The Awakened Prince

by Elise Marion

  To stand in this place felt like a dream come true, yet proved more overwhelming than she’d expected. After the events leading up to this moment, she felt drained.

  Primus nodded, concern etched across his brow. “Of course, I was not thinking. We have all had a very long day, haven’t we? I’ll have you shown to your rooms, and you may take all the time you need to rest. When you are ready, I will be more than happy to take you and His Grace on a tour of Guthrie Hall so you may get to know your new home.”

  They followed him up an elegantly curved staircase, and down several winding corridors before reaching the master suites. As they walked, she took in the thick, Oriental floor runners and brass sconces, as well as the rich decor surrounding her. It was clear the old keep had been updated over the years so that it proved as opulent as any palace on the inside, despite its rough and practical defensive exterior.

  “This first door leads to the king’s chambers,” he said to Serge. “You may as well start using them now so you do not have to move after the wedding.” He pointed to another door farther down the hall. “That is the entrance to the queen’s suite. There is, of course, a door … connecting … that is… well, for the use of …”

  “Thank you, Primus,” Isabelle interjected, saving him from the embarrassing hole he was digging himself into. “Your assistance has been invaluable. I think we can manage from here.”

  Primus nodded. “I will assign servants to help you get settled in. Gayle will be shown to the lady’s maid’s apartment, which is directly over yours. There is a staircase at the end of this corridor leading right to it. Alongside her apartment is one for a valet. I will have someone assigned to those duties until your man arrives, Your Grace. I believe that is all, so I will take my leave now. I hope to see you both at dinner this evening.”

  Isabelle and Serge stood in the empty passage, watching Primus’ retreating back until he was out of sight. When they were alone, Serge took her hand and brought it to his lips. His breath caressed her skin for a moment before his mouth settled there, lingering. Her pulse quickened, and her insides seemed to liquefy in an instant. How did he manage to make a kiss on the hand feel so erotic?

  “I’m still very cross with you, you know,” she said, fighting against the watery sensation in her knees as his lips moved to her wrist.

  “Mm-hm,” he mumbled, his fingers caressing beneath the sleeve of her jacket.

  He continued moving his lips over her skin, pausing to press a kiss to each finger one at a time.

  “I mean it, Serge,” she replied, her voice not as confident as she would have liked. “You had no right speaking to me that way.”

  He finally ceased his sensual assault and gazed up at her with turbulent eyes.

  “I almost lost you,” he said, his voice a near-whisper. “I saw you coming out of that carriage, and all I could think about was the night Lionus was killed. I couldn’t stop remembering the last time you were in a carriage and I fought to protect you. And Lionus…”

  His voice faltered and he hung his head, squeezing her fingers.

  Isabelle’s heart softened and she placed her other hand over his. God, she’d been a fool. Of course he’d been terrified having to relive a situation very similar to the one in which they’d lost his brother, her husband. She hadn’t thought of how all of it must have been traumatizing for him. When viewed in that light, she could understand his reaction, even if it had ruffled her features a bit.

  “I know,” she said. “I understand. I think about that night all the time. It is never far from my mind.”

  “I am sorry, if it means anything to you. I was so afraid you were going to be killed, and after all that has happened, I don’t know how I could bear it.”

  She smiled, trying to blink back the tears stinging her eyes. “Yes, well, everything is all right now. We arrived safely, and soon we will be married and get on with rebuilding Barony. I am glad I’ll have you to help me. I know this place is supposed to be home to me, but it feels so foreign. It’ll be nice to have some familiarity.”

  Serge lifted his head, stroking her cheek in a whisper-soft caress heavy with affection. “We should be married as soon as you’re ready. The sooner the better, really.”

  “I agree. Let’s do it tomorrow.”

  His eyebrows shot up, and he chuckled in disbelief. “Tomorrow? Don’t you need more than twelve hours to plan a wedding?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want a lavish ceremony. A priest and two witnesses are all we need. There will be pomp and ceremony enough with our coronation and presentation to the court.”

