by Megan Derr
Most would seek him out all the more, thrilled to have a prince for a paramour. But he'd given his real name and Addison hadn't known it, and Jewell believed him when Addison complained that he no desire to catch a wealthy spouse like his parents wanted.
Should Addison learn Jewell was a prince… he would definitely never see Addison again.
He smiled, and bid Addison farewell, and fled before he did something they'd all call reckless and stupid, like run away.
Oh, how he'd love to run away. Just take off and go somewhere, some place where his father wouldn't lecture to him in that condescending, disappointed tone, but stop halfway through because he had to be at the palace or his club.
Some place his mother wouldn't call him to her parlor and slap him until his face was bruised, and force him to dance attendance upon people he didn't like, didn't know.
He wandered morosely down the stairs, pausing briefly to see that someone had a carriage waiting to take Addison home, then continued on to the library where he knew Daimon would be waiting.
True to form, when he reached the library, Daimon was sitting in a chair close to the fireplace, reading a novel—and Jewell knew whose novel, but he'd save that little bit of ammo for another time.
"I'm ready," he said.
Daimon looked up, slowly closing his book, eyes as frosty and pale as ever, expression just as cool and remote as the mountains from which he hailed. Dressed in black and gray, with small touches of violet in the amethysts he wore, Daimon was beautiful and remote—and deadly. He looked the gentlemen, but he was a bodyguard who'd once had a far deadlier occupation.
He was not entirely unbending, though, for all his icy demeanor. It was one of the reasons Jewell liked him, where he'd hated all his previous bodyguards. Daimon, at least, knew what it was like to constantly want something he could never have.
Though, Jewell could now better appreciate how much harder it must be for Daimon to constantly want someone.
Daimon finally nodded and stood up, tucking his book away. "The footman said your man seemed a sweet fellow."
"He is," Jewell said curtly. "As I said, he did not even know who I was, and I gave him my real name."
"That is rather… impressive, if shocking," Daimon replied. "Come on, then, Highness. Let us get you home."
The trip home was a silent affair, and the knot of dread in Jewell's stomach grew and grew, until it felt as though he were going to toss his stomach by the time they started down the long drive to the lavish townhouse his parents called home half the year. Jewell had always thought it ostentatious, and a bit ridiculous in how much space it took up.
Stifling a sigh, he thanked the footman who appeared to help him down, squared his shoulders, and strode up the marble stairs and into his parents' house.
Inside, the butler, Shawn, greeted him with a deep bow and a politely murmured, "Welcome home, Highness."
"Thank you," Jewell said, stripping off his gloves, handing them and his coat off to the footman who appeared at his elbow. "My parents?"
"Your father left just a short time ago, Highness. He is not expected to return until quite late. Your mother is in her parlor, and awaits your arrival."
Jewell hid a grimace, and only nodded. "Thank you. See tea is brought to my chambers in an hour or so. Also, send word to Riverton that I would like him here around breakfast time tomorrow."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Thank you, Shawn."
"My pleasure, Your Highness."
Jewell left him there, and strode up a massive, elegant winding stair to the second floor, where his mother kept her private parlor.
Princess Alyssa, youngest daughter of King Paul, of the kingdom of Vellartin to the south. She was the perfect match for Jewell's father, second youngest son of the King of Gremere. It was unfortunate they were both odious. Jewell detested his parents, and all the more when people constantly assured him that would change. He truly despised being repeatedly informed that all children hated their parents, it was only natural, but that if he would just listen and do as he was told for once, and grow up, he would come to understand them and respect them properly.
He knocked on the door to his mother's parlor, innards seizing and turning cold. Gods, he really did hate being alone with his mother.
She called for him to enter, but did not immediately look up from her needlepoint. He closed the door and waited. She was more beautiful at fifty than she'd been in her younger days, and even then she'd been considered beyond compare. Golden and richly dressed, always dripping jewels, even when no one was around to admire them. He was grateful he looked more like his father's side of the family, and not hers.
There were so many things he wished he could tell her—tell anyone at all. About Addison, mostly. Even here and now, braced for pain and insults, thoughts of Addison made him smile.
