by Elise Marion
“And we want that retaliation?” someone asked from across the table.
“Yes, because when it comes, we will be ready for it. I will assign a regiment to every village to be on constant guard. I will form four units for the purpose of leading our rebuilding crews. Those units will be headed by myself, Lord Primus, King Damien, and General Stombol. Each unit will be rationed supplies and funds in order to see our plans carried out. Our mission is simple, gentlemen: restore Barony to its former glory, and show our enemies a united front. When they come for us, we will be more than ready.”
Many nodded their heads in agreement, though several still looked uncertain, Primus among them.
“Pardon me, Your Highness,” he interjected. “But I would like to suggest that you at least consider taking some offensive action against the rebels. A show of force, if you will.”
Serge shook his head. “The rebels have been hiding in the mountains for years. Their leader is cunning. I will not risk sending our men into a trap. Going into the mountains in search of the rebels is a suicide mission. I refuse to risk even one life trying. No, Lord Burnham, our best chance lies in waiting for our enemy to come to us.”
He stood and Damien followed suit.
“I will allow you one hour to discuss this and take a vote. My brother and I will await your verdict in the dining room. I trust that you will make the right decision.”
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, Serge sat taking an afternoon meal in his study when Primus entered. Damien, who had been leaning back in his chair and enjoying a cigar, let his seat fall back onto four legs and sat erect, waiting with baited breath for Primus to deliver the news. Serge set his fork down and wiped his mouth with his napkin. His heart pounded, but he remained calm. He would have to operate under whatever plan the council agreed to. The role of the council was important, especially considering how much strife Isabelle’s father had caused by establishing his absolute monarchy. Even if Serge did not like their decision, he must abide by it and adjust his own strategy accordingly.
“Fifteen to five, in your favor,” Primus said, as he settled into the chair matching the one Damien sat in.
Serge sighed with relief before turning his attention back to his lunch. Now that his worries had been assuaged, he was more ravenous than ever.
“Am I to assume you were one of the five against me, Primus?” he asked before taking a bite of roasted chicken.
“What does it matter when you have won your argument? As always, I remain loyal to the crown and dedicated to Barony. I will follow your orders.”
He nodded, glad for the reassurance. The man had defended him in public, but Serge wasn’t certain he trusted Primus behind closed doors.
“Good.”
“How long before we set out?” asked Damien, clenching the cigar between his teeth.
“Three days,” Serge replied. “Just enough time to divide the supplies, and for me to determine where the goods are needed most. As for the units responsible for the security of the villages, they will leave immediately. After what happened in Kingsford today I am anxious to see the people protected.”
“Well, in that case,” said Damien, rising to his feet, “I’d better go find Esmeralda. Three days is not very long for saying goodbye to one’s wife.”
With a hearty chuckle, he breezed out of the study, his steps light. Primus departed as well, leaving Serge staring off across the room.
As it always did in the rare quiet moment, his mind came to rest on Isabelle. While his brother spent the next three days soaking in as much quality time with his wife as possible, Serge would likely spend that same amount of time avoiding his. Whenever he thought of trying to reconcile with her, the memory of what she’d said when she thought he could not hear always gave him pause. Even if he did try to start over with her, perhaps going back to a friendly yet somehow passionate relationship, he could never be certain of her true feelings. Even if she ever came to admit she might be able to love him, Serge did not know if he could take such words as truth.
And so, he turned his thoughts back to his duty and pushed those depressing thoughts to the back of his mind, where they would remain. Isabelle was now his wife in name only, and might always be. It hurt more than anything he’d ever endured. But, trying to mend it would only put him in danger of being hurt even more, and it was a risk he was not ready or willing to take.
He was so late entering his bedroom that night, he didn’t even bother to glance in the direction of Isabelle’s door. The few times he’d seen her throughout the day, she’d been busy seeing to the welfare of their guests from Kingsford. Her face had been drawn and her appearance bedraggled, her eyes portraying her grief over seeing their desolation. So late into the night she must be sleeping—something he ought to be doing.
Hours passed in which he lay beneath the bedclothes, his mind racing with thoughts that kept him from sleep. The horrors he had witnessed in Kingsford stayed with him. The carnage and destruction went beyond the bounds of human cruelty. He had only experienced that sort of depravity once in his life, and had hoped to never witness it again.
He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut against the memories he had hoped to forget, but which plagued him mercilessly. Even now as he closed his eyes, the images invaded his subconscious, wrapping their tentacles around his mind in a vise-like grip as he drifted off into sleep.
* * *
Serge fought with fierce determination, cutting down the men who had been dispatched by the masked man to kill his family. He could see Lionus through the chaos that surrounded them, and noticed that their father’s murderer no longer wore his mask. However, he had his back turned and Serge could not see his face.
Raw fury raced through him, and he battled to make his way to his brother’s side. He would not allow Lionus to face the villain alone.
He was drawn up short by the shrill screams of a woman behind him and turned to find three men surrounding the carriage his mother had taken shelter in with Isabelle.