  Besides, she’d had a grand wedding the first time around, and did not think she could bear it all again. A swift, private ceremony would be good enough for her.

  He seemed to relax, probably glad she would not have time to change her mind. “I’ll speak with Primus about making the arrangements.”

  “Now that’s out of the way, I think I’ll go lie down for a bit. Will I see you at dinner?”

  “Certainly.”

  Just as she turned to walk away, he grasped her hand again and tugged her back toward him.

  “Oh, I forgot there is just one more thing I wanted to discuss with you.”

  “What’s that?”

  With a grin, he pulled her even closer, wrapping one arm around her waist. He bent his head and captured her lips, threading his free hand through her hair, effectively disturbing her neat coiffure. Then, he placed another, shorter kiss on her lips before letting her go and turning without a word to seek his own chambers, leaving her weak-kneed and breathless in the corridor.

  * * *

  Primus had seemed a bit surprised when Serge asked him to locate a priest for a wedding the following morning, but agreed haste was necessary. After dinner that evening, they followed him on a long, exhausting tour of the castle. Even after the nap she had taken earlier, Isabelle was still fatigued at the end of the night, collapsing into bed as soon as Gayle had helped her out of her clothes and into her nightgown.

  She hardly had time to think about what she was about to do before morning saw them in one of Guthrie Hall’s many sitting rooms, with a priest leading them through their vows. Gayle, Primus, and three of her bodyguards were the only people in attendance. Francis, who Isabelle had almost died trying to save, remained abed with a nasty shoulder wound.

  It wasn’t the grand wedding she’d had with Lionus, but she was content. Her simple gown of ivory velvet with long, draping sleeves and gold lace trim was perfect for a cozy, intimate ceremony, and was partnered well by her neat chignon. Gayle had fashioned a bouquet of sorts out of fall flowers picked fresh from the garden, and a single crocus blossom dotted the lapel of Serge’s morning coat, deepening the cerulean hue of his eyes. Gayle had also filled the room with fresh arrangements in tall, crystal vases and lit candles throughout. It was as romantic a setting as Isabelle could have hoped for on such short notice, and the pleasure in Serge’s eyes as he watched her during the ceremony only added to the intimacy of it. He did not seem to care that they weren’t having an extravagant wedding, his satisfaction at having won her hand clear.

  As they stood together, holding hands and reciting their vows, she couldn’t help the apprehension that crept over her. When they finally kissed to seal their bond as man and wife, she breathed a sigh of relief that it was done.

  Congratulations and hugs followed, and they indulged in champagne—a festive end to the ceremony. Primus wished them well, but Isabelle sensed the tension in his jaw. His disapproval of the match could not be more clear.

  Turning her thoughts away from the grand vizier, she focused them back on her new husband as he stood nearby talking with Gayle, a glass of celebratory champagne in one hand. He looked exceptionally handsome this morning in his gray morning coat and cerulean waistcoat, with starched white linen at his throat. His hair had been brushed until the golden highlights gleamed, pulled back at his nape. Despite all her earlier reservations, she couldn’t stifle a litt
le shiver as she realized he was now hers, and hers alone. What woman wouldn’t be thrilled to have such a man as her husband? That she truly liked and admired him as her friend only sweetened the deal.

  The rest of the day passed without event. They spent some time meeting the members of Barony’s High Council, and better acquainting themselves with their new household staff.

  For her part, she still felt very much as she had that morning, except for being very aware of the ring she wore. The massive diamond surrounded by a circle of tiny sapphires in a brilliant gold setting had been presented to her by Serge—a piece from among the Rothchester family jewels. He’d confessed to bringing it along, having been that confident she would accept his proposal. She wanted to be cross with him for it, but only laughed. That sort of confidence was just Serge’s way, and in the end it had all worked out well. They were able to share a laugh over it, as they did about most things, and in that way nothing had really changed.