He wanted to tell everyone everything about Addison—the way he smiled, the way he laughed, how much he knew of history, how he wanted to be a scholar and was so very good at it. How sweet he was, and tolerant, and forgiving. The intensity of his eyes, and how honest they were. The way he didn't mind that Jewell could not hold still or stop talking.
Though, he definitely would not tell anyone how sweetly Addison kissed, the way he smelled of licorice and honey, the impossible softness of his skin, the way he gasped and moaned and pleaded so prettily—
"Wipe that smirk off your face," Princess Alyssa said coldly, finally setting her needlework aside and gathering up her abundant silk skirts. She rose and stalked across the room toward him.
Jewell braced for it, tried to convince himself it would not hurt the same as—
But it did hurt the same as always. He made no noise, gave nothing away in his face, but it always stung when his mother struck him, and in more ways than one. He could feel blood drip down his cheek. She must be extremely angry, to wear a ring that could cut and backhand him with it.
"You will stop this nonsensical running and hiding," Alyssa went on. "It inconveniences me, it upsets your father, and it wastes Daimon's time."
"So give Daimon something better—" He grunted that time, as she struck him again.
"Stop running off," she repeated. "In two months you will be turning twenty-one. A boy so close to becoming fully a man should act like a man. Never mind that you are a prince. That comes with duties and responsibilities. You are not at all conscious of your place, and I have told you time and time again you must be aware at all times. You are not stupid, Jewell, for all that you persist in acting like a fool."
She resumed her seat, and Jewell relaxed slightly. "Now, Lady Tina was here earlier, and relayed some distressing news. I do not want to hear your feeble excuses," she snapped when Jewell tried to speak. "Whoever, whatever, that boy was, you had better not keep company with him again. Am I clear? Appearances, Jewell. I wish you would take these things more seriously."
"I do take things seriously, mother—"
"Be silent," she said. "This is not a conversation, Jewell. This is me speaking, and you listening. The only words I want to hear out of your mother are 'yes, mother'. She paused pointedly.
"Yes, mother," Jewell repeated dully.
"Anyway, what I really wanted to speak to you about was the Cumberly ball tonight. It is a small, very private affair, only a couple hundred people will be in attendance. Many of them will be key figures. Now, you know how Lady Melina Easton regards you."
Jewell barely kept from sneering. She regarded quite highly the fact he was a young, handsome prince. More than once she'd made it plain she would not be opposed to spending time with Jewell in some secluded corner or empty room.
"Her mother is quite the fool," Alyssa went on. "Lady Easton has power and place, but little brain to know how to use either. She cares only for doting on her daughter, and doing whatever her daughter says. You will go with us to the Cumberly ball. You will dance attendance upon Melina. You will charm her, you will give her exactly what she wants. You will convince her to
tell her mother to vote against the trade bill that is set to come up tomorrow."
Jewell stared at his mother, horrified. They'd always asked him to dance and flirt with people, take various guests and acquaintances to the park, the theatre, escort them to a salon or a ball…but this…this…
"You want me to seduce and fuck a young woman just so she'll turn around and tell her mother to vote the way you want?"
Alyssa was off the couch in a flash, and backhanded him twice, making his face throb. "Watch your language! I cannot imagine why you thought I would tolerate such vulgarities."
"You—you're—" Jewell gingerly wiped blood from his lips. He really thought he might cry. "You're whoring me out."
His mother slapped him again, then regarded him coldly. "I am doing no such thing. This is business, Jewell. More importantly, it is royal business. It is how these things work in our world. Honestly, you are no innocent. You've taken plenty of pretty little bits to your bed. What is one or two more? At least this way, you'll get something more useful out of it than base satiation." Her mouth twisted with distaste and disapproval.
Jewell wondered, half-hysterically, how she'd managed to have three children if she truly hated sex that much. No wonder his father kept mistresses.
He was more concerned with that 'one or two' she had said. So she was already planning where to use him next. It was pointless to protest, but he had to try. "It's not the same thing, mother—"
"I've had enough of your outbursts. I told you, this is not a conversation. Go to your room. Get cleaned up. The ball starts at nine, we will arrive just after ten."
