The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  “That is what I am? A weakness?”

  I want to slap him!

  Clearly she had not kicked him hard enough. But only if violence is the answer.

  I would like to find out.

  Alejandro was so arrogant he would not even lower himself to kiss her.

  “You are an intoxicatingly beautiful woman. And extremely volatile.”

  “Volatile? Me?” she screeched.

  “Yes. It took a great deal of detective work, but I have finally discovered this truth you make absolutely no effort to hide. I have never met a more temperamental woman.”

  She threw her glass into the fireplace, where it crashed. Alejandro shuddered, his shoulders rising momentarily.

  Nicolette stomped about the room waving her arms. “How dare you accuse me of being over-dramatic!”

  “I don’t know where I got the idea.”

  “Every reaction I have is utterly justified by the way you treat me—as if I am a harlot and a gutter snipe—followed by tossing me about at your whim. You somehow manage to ignore me and use me at the same time. All the while expecting me to follow your bidding.”

  “Lady Nicolette, you are unpredictable and capricious to the extreme. One false move and you might decide to deny me my concert. Or eat me for dinner.”

  “You are abominable and revolting, your highness. You are the most old-fashioned man I know. Your thinking is linear and uncreative and it bores me to death. You are self-absorbed and disconnected, unaware of that which is right in front of your nose. You are unable to enter into anyone else’s world. To put it kindly, you are obnoxious and offensive.”

  “Why would you wish to kiss me if I am so terrible?” He smiled and she witnessed the rare sight of dimples in his cheeks, his chocolate brown eyes attempting to melt her.

  Nicolette looked away, shrugging. “And why should I want you to kiss me? A man who treats me as you do? You are the last man on earth I could be attracted to.”

  The prince is undeniably handsome, his dark hair falling into chocolate brown eyes which melt one to behold. His tuxedo so form-fitting. His physique so muscular…

  I detest him.

  “I am sorry to hear it.”

  “You appear delighted to torment me.”

  “Believe me, I prefer more pleasant activities with a beautiful woman.”

  “I have seen no evidence of that.”

  “If I were to kiss you, I might burst into flames. I cannot risk it. There is too much at stake here.”

  “Such as?”

  “My country. My people. And, incidentally, my very being.”

  That is a strangely powerful kiss.

  “You don't see anything outside of your image and your reign of Spain.”

  “Not my reign of Spain. My service to Spain,” he corrected her with his typical arrogance, releasing his breath slowly. “I would not expect you to know the difference between service and reign, Lady Nicolette.”

  She glared at him. “I feel as if I have served you since the moment of meeting you. As if I am no longer free.”

  “All of the privileges exist to serve the responsibility.” He took a swallow of the sherry, stretched his legs out before him. He turned to watch the water flowing over the fountain just outside the window. “I have servants that I might give every waking hour to serving Spain. My life is not my own, my time is not my own, and nothing is for me. Everything that I am—my honors, my bloodline, everything—this all gives me the opportunity to serve my people. Nothing more.”

  “Tell me, Prince Alejandro, are you afraid that, if you kiss me, I will not sing for you?”

  “Precisely. You were quite clear I should not touch you, Lady Nicolette. I cannot bear for anything to taint this agreement we have. Possibly you have set up this temptation that you might be able to renig on our agreement.”

  She threw her head back and laughed, which made her all the more appealing. “It is another of my devious designs?”

  “Yes. Are you angel or sorceress?”

  “Neither.” She raised her eyebrows in undisguised disapproval. “I do not wish to be as one who denies life, constantly seeking to avoid attachment, with the intent to never feel. I wish to live, to experience, to grab life by the horns. What else is the point? There is much suffering in life, for everyone. If we must suffer, then let us live. If we are not to live, then let us die and be with our Creator.”

  “It will come soon enough. Hopefully we will have fulfilled our duty when it comes.”