  However, once night fell everything else about their relationship would change for good, sealed with a consummation. It didn’t matter that she and Serge had already been intimate. Something about this night weighed heavily on her mind. This night would finalize the bond, and she would be his forever.

  Chapter 10

  Night came much faster than Isabelle anticipated, and before she knew it, she sat in her chambers waiting for Serge to arrive. The two had shared a private dinner in his chamber, complete with candlelight. It had been his idea after a long day of being forced to endure the company and scrutiny of others. She was grateful for it, as it had given her the chance to unwind and relax in the privacy of his bedroom.

  After they’d finished eating, she had excused herself to prepare for bed. There was no use avoiding what would happen next, and in truth Isabelle could no longer pretend she wasn’t as excited as she was nervous. Having gone without a man’s touch for a year seemed to have dulled her senses. Now that Serge had brought pleasure and desire back into her life, she found herself craving more.

  After being divested of her evening gown, she had bathed in rose-scented water, then dabbed sensuous jasmine-scented perfume behind her ears, at her wrists, and along her neck. Then, she’d allowed Gayle to take down her hair and brush it free of snarls. Satisfied that her lady was ready, the maid bustled from the chamber, leaving her alone to await the groom.

  Now she sat waiting before the vanity, her heart galloping wildly against her ribs, palms breaking out into a sweat. As she gazed at herself in the mirror, she found a seductive picture staring back at her, her wedding night ensemble leaving little to the imagination.

  The wispy bit of silk gauze was held up over her shoulders by delicate straps, the fabric that flowed over her curves and to the floor proving completely transparent. With her hair hanging down her back and her lips lightly enhanced by rouge, she was a far cry from the innocent girl she’d been on her first wedding night. A slit up one side bared her to the hip, and would allow her new husband easy access to her body.

  Swallowing past the lump of anxiety in her throat, and pressing a hand to her middle to still the butterflies in the stomach, she told herself there was nothing to fear. She was a woman grown, one well acquainted with what would go on in her bed tonight. That she and Serge had already done this should make things easier.

  A rough sound from across the room drew her from her reverie, and when she glanced back into the mirror, she found the reflection of her husband in the doorway across the room. He stared right at her, but remained motionless, one hand braced on the doorframe.

  She swiveled and sat motionless on the stool, her pulse quickening as she gazed back at him. He had stripped to the waist and taken his hair down from its binding. It hung loose and lustrous to his shoulders, undulating in soft, golden-brown waves. The firelight flaunted the ridges in his abdomen, the bulges of his chest, and the sinews of his arms.

  Dear God, the man is gorgeous.

  How had she never seen it? For so long she’d known him, been his friend, and in a way part of his family. Yet, none of the things she noticed now had ever leaped out at her with such stunning impact—such as the veins protruding through the backs of his hands, or the enticing outline of his strong thighs through his snug breeches. She realized now that she had never truly seen him, not in the way she did now.

  As she rose to her feet, watching him draw closer, she began to notice the notching of scars over his torso—white lines of differing lengths left behind from the brutal cruelty of being dragged behind a speeding carriage. They marred his arms, too, and if she had to guess, she would assume they crossed his back as well.

  But, the scars weren’t ugly to her any more than the one across his face. If anything they reminded her just how fortunate he was to be alive, how close she’d come to losing him as well as Lionus. They made her grateful to be standing here with him, even if it meant that nothing had turned out the way either of them had planned.

  “Well?” she prodded when he simply went on staring at her, his gaze roving over her from head to toe, lips parted, chest heaving. “Do not leave me in suspense. I selected this gown especially for this night.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her and pursed his lips. “That is not a gown. That is … quite the most indecent thing I’ve ever seen.”

  The thick huskiness of his voice and the way he looked at her made her grin.

  “So … you do not like it?” she teased.

  He edged even closer, until she could smell him—some earthy, smoky aroma that made her belly quiver. “I think the only way I could like it more is once I’ve taken it off you and left it on the floor.”

