelled like crisp fried bacon.

  A moment later, his whole body swiveled around for a longer second look. He stared hard at the girl, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him.

  Serena.

  What was she doing, serving them like a common servant? She looked as if she was enjoying it too, if that wide grin on her face was anything to judge by. Calling out a cheery “good morning,” she walked nearer, her hands bearing the plate naturally.

  Stunned, Frederick could only gape at her as she placed the platter in the middle of the table. The sudden silence told him that everyone at the table was as shocked as he. By the time he recovered enough to reach out a hand to catch hold of her, she had moved too far from his grasp and was out of the door in a second.

  His butt was rooted to the chair. He couldn’t seem to get up and demand an explanation for her behavior, for her absence at the table. He didn’t need to see his stepmother’s wicked glee to know what she was thinking, what everyone was thinking.

  He was so lost in thought that when a hand touched him, he jerked back sharply in reaction and glared at the owner.

  Giselda gasped. “It’s, uh, good that we find out now --”

  Frederick slid back his chair so abruptly that it almost fell over. “Excuse me, Your Majesty, but I seem to have lost my appetite.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode angrily from the room.

  * * * * *

  Five hours later, Frederick had searched every nook and cranny of the lodge, except for the bedchambers (she couldn’t be there, could she?) and the servants’ quarters, and he still hadn’t found her. In fact, he had so startled the servants when he first entered the kitchen that the organized chaos he initially saw became ... well, chaos. They just weren’t used to seeing him in their domain.

  He didn’t know what pushed him, but he felt this driving need to find her, to compel the truth from her, to ... to ... to kiss her until she was mad with longing and desire. Perhaps there was no need to hear it from her lips. His steps unconsciously slowed. Her actions already spoke too well for her.

  Thinking back to her cheerful menial service at the breakfast table, Frederick became even more convinced that she wasn’t a princess. In his book, there was only one reason maidens claimed royalty in his presence.

  Did everyone know about his search for a bride?

  Mixed emotions churned through him at these thoughts.

  On the one hand, he was glad that she wasn’t a princess. It meant that he could take her for his pleasure and keep her until his lust for her had been sated. Oh, he’d make sure that Serena had her pleasure, too. Yes, it was going to be a most pleasurable time for them both.

  At the same time, he felt a nagging disappointment that she wasn’t a princess. Surely, he couldn’t be hoping --? No, he was only disappointed that she wasn’t a virgin, that he wouldn’t be the one to initiate her into the art of lovemaking. A woman as beautiful and luscious as Serena was bound to have had many lovers. A violent urge to erase all her memories of previous lovers surged through him. From this moment on, she was only going to have one lover.

  It was with this intense and passionate emotion running through him that he entered the small library. Though not as large as the library in the castle, this one boasted a huge collection of books on a wide variety of topics. Hence, anyone staying at the lodge could be entertained with his choice of reading selection.

  To emphasize his vow, Frederick closed the door with a small bang.

  The shriek almost blasted his eardrums.

  He looked up in time to see Serena tumbling from the topmost rung of the ladder situated a few feet away.

  Chapter Four

  Serena flew through the air -- not exactly in the way she frequently wished she could, but in a downward movement, as she was pulled by gravity from twenty feet up in the air. She’d always thought flying would be exhilarating, and it was, evidenced by the way her blood was drumming through her veins and sounding particularly loud in her ears.

  But she hadn’t anticipated the loud, scary whoosh of air whistling past her ears or the acrid taste of terror on her tongue, as she realized she could very well meet her end a few milli-moments from now. Or, at least, end up on the carpeted floor in a mass of blood and broken bones.

  A second scream was struggling to escape when her breath was whacked out of her. She hit a very solid object that staggered a step or two backward -- a warm solid object.

  Words of gratitude died on her lips when she saw the hard, unyielding face of the prince. His eyes glinted with a fury that waited to be unleashed, and his heart pounded violently against her arm. Or was that her heart?

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She flinched, his loud voice ringing in her ears. The veins in his throat stood out when he shouted, and she watched with interest as red suffused his cheeks.

  “Don’t you know how dangerous that was? Don’t you have any sense? You could’ve broken your neck!” His fingers dug into her flesh. Even through the dress, it hurt.

