Return of the Prince_Medieval Romance

by Elise de Sallier

  “Ready, my love?” Destrian touched his lips to her brow, and she managed a tremulous smile, not trusting her voice not to betray her fragile emotions. As if sensing she needed reassurance, he curled his arm around her waist, anchoring her to his side despite the fact their kindly host was watching.

  Although warmed by a perpetual blush, Eloise resisted the urge to fan her cheeks. While the consummation of their marriage had been the expected purpose of their time spent in seclusion, she suspected the father knew they had not restricted themselves to fulfilling their duty then abstaining. Far from it. Destrian’s and her hunger for one another bordered on insatiable. They had made love repeatedly, blissfully, in ways she had not come close to imagining. They had also done it in the daylight and not only under cover of darkness.

  The giving and receiving of pleasure was not a valid reason for engaging in marital relations, in fact, it was to be avoided. Or so some of the other servants had reported after hearing the repressive sermon of a visiting bishop some years back. Eloise had listened to the debate his words had triggered in silence, secretly relieved to hear a husband was not supposed to demand his conjugal rights more than three times a week at the very most. Expecting to have no choice but to yield her body upon demand, she had found some comfort in the knowledge the church imposed restraints on what occurred in the marital bed. Of course, her future husband would have had to be a pious man for the directives issued from the pulpit to have any impact on his behaviour, the odds not in her favour.

  Marriage to Destrian had tipped her expectations upon their head. He was a good man, caring, kind, and she didn’t think it unrealistic to believe he would not resort to violence if she disappointed or angered him in some way. As to the intimate aspects of their relationship, he clearly had a different interpretation of what it meant to be devout.

  “Scripture says the marriage bed is undefiled and that a husband should love his wife,” he had said when she’d timidly raised her concerns that their behaviour fell well outside what the church deemed acceptable. “Am I taking advantage? Do you not feel respected . . . honoured?”

  “No, I do, I do!” She had assured him. “I welcome your attention, and I can honestly say I have never felt so loved in all my life.”

  He had breathed a sigh and drawn her into his arms. “Then I’m doing something right.”

  A smile curved her lips at the memory of his tender kisses and the way he had gone about ridding them both of their fears.

  “Destrian, it’s time we were leaving.” Lord Winterfold approached, and Eloise turned away from the cottage with reluctance. The baron had arrived a half hour prior with a warning that Destrian’s father would not be placated for much longer. King Cedric was threatening to send out the guard to find and retrieve his heir if he did not appear in the throne room forthwith.

  “Can we stop at the inn on our way past?” Eloise asked as they walked down the pathway to the road where their carriage waited. “I want to see if the bag with my belongings is still there. Rulf left it in the room I was supposed to return to with Mr Festerly after we were wed.”

  At the reminder of how close they had come to disaster, Destrian’s grip on her tightened. Before he could respond, Lord Winterfold spoke up, a gleam appearing in his eye. “There’s no need. Your friend, Madam Norton, has it at her abode. She is expecting us.”

  “Ayleth?” Eloise’s eyes first widened then narrowed. “You have visited her?”

  “Twice.” Lord Winterfold’s smile faltered. “Fat lot of good it’s done me. Maybe you could put in a good word when we stop by?”

  “Why?” Eloise drew Destrian to a halt and faced the tall, fair-haired gentleman. “She is a seamstress with a young child to support, not a noblewoman. What are your intentions?”

  “Whoa.” Lord Winterfold raised his hands and took a step back. “Not three days wed to a prince and you are making imperious demands like one born to rule.”

  Eloise’s blush returned, but she resisted the urge to lower her head. She may have no right to scold a baron, but she refused to stand idly by while he took advantage of Ayleth.

  “Never fear, Eloise. You have nothing to fear for your friend.” Destrian addressed her while looking at Lord Winterfold, his green eyes steely. “Justin’s intentions can be nought but honourable, for he knows he shall have me to answer to otherwise.”