  “No, Prince Alejandro.” She shook her head. “I will embrace life with all of my senses. I will live with the gusto of the bull fighter, I will sing until my voice is hoarse, I will run with the wind, I will taste the wine, I will shout to the stars. I will love, I will feel pain.”

  She moved towards him, leaning towards him over the desk. Abruptly he stood, taking her by the arms, to pull her closer or push her away, she didn’t know.

  “You will make us all feel pain.” His lips moved closer, his breath on her.

  “You have a strange way of woo-ing a woman, Prince Alejandro,” she said softly. “And what is your definition of living, your highness?”

  “It is quite simple. To know one's destiny and to fulfill it.”

  She wanted to land him a retort when something in his eyes…As if he were desperate to see realization in hers, desperate to be known by someone…

  “Why do you stare at me as if I am a madman? Why can I explain nothing to you, Lady Nicolette? It is elementary. I knew these truths before I could speak. This knowledge, this way of being, flows in my blood.”

  Nicolette felt the fire in her blood as well.

  “How can you believe you mean nothing outside your service to your country?” She raised her hand as if to stroke his cheek, resting in mid-air for some seconds until she returned her hand to her side. “Is this what you were raised to believe, Prince Alejandro?”

  “Of course,” he answered simply.

  “But didn't your parents dote on you? Cherish you?”

  “Cherish me?” Laughter escaped from his lips. “No doubt they did—from afar. I was sent away at eight years of age.”

  “So young.” She shook her head. When did you see them?”

  “At Christmas and holidays.”

  “But they must have missed you terribly, how could they bear…”

  “They bore it as best they could,” he replied curtly.

  “I see.” But she didn’t. “Well, then, what is your responsibility to yourself–-to your soul—Prince Alejandro?”

  “My soul, Lady Nicolette?” He seemed to laughed at the absurdity of her question. “My soul, as you say, requires that I sacrifice myself for my country.”

  “I cannot live like that.” Nicolette shook her head. “My life must have value to me.”

  “My life has value as well, Lady Nicolette. The lives of tens of thousands of people, the future of my country, is in my hands.”

  “Why can you not achieve both, your highness? I beg you, live for yourself for an hour. No. Ten minutes. Your country can spare you for ten minutes. Think to yourself, What would I like to do in these ten minutes?”

  Slowly, gingerly he ran the fingers of his right hand along her arm, and his touch transmitted an undeniable charge to her skin. He pulled her forcefully towards him, and she somehow found herself in the middle of a thunderstorm.

  “I know precisely what I would like to do,” he whispered unevenly.

  Nicolette gasped. She dared not say or do anything.

  I will return to despising him later.

  The energy between them was riveting.

  “It is a difficult time in the world and what we do now will shape the future.” His voice was both hoarse and barely audible. “Should I ignore all this so that I might ponder what I want?”

  “I begin to wonder if you know, Alejandro,” she whispered, feeling his breath on her skin.

  He was toying with her again. There must be something wrong with me. How could
she long for something he so easily dismissed?

  He swallowed hard. “Unfortunately, there are greater things at stake than one's personal preferences, Lady Nicolette.”

  His blasted duty.

  “You are one of the most powerful men in the world, Prince Alejandro.” She stared at him aghast. “What has happened to you that you feel so powerless?”

  33

  Claiming His Power

  “I need you

  Stay right here!”

  - The Barber of Seville by Gioachino Rossini

  “Oh, I am not powerless,” he murmured. He could bear it no longer. He took her by the waist, but this time his hold was firm. The curve of her waist felt heavenly in his strong hands, and he was startled at the magnitude of his reaction. He kept his eyes glued to hers. Unable to resist her any longer, he determined that he would, at least, have one perfect moment. He would never meet another woman like this.

  He bent to kiss her before his reason overtook him.

  Her lips parted readily for him, with none of the practiced hesitation he was accustomed to, as if she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. He loved that she was not afraid to show him that.