  He shook her, as if by such an action he could shake the sense he was talking about into her. Her teeth rattled.

  Her own fury rose up, matching his. At the back of her mind, she knew she had no reason to be angry, but fright, coupled with his unjust and unfounded anger, was igniting hers.

  “I was safe enough until someone startled me! That someone” -- her tone left no doubt who that someone was -- “could’ve caused my broken neck!”

  Her heaving bosom proved to be too much for the too-small bodice. A button popped, hitting him on the right cheek with a small sound. She hoped it hurt like hell.

  He didn’t so much as flinch.

  “You wouldn’t have been startled if you weren’t up there doing Goddess-knows-what!”

  “Put me down!” She struggled and glared at him when his arms tightened even more about her. She was starting to realize just how much at a disadvantage she was in her present position.

  “I’m keeping you here until I can be sure that you aren’t likely to do further damage to yourself.” His voice was grim and his chin tightened with determination.

  “What’s it to you?”

  She could see he didn’t like the challenging way she posed the question. She didn’t know why she asked it or what had goaded her to make it into a dare, only that it seemed the perfect rebuttal to his caveman attitude.

  “What were you doing anyway?”

  She didn’t need great intelligence to know what he was asking. “I was dusting the books.” Her mouth set in a mutinous line as she gathered her dignity about her as best as she could while lying in his arms.

  “Dusting --” He broke off, his eyes betraying his incredulity. “I have servants for that!”

  “They’re understaffed!”

  “It’s still their job!”

  “I want to help!”

  “You’re my guest!”

  “I was bored!” A second later, she corrected herself. “I am bored!”

  “You could read or play the piano or the harp or --”

  “I hate the piano; I hate the harp; I hate music!”

  Their eyes met, her defiance the only thing keeping her from backing down from the fury in his. There was now a different texture to his anger -- deeper, darker, and tinged with disappointment.

  The most awful transformation had come over his face. If it seemed hard and unyielding earlier, it became even more so. Forbidding and grim, he scared her, causing her breath to shorten. His eyes no longer held molten lava, but were cold and empty.

  “So, your true colors are finally showing.”

  Even his voice terrified her.

  What was he talking about? Serena wanted to demand an answer, but her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth and black spots were dancing in front of her eyes. He was holding her too tightly. Automatically, she took in several deep breaths, and the dark spots dispersed.

  But it came with a price.

/>   A second button from her bodice pinged to the floor, but not before grazing his cheek.

  His eyes moved downward fractionally from her face, and yet another change came over him. The stark emptiness in his eyes receded, replaced by a burning intensity. His face softened, the rough angles curved, and his white teeth gleamed as he smiled -- seductive, predatory, devouring.

  Serena shivered.

  The air around them changed. She became aware of his heat -- the heat of his arms around her, the heat of his body as she lay against him, and the heat in his eyes blazing down at her.

  Her breath lodged in her throat.

  His eyes were so blue ... with fire burning in their depths.

  As if in a dream, her hand reached up and curved against his cheek. She was aware that he was moving, carrying her somewhere, but nothing mattered. She was held in thrall, captive to his blue gaze.

  The cool leather against her back doused some of the flames he ignited, bringing her somewhat to her senses. She recalled their anger and the argument. It seemed a lifetime away. What had happened?

  A gentle hand at her ear drew her gaze back to him. There was a strange expression on his face as he tucked an errant curl behind her ear, something like ... tenderness, the way she sometimes caught her uncle looking at her aunt when he thought nobody was looking. His eyes though were intent on her mouth, and she knew he intended to kiss her.

  A thrill shot through her. Her first to-be kiss.

  She cursed the moment thoughts of PB intruded, making her feel guilty and ashamed.

  He leaned closer.

  “Your ... Your Highness ...” she stuttered.

  “Frederick.” His head continued its slow descent.

  “We ... we shouldn’t --”

  “You were complaining about boredom, I believe.” His lids dropped halfway to veil his eyes, giving him a brooding, sensual look.

  Her heart fluttered.

  Then he leaned even closer, until he was but a breath away. “I’ll show you” -- his head moved a centimeter nearer, and her eyes closed -- “a much better way to occupy your time.”