An inhuman battle cry was the only warning the attackers had. Serge hacked his way through them, decapitating the first, severing the sword arm of the second and running his blade clean through the middle of the third. He looked up to find Isabelle watching him from the window of the carriage, her eyes wide with fear. He must look like a man possessed, and could feel the sticky wetness of someone else’s blood across his face. Nevertheless, he reached through the window to take her hand, ignoring the tiny shivers of awareness that shot through him at her touch.
God, how he loved her. He had loved her for so long, he could hardly remember a time when his heart didn’t ache at just the sight of her. If she died … no, he couldn’t let that happen. She might be Lionus’ wife, and he’d never laid a hand upon her—hell, the woman didn’t even know how he felt about her—but he cared about her like he’d never cared for anyone in his life. If no one else made it out of this debacle alive, then she would … he would see to it. He’d gladly stay behind and die if it meant she would survive.
“Isabelle, are you able to drive this carriage?”
She glanced beyond him to see that one coachman lay dead and the other fought amongst the guards. Every other available man was busy trying to keep them alive. There was no one else.
“I can,” she said, her soft voice filled with a strength he had always known she’d possessed.
Others saw her as beautiful and sweet, but Serge knew better. There was so much more to her than what met the eye.
“Good. Take the reins and drive this thing as fast as you can, back to the palace. Damien is not scheduled to leave until tomorrow. You must find him and tell him what has happened. Tell him to send aid.”
Isabelle nodded, exiting the carriage to climb onto the driver’s perch. Alexandra cried hysterically in the confines of the carriage, the shrill sounds grating against his nerves. There was no time to comfort her, so he turned back to Isabelle, who held the reigns in a tight grasp. He lifted his pistol
from beneath the carriage seat and handed it to her.
“Do not hesitate to use it,” he said.
She took the pistol and pushed it down into the pocket of her skirt.
“Go!” he bellowed, slapping one of the lead horses on the rear. The beasts whinnied and were off like a shot, carrying the two women to safety.
Relieved, Serge turned back toward Lionus, who still fought the masked man. Blood now trickled down his arm and soaked the front of his coat. He was slowing down, swinging his sword with sluggish, ungainly movements. The injury must be grave. Serge leaped over two men who had fallen to the ground, locked together in a struggle. Most of the men from either side lay dead or dying, but Serge’s main concern was his brother.
He had just raised his sword, prepared to strike out, when pain exploded at the back of his head, bringing him up short. His vision blurred as he fell to his knees, ears ringing and his entire body seemed to vibrate from the force of the blow. He fought for consciousness, knowing that if he lost himself to oblivion, he and Lionus would both be dead within moments.
One of the masked man’s accomplices grasped him by the arms and held him down. A pistol pressed against his temple.
“Hold still or I will gladly blow a hole through your head,” a man’s voice rasped in his ear. “Then my employer will be furious with me, since he’s determined to kill you himself.”
Serge could only watch Lionus fight as his blood rapidly drained from his body through the gaping wound in his shoulder. His heart twisted painfully in his chest when Lionus finally dropped to his knees, too weak to go on.
“No!” Serge cried as he watched their enemy drive his sword through Lionus’ middle. His brother jolted from the blow, crumpling in on himself, unable to remain upright.
“Lionus,” he rasped, watching his brother’s lifeless body fall into a heap on the ground as the masked man pulled his sword free.
He struggled against the arms that held him, enraged, but the blow to his head had sapped much of his strength. Darkness shrouded the face of his enemy as he approached, wiping his sword clean of Lionus’ blood. Serge growled like an enraged beast, straining against his captor’s hold. Another blow to the head subdued him and he waited for his adversary to show his face, his body slumping as if he no longer had any control over it. He must have been hit harder than he thought.
“No,” he whispered, when the man finally came into view. Could it be? This man had been a part of Serge’s life for as long as he could remember, yet the evil and hate he found on this man’s face hurt worse than his injured head.
“It can’t be true.”
Serge shook his head and narrowed his eyes, determined to see someone else, but the face and form before him did not change. It made no sense.
“Why?” he whispered, his voice having grown hoarse from his screams. “For the love of God, why?”
“Because our father abandoned me,” the man said with a shrug of his shoulder.
Serge scowled, uncertain if he’d heard correctly. Surely he’d been hit far too hard and wasn’t thinking clearly. He and this man didn’t share a father…
Did they?
Serge fought with renewed strength, anger numbing the throbbing pain in his head as desperation set in. Lionus was likely dead, and there was no one else here to assist him. He now stared death in its face … and that face was one he’d known and loved. It simply defied all reason.
“Tell your men to release me and fight me, damn you! Let me go, goddamn it!”
Serge fought and screamed as the man motioned more of his men toward him. He kicked and flailed as ropes were tied around his ankles and wrists. He cursed his enemy for the coward he was, as his ankles were tethered to the back of the remaining carriage.
The face of a man he’d once held dear loomed over him.
“I will not stand by and watch you inherit everything that is rightfully mine. When you awaken in the afterlife, you can thank Adare for this.”