  Oh, God he wanted her. He put his arms tightly around her waist, and she reached up and held his face in her hands. She moved closer, and he held her back in the crook of his arm, bending her backwards so that he might delve more deeply into her mouth.

  Their lips touched for the first time, and he felt has if he were floating--down a warm river in an electric storm. He knew that he must pull back. She ran her hands through his hair, begging him to give her more.

  “Alejandro,” she whispered. He heard the grandfather clock's bells ringing: one, two, three.

  Against all of his better instincts, he deepened the kiss. He pressed her closer to his chest and ran his hand along her back until he reached the curve of her waist. He allowed his hand to slide along the her waist, longing to feel the fullness of her hips. He pushed her closer.

  Four, five, six.

  Oh, lord, she was intoxicating. He felt as if he would explode.

  He released her, brushing his lips against hers, teasing her, and then he delved his tongue into her mouth, her lips moving with his, so soft, so eager.

  Seven, eight, nine.

  She moved closer to him, running her hands along his arms, his chest, his face. He ran kisses along her face, his eyes wandering to her perfect, full breasts, revealed to perfection. How he longed to kiss them, to awaken her on every level, to . . .

  Ten, eleven, twelve.

  He pulled her to him in an instant, pressing her lips to his, her chest to his, her . . . He had probably bruised her in the impact.

  Alejandro felt embarrassed. He had never kissed a woman like that.

  What am I thinking? He was shocked at his own arousal. With all the strength available to him, he straightened himself and slowly released her, dazed. He closed his eyes, seeking to break the spell she wove over him.

  He had despised her hold over him, and for a glorious moment, he luxuriated in it.

  Opening his eyes, he glanced at the calendar. He looked at the clock, one second past midnight.

  April's first kiss is mine.

  * * *

  “Forgive me, Nicolette,” he muttered. Damn, he wanted her.

  “Forgive you for what?” She sighed, running her hands along her dress as if to straighten it.

  “For forgetting who you are—and what you mean to me. For forgetting who I am. I seem to do that a great deal in your presence, Senorita Nicolette.”

  “Ah. For forgetting who you are and kissing the wholly unsuitable me.”

  “No! Senorita Nicolette. You mistake me.”

  “If you were not a prince,” She stared at him as if she were contemplating an action before she turned away from his gaze. As if speaking to herself, she whispered, “who would you be?”

  “I am a prince.” He laughed but his heart was not in it. “And I will be king. This is the entirety of my existence. I cannot be other than whom I was created to be.”

  “You are not who you were created to be, Prince Alejandro.” She ran her eyes along every inch of him and as she did so she bestowed her most sultry glance upon him.

  His knees went weak and he longed to be seated even as he braced himself against the sofa. She moved to exit the room, but turned to glance back at him, the curve of her hip accentuated as she looked over her shoulder.

  “If you were, there would be joy in it.”

  In the instant of her dismissal Alejandro was granted a revelation. In spite of his initial feelings of betrayal, he suddenly knew with a certainty he could be himself, experience himself, alone with Nicolette.

  They might be at daggers in public, but they were remarkably genuine with each other.

  I am now sure of it.

  And just as certain she would not use his reaction against him. In this, at least, he could trust her. It would stay between them forever.

  When she sang “Mimi’s Song” this evening, he thought she had set him up, but it wasn’t about that at all.

  It is about her faithfulness to the music.

  And her desire to know the truth about him.

  He had judged her by the behavior of others. But Nicolette Huntington wasn’t like anyone else. She was her own woman. Unique, driven, and idealistic. She had integrity and conscience.

  And attitude. Lots of attitude.

  Nicolette Genevieve Huntington might be a great deal of disagreeable things, but she did not care for his money and she had no use for him.

  This is a novel experience. She was as proud as he was in the defense of her character and honor.

  And she will never betray the music.

  She was attempting to leave in huff, displaying her displeasure. But Alejandro didn’t care.