  “Quite.”

  Lord Winterfold’s audible swallow was far from reassuring. Eloise’s eagerness to see Ayleth intensified, now tinged with worry. They reached the carriage, and Destrian turned to face the priest.

  “Thank you, Father, for everything,” he said, then bowed with respect. “Your hospitality has meant a great deal and, I can assure you that your assistance will not be forgotten.”

  Eloise echoed his words, but in place of a curtsey she embraced the elderly priest who hugged her lightly in return.

  “It was my pleasure, child, or should I say, Your Highness?” Eloise shrugged, and he patted her cheek before addressing Destrian. “I’ll be praying your return to the palace goes smoothly, and your bride’s welcome into your family is warm.”

  Sobered by the reminder of what they were yet to face, Eloise remained quiet on the drive through the village, as did Destrian, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. They pulled up outside Ayleth’s cottage, and Eloise peered through the carriage window, smiling when she saw her friend waving from the covered porch. Destrian helped her alight, and she looked up in time to see Ayleth’s face fall when Lord Winterfold rode up behind them on his big, brown steed.

  “What is it?” Eloise asked quietly while they embraced. “Has the baron done something to offend you?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Ayleth’s smile appeared forced. “He has been a perfect gentleman.”

  “Then what’s wrong?” Entering the store on her friend’s arm, with Destrian and Lord Winterfold close behind, Eloise made sure to keep her voice low. “I saw your reaction to him when he rode up, so I know there is something going on.”

  “It’s nothing, I promise. He just . . . unsettles me.” Ayleth drew Eloise aside, leaving the men standing awkwardly in the middle of the ladies’ dress shop. “What about you?” she asked in an urgent whisper. “Is the prince treating you well? Are you happy?”

  “Happy? I am incandescent.”

  Ayleth studied her for a moment before a genuine smile curved her cheeks, one that reached her eyes this time. “You are, aren’t you? You are positively glowing.”

  “I had no idea marriage could be so wonderful. I love him, and he loves me in return.”

  “I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I know it is possible, but it happens so rarely.” Ayleth embraced her again, tears glistening on her lashes when she eventually drew away. “You are blessed to have found a good man for a husband,” she added loud enough for Destrian to hear.

  “Actually…” He came to stand beside Eloise. “I am the one who’s blessed, finding such an extraordinary woman to be my wife. If I had known Eloise would come to my rescue, I would have arranged to be left for dead in the forest much sooner.”

  “Silly man.” Eloise tucked her arm through his, hiding her grin behind her gloved hand.

  “What? It’s true.” He caught hold of her fingers, raising her hand and tenderly kissing the back of her knuckles. She would have preferred to feel his lips on her bare skin, but keeping her scarred and callused hands covered in public was a priority now she was his wife. Destrian assured her he wasn’t offended by them, only that he hated the suffering they represented.

  Other than a comb of her mother’s she had taken a huge risk to keep hidden from Gloria over the years, the only thing Eloise would have been upset to lose from amongst her possessions was the jar of herbal salve she had brought with her. She had made enough jars for others, and had been assured of its efficacy, but of course, Gloria had never allowed her to use any on herself. She hoped it would soften her skin, though nothing would rid her hands of their ugly scar
s.

  As if reading Eloise’s thoughts, and the insecurity that underlay them—that she wasn’t good enough to be his wife—Destrian’s smile faded. He kissed her hand again, squeezing it gently. “I mean it Eloise. I couldn’t ask for a better wife, and I can honestly say I am the luckiest man alive.”

  “Not for much longer if you don’t get a hurry on.” Lord Winterfold’s words saw all their faces fall. “Your father might be renowned for his patience, but you have worn it down to a nub, I’m afraid. He mentioned having you dragged back, kicking and screaming, if necessary.”