The man lifted his pistol above his head, firing a cracking shot into the dead of night. The horses reared and whinnied before dashing off down the road, dragging the carriage and Serge behind them.
* * *
Isabelle was jolted into wakefulness by screams. She shot upright in bed, pushing loose strands of hair out of her face. Her bleary eyes searched for the source of the commotion as she fought against the lingering drowsiness on the edges of her consciousness.
Recognizing the voice crying out in agony, she leaped up and ran to the door connecting her bedchamber to Serge’s. She yanked it open and ran to the bed where her husband lay, screaming and thrashing in the throes of a nightmare.
Without hesitation, she sat on the edge of the mattress and reached out for him. The instant her hands cupped his jaw, he stilled, his breath coming out on a pained sigh, the tensions straining his muscles easing a bit. Confusion flashed across his face for a moment as he reached for complete wakefulness to find her looming over him, her hands bracing his face.
“You were screaming again,” she explained, trying to help him sit up
Now alert, he brushed her hands away and did it himself, leaning back against his pillows and avoiding her gaze. She fought the urge to shake him by the shoulders and demand he look at her. He was once again expressionless, his mouth a hard line.
“I’m fine now,” he murmured. “Sorry to have disturbed your sleep.”
Isabelle folded her hands in her lap and waited for him to look at her. She refused to move until he did. His avoidance of her had lasted long enough and she’d grown weary of feeling so alone.
“Esmeralda says you and Damien are leaving in three days,” she ventured, hoping to coax him into talking to her about something … anything.
He nodded, his stare still focused beyond her. “Yes. I suspect we will be gone for several months. I have already met with your bodyguards, and they’ve agreed to remain behind with a unit of soldiers to oversee the protection of you and those residing at Guthrie Hall.”
“I will miss you,” she murmured, dropping her gaze to her hands, which she clutched tightly in her lap. She wanted to tell him that she missed him now, even with only the wooden panel of a door between then. She missed his warmth beside her in the night, the comfort of his touch, the passion of his kiss. Most of all, she missed the man who had been the best of friends to her, who could make her smile and laugh like no one else could.
“Will you?” he rasped, his eyes meeting hers at last. “I would think you’d be glad to be rid of me.”
“How could you think that? You’re my husband, Serge.”
“I’m a convenience,” he retorted, his features hardening with every word, his pain clear in every word. “A second-rate replacement for something you wish you still had.”
“Serge, please don’t do this,” she pleaded. “You know that’s not true.”
“Don’t try to patronize me. I know the truth, and now I have to live with it.”
“You were willing enough to marry me even knowing I still grieved Lionus,” she blurted, her frustration finally bubbling to the surface. “And we were content, Serge … it could be that way again. I don’t understand why we cannot simply return to the way things were.”
“You mean, when I was trying to love you and you were using me to ease your hurts over another man?”
“Your brother!”
“Don’t you understand? That is the very thing that makes it so hurtful! Do you know how it feels to wonder if you’re measuring me against him and finding me lacking? Can you honestly say that you haven’t been doing that this whole time?”
Isabelle thought of the dream she’d had about her wedding night and lowered her gaze, shame heating her cheeks. She could not deny that part of what he said proved true. She had been comparing them, but also taking care to only give him parts of herself aside from the one’s she’d reserved for Lionus.
When she did not reply, he turned away, yanking the bedclothes back over his shoulder before lying agai
nst the pillows.
“Good-bye Isabelle,” he said, voice muffled by the pillow.
She remained on the edge of the bed a bit longer, waiting for him to turn back to her. Perhaps if she waited long enough he’d say something else, ask her another question … one that would be easier for her to answer. As it was, she hardly knew how she felt anymore, her heart pulled in so many directions at once.
It soon became clear that he was finished with her, perhaps for good this time. After a moment of watching the back of his head, she stood and returned to her cold room and empty bed, alone.
* * *
The next few days passed in a blur. Isabelle hardly ever saw her husband, and when she did, he was occupied preparing for his departure. Damien and Esmeralda spent a lot of their time alone in the nursery with Leila, or in their chambers, content to pass the last few days they had together in solitude. Tatiana had become a darling amongst the court, and spent quite a bit of time on outings and at dinners and teas with the various friends she’d made since coming to Barony.
And so, Isabelle was left feeling quite alone.
No one knew how long the rebuilding effort would take, especially since no one could predict how the rebels would retaliate. Primus had told her they could be gone for weeks at a time, stopping in for more supplies or for short breaks, only to leave again.
The day before their departure, the grand vizier found Isabelle in the dining room following the afternoon meal.
“Your Highness, I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?” he asked as servants filed in to clear the table.
“Certainly Primus,” Isabelle said with a warm smile, grateful to have someone to keep her company, even if only for a short time. “What can I do for you?”
“I know that His Majesty has instructed your bodyguards and several soldiers to remain behind for your protection. You will be well taken care of, but I would like to show you something that might be valuable should the rebels decide to bring the fight to Guthrie Hall.”