  I will have my private concert.

  Before she was able to reach the door, the closet door flew open.

  “Precisely, your highness!” a voice said. A Spaniard came crashing through the office door. “Viva la gente! Muerte a la monarquía!” Long live the people! Death to the monarchy!

  34

  Act as a Man

  “No fear of death

  Terrorizes me from acting as a man

  To wander the road of virtue

  Open the doors of terror to me

  I happily dare to take the bold course”

  - THE MAGIC FLUTE by Amadeus Wolfgang Mozart

  The intruder held a pistol aimed straight at him. Alejandro glanced at the balcony. He could leap onto the balcony and over the side, but that would leave Nicolette alone with the guerilla.

  An impossibility.

  Damn my foolishness! Alejandro cursed himself. Esteban was still at the dinner party, at his employer’s command. Alejandro had wanted to be alone with Nicolette. He should have known he could never be allowed such a luxury. Now her life was threatened because of his desire for an ounce of normalcy.

  Bloody Hell. The blackguard had an old Colt revolver. It was an older gun, but it was still a Colt: it’s six-shot cylinder didn’t have to be re-loaded.

  “Leave!” Alejandro commanded, pushing Nicolette to the corner bordering the door. He moved closer to the center of the room. Seeing that she didn’t move, probably frozen in fear, he said, “Kill me, but leave the senorita. She is a common laborer like yourself.”

  “I am nothing like this murderer!” Nicolette spit on the floor, drawing all eyes to herself. Alejandro would not have wished for attentions to be diverted to her, but it was the thing she knew best how to do.

  He took the opportunity to grab the Princess Royals’ sword placed over the fireplace. This was not a lightweight, sharp rapier meant for quick stabs through the vital organs, but a large saber more appropriate to medieval fighting, heavy and specific to the user.

  “Let the young lady return to the house.” As close to the door as she was, she could unbolt the door and leave when the attacker was diverted, but she
made no move to depart.

  Leave, Nicolette, leave! But he dared not say it. The attacker would turn the pistol on her to prevent her from obtaining assistance.

  “Sadly, she has seen my face and must join you in death.” The terrorist spoke what Alejandro feared. But even these words didn’t incite Nicolette to leave.

  Why?

  Alejandro needed to keep the miscreant’s attention away from Nicolette, even if it meant being shot first.

  The attacker has a pistol and I have a sword. Both he and Nicolette could easily be murdered with a couple of shots.

  The intruder had the advantage. Alejandro hadn’t expected to need a weapon at a dinner party, and there was not a lot of room for one in the form-fitting evening dress tuxedo. Moreover, Lord Ravensdale’s office was in an isolated, private part of the house, with the sounds of the fountain further muffling any noises.

  I’m not even certain a shot would be heard. Once he fired the gun—once or twice—the assassin would be free to slip back into the fifty-five acre park.

  Alejandro kept moving determined to at least keep the pistol-shooter’s attention on him.

  “Now, it is time to kill our young prince…” The anarchist returned the pistol to Alejandro, who was doing anything but standing still for his would-be assassin. With only a sword, Alejandro couldn’t do any damage unless he got close to his intruder. Which made it the more likely the shooter was able to hit his target.

  “There will only be another to take my place. You will have done nothing to destroy the monarchy,” Alejandro said.

  “No one is as popular as you. Everyone hates your brother and uncles.” The intruder laughed at the absurdity of it. “The monarchy is doomed.”

  “Tell me your demands. Why don’t we address your complaints? Do not be privy to murder.”

  Bang! The man shot, laughing. “These are my demands.”

  “Noooo!” Nicolette screamed.

  But the anarchist was a better talker than he was a shot. Possibly he was a student of philosophy at the University. The bullet only grazed Alejandro’s shoulder. It stung, but Alejandro could easily handle the pain. His mentor of the sword, Senor Xalvador, had seen to that.