  “Ridiculous,” Destrian muttered, releasing Eloise’s fingers to run a hand through his hair. “I always intended to return, but a man is entitled to take some time away from his responsibilities for his honeymoon. Even a crown prince.”

  Lord Winterfold raised a brow. “I am not sure your father sees it quite the same way, not when your primary responsibility was marriage to someone other than the woman with whom you have been honeymooning.”

  “Whose side are you on?” Destrian scowled at his friend.

  “Yours.” Lord Winterfold shrugged, seemingly unperturbed. “But you picked a hell of a method to finally assert yourself, and your timing left something to be desired. Your father has only just ascended the throne, and the country is at war.”

  “A border war,” Destrian said gruffly.

  “One threatening to turn into a full-scale invasion now the alliance is in tatters.”

  Eloise covered her mouth. “Oh, Destrian. What have we done?”

  “Nothing wrong.” He turned and gripped her quaking shoulders. “I spoke to Seraphina before I found out you had been taken. The alliance can be salvaged. I am sure of it.”

  “Here’s hoping you are right,” Lord Winterfold interjected. “Though it’s not the princess you will have to convince but her father.”

  The first thing Eloise had asked Lord Winterfold upon his arrival was whether King Gorvenal still lived. Although she imagined it might have been easier for them if the ailing sovereign was no longer in power, she was relieved not to have the man’s death on her conscience.

  “He is unfit to rule,” Destrian said, tucking Eloise against his side. “He will have to install Seraphina as regent. She is an intelligent, capable woman, and I’m confident she only wants what is best for both our nations.”

  Lord Winterfold huffed a breath. “That’s quite the turnabout. It must have been some conversation for your opinion of her to have altered so dramatically.”

  Eloise wondered the same thing, but the jealousy Destrian’s words inspired eased when he continued.

  “Released from a mutual obligation neither of us desired to fulfil, we were able to see one another in a different light. I think we could work well together politically without the encumbrance of an unwelcome personal bond.”

  “Maybe so.” Lord Winterfold looked doubtful. “But for now, you have your father to deal with and King Gorvenal to placate . . . if he’ll give you the time of day. He’s threatening to leave Varianda as soon as his physicians advise him it is safe to travel, which I’ve heard rumour could be later today.”

  “Then we must hurry.”

  “As I’ve been saying.” The baron gave Destrian a pointed look, but he had already turned to face Ayleth.

  “Eloise’s things?”

  “Yes, of course.” Ayleth nodded, her eyes wide as she went to do his bidding. Eloise could only imagine her friend felt as overwhelmed as she did to be a party, even if only as an observer, to matters affecting entire kingdoms. Ayleth returned after a moment with Eloise’s bag, a sorry burlap affair of nondescript colour, held together with twine. It was only small, and Destrian looked at it askance.

  “Is that it?” he asked, and Eloise’s shoulders hunched.

  “I don’t have much.”

  “And what you do have is barely fit for rags.” Ayleth grimaced and flitted around the room. “I would burn the lot, especially now I have put together an entire wardrobe for you, one fit for a princess.” She began gathering piles and placing them in a large trunk. “At least, I hope it is fit for a princess. It’s the best of everything I have to offer.”

  “Oh, Ayleth.” Eloise crossed to her friend and placed an arm around her shoulder. “Your best is beautiful, like this lovely gown.” She looked down at the gown she had worn for her wedding and had donned in anticipation of returning to the palace. It was still fresh looking, as Destrian and she had barely bothered with clothing while alone. Forcing the memory of how they had spent their time aside, she gestured to the bounty Ayleth had prepared. “But I can’t take all this. I have no way to pay you.”

  “Will this cover it?” Destrian approached and handed Ayleth a leather pouch. She glanced inside, her eyes going even wider than they had been before.

  “What is it?” Eloise asked.

  “Gold coins.” Ayleth tipped some of them out into her hand. “Lots of gold coins.”

  “Justin found them on Rulf. It’s the money he said Eloise requested, so it’s only fitting it goes towards paying for her new gowns.”