  Her sharp intake of breath made him grin, the devilish motion of his lips affecting her now in a way it never had before.

  “But first, I thought we could share dessert,” he said, holding up one hand to reveal what he held in it.

  She’d been so engrossed gawking at him she hadn’t even noticed the plate in his hand, a wedge of decadent chocolate cake resting on it. The scent wafted up her nostrils as he drew closer.

  “That sounds lovely,” she croaked, her throat suddenly tight.

  His scent mingled with that of the chocolate proved far too sensuous, making her mouth water. He frowned, swiveling to glance around in a comically dramatic fashion.

  “Drat … I seem to have forgotten to bring a fork,” he murmured. “Oh well, I suppose we will just have to make do.”

  Isabelle fought not to laugh and failed as she watched him pinch a bite-size morsel of the cake with his thumb and forefinger.

  “You did that on purpose,” she grumbled before parting her lips to accept his offering.

  The taste of him mingled with the cake as her tongue swiped at the pad of his finger, and a light flutter began in her belly. There was something to be said for forgetting a fork. Serge’s gaze focused upon her lips as he fed her the cake, his intense perusal making the act all the more intimate.

  The cake itself was perfect—rich and moist, melting in her mouth. But she soon ceased to register the taste of it, attuned mostly to the rough rasp of his finger against her tongue, the taste of his skin, the burn of his eyes as he watched her as if witnessing the most erotic thing in the world.

  When half the dessert was gone, he ceased, extending the plate toward her.

  “My turn,” he declared.

  Her hands shook, but she managed to take a piece for him, breath hitching as she lifted it to his lips. He kept his gaze locked with hers as he opened his mouth, taking both her thumb and first finger in as he pulled the cake free, laving both digits with his tongue as he did so. Her head spun as that simple bit of contact through her entire body. Peeking down, she noticed the heavy swell of his arousal against his breeches, the evidence that this affected him the same way it did her. This time, her fingers were so clumsy when she went back for another morsel that he helped her along. Taking hold of her wrist, he brought her hand up to his mouth, still watching her with that deliciously intense focus as he
sucked her fingers and the cake into his mouth.

  This time, however, he set the plate aside and forgot it altogether as he took her index finger back in, his tongue circling around it. She couldn’t keep in the breathy moan that escaped as her body reacted as if that tongue had caressed her everywhere. It sent sparks of electricity over the surface of her skin, each strike ending right between her legs.

  Her stomach clenched, and she leaned back against the vanity table for support as he pulled her finger from his mouth and lowered his lips to her wrist. As always, her pulse raced against his mouth, her reaction to a kiss on that delicate skin as strong as ever. She whimpered at the feel of his hot tongue, her knees buckling as desire began to pull her under its heady tide, drowning her in need, in him.

  He drew closer until he loomed over her, a low growl emitting from deep in his chest. She gasped against his mouth as he took hers in a consuming kiss, his mouth demanding everything she had and then some. She sagged in the tight hold of his arms, giving him everything—her tongue, her taste, her ardor. The last of her reservations slipped away, and she threw herself into the moment, into coming alive for what felt like the first time in so long.

  He pulled away with a gasp, as if realizing he stood seconds away from debauching her on top of her vanity table. Not that she would mind … but he likely thought it a bit crass for a wedding night. Giving him a little smile of reassurance, she cupped his cheek.

  Then, as she had been longing to do for months now, she reached up to trace the jagged scar running down his face. He released a heavy sigh, closing his eyes as her fingertips smoothed over his forehead, then his eyebrow, a slight gap left where the scar kept hair from growing, over his lowered eyelid, his cheekbone, his jaw. He opened his eyes to look at her once she had finished, then he was kissing her again, hands cupping her face, tongue delving deep.

  Her hands came up against the flat plane of his abdomen, her fingers tracing the defined lines down to where his skin ended and his breeches began. Another low rumble sounded in his chest as he reached down to grab her by the waist and lift her up onto the table.