  “But it is too much,” Ayleth whispered, looking around as if she had done something wrong. “I can’t take it.”

  Destrian shrugged. “Consider it an advance, as I’m sure my wife will want more gowns and fripperies in the future. Did you happen to include the red dress she wore to the ball?”

  Ayleth nodded, and Eloise’s cheeks flamed at the hungry look that appeared in Destrian’s eyes. Fortunately, her friend was too flustered to notice.

  “You shall come visit me at the palace . . . or wherever we end up?” Eloise caught hold of Ayleth’s hand, delaying their departure. With Lord Winterfold urging them to make haste, Destrian and he had loaded the trunk onto the carriage and were waiting to leave.

  “Of course, I will.” Ayleth squeezed her hand in return. “Just send word, and I’ll have Ben drive me. I can even pay him now and take on Angela as a full-time assistant.”

  “But what will you sell? You have given me everything!”

  Ayleth laughed. “I have enough orders to keep us busy for weeks after that little stunt you pulled at the ball. Angela’s masks were a huge success, but since word spread the glamorous lady in red who caught the prince’s eye was wearing one of my gowns, I have been inundated. Once it is revealed you are now the prince’s bride, and only wear my designs, I shall have to employ more staff to keep up.”

  Eloise hoped that would be the case, uncertain how beneficial the relationship would be if Destrian and she were banished in disgrace. Every time she thought about meeting his parents a knot formed in her stomach, and that was before hearing Lord Winterfold’s daunting news. Marrying Destrian was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She just hoped it hadn’t come at the expense of all-out war.

  “Are you all right?” Destrian asked once they were under way, prying her tightly gripped hands apart so he could link their fingers.

  “A little anxious.”

  “About meeting my parents?”

  Eloise shivered, and he put his arm around her shoulder.

  “Yes, but also the alliance, King Gorvenal, the war. I am worried we’ve put the future of Varianda in jeopardy.”

  A shadow darkened Destrian’s eyes. “Do you regret marrying me?”

  “No!” Eloise gripped the front of his tunic. “You saved me, and I shall be grateful forever, love you forever. But I can’t help feeling guilty, as there is more than our happiness at stake.”

  Destrian didn’t answer straight away, and when he did his words were measured. “All my life I have done what’s right, Eloise, what is expected of me. I have been a dutiful son, exemplary student, protective older brother . . . not that Merek made it easy. I understand my role is to support my father, putting the needs of the people ahead of my own. Some might see my choosing not to marry Seraphina as rash, selfish, and completely out of character.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “But meeting you changed me.”

  T
hat was what Eloise feared. She didn’t doubt Destrian loved her, but the intensity of his feelings would surely wane in the face of such daunting opposition.

  “What about your duty?”

  “Duty.” Destrian sighed and sat back. “Most people assume a prince, even one who has spent a decade in exile, must lead a sainted life. But mine has been defined by responsibility and arduous expectations. Regardless of the fact I am neither charming nor charismatic, I have done my best to live up to a role for which I fear I am innately ineligible. I don’t mean to sound self-pitying, Eloise, but marrying you is the first time in my life I can recall putting my needs ahead of those around me—my needs and yours. Please, don’t ask me to regret my choice.”

  “I fear that one day you will,” she admitted in a voice filled with sadness. “That you’ll come to resent me for the part I’ve played in your decision to rebel against your father’s wishes.”

  “You think I married you as an act of rebellion?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  Turning to face her, he gripped her shoulders. “Eloise, I married you because I am completely enamoured of you. I’m not prone to sentiment, nor one whose feelings are easily influenced, but you . . . transformed me. I fell in love with you the day you saved my life, but I didn’t realise what had happened to me because I have not felt anything remotely similar before. Letting you walk away, leaving you, was the biggest mistake I have ever made. I wanted to turn around and come back for you before I had ridden another mile.”