"Yes, mother," Jewell replied, and turned sharply around, taking his leave. Outside, Daimon leaned against the opposite wall, waiting patiently. He frowned as he took in Jewell's abused face. "Highness—"
Jewell shook his head, and turned sharply to stride across the second floor, to his room at the furthest end, as far from the rest of them as he could get.
In his room, he went straight to the tea he'd requested. Sitting down, he poured himself a cup, added four sugars, and drank it down as quickly as he could manage.
Really, he could do with something a good deal stronger than tea, but he was going to need a clear head. He stiffened as Daimon sat down next to him, his familiar leather case in one hand. Daimon set it on the table, then pulled out a little glass bottle filled with clear liquid, and a soft white cloth.
Dabbing the liquid on the cloth, Daimon then grasped Jewell's chin gently and angled his head just so, before meticulously wiping at his face. Jewell hissed at the sting, but otherwise said nothing. When Daimon finished, he poured another cup of tea. When he was half done with it, he finally began to help himself to the various trays of food set out.
"Your man made it home safely," Daimon said levelly. "He is precisely who he claimed. His uncle is not a popular man, though he is not precisely unpopular either. His fortune comes by way of a silver mine."
"How do you know so much already?" Jewell demanded. "How do you always do that?"
Daimon shrugged, but the briefest of smiles cracked his face for a moment. "Servants talk. I sent a man to follow him home, and bid him make inquiries where he might."
Jewell made a face, and refilled his teacup. Silence fell again, until Daimon asked quietly, "What did your mother say that has you so upset, Highness?"
"She wants me to attend the Cumberly ball and pay a particular amount of attention to Lady Melina."
Daimon frowned. "It is hardly unusual for your parents to request you dance and flirt with various and sundry persons."
"No, but it is a change of pace that my mother request I then take the girl off somewhere and fuck her, before I convince her to persuade her mother to do what my mother wants."
"I see," Daimon said.
Jewell felt more wretched than ever. "I'm not doing it—I'm not!" He stormed to his feet and took off, back to his mother's parlor, ignoring Daimon's cries to stop, and threw the door open. "I'm not doing it, mother! I'm a price, not a whore! I'll dance and flirt and chat if I must, but—" He winced that time, as she struck him.
"That. Is. Enough."
"I'm not doing it," Jewell said again, eyes watering from the force of her latest blow.
"You will do as you are told," Alyssa said coldly. "I think with all that we put up with from you, the least you can do is help your family out from time to time."
Jewell felt sick—but his anger was not quite played out. "You—you're just using me the way everyone used to use Uncle! You're whoring me out the same way they did him."
"You know nothing about that," his mother replied. "Go to your room. This discussion is over."
Feeling helpless, Jewell left.
He wouldn't do it. He couldn't. If he did it once, they'd make him do it again and again, and it was just like what they'd done to Uncle. He'd heard the stories, and he wouldn't become the next royal whore, he refused.
It was time to run away. Bugger them all.
But where could he go that they wouldn't find him? Jewell worried his bottom lip as he pondered, walking slowly back to his room. He'd have to slip past Daimon, too. That was going to be especially tricky now.
Damn it.
What was he going to do about Addison? At the very least, he had to wait until morning, so he could tell Addison he was running away.
He thought briefly, wistfully, of how grand it would be to get Addison to run away with him. They could travel all over the world, visit museums, famous landmarks, and he could drag Addison into all the finest shops and teahouses and more.
And they'd spend every night together, wrapped around each other, with no fear of Daimon or anyone else showing up to tear them apart. He wouldn't have to be a stupid prince; he could be just Jewell, and have Addison—
But precious little else. If he left, he'd have to take money with him. His personal fortunes were almost obscene, but accessing them while trying not to draw his family's notice would be no easy thing. And Addison had no reason to run away, and Jewell should not drag him into the mess anyway.
Still, it was a pretty thought, just him and Addison and the world to explore.
In his room, he saw that servants had brought him a bath. Daimon was over by the bed, setting out his clothes for the evening.
Jewell ordered the servants out, then stripped and climbed into the bath. Until he figured out what to do, it would not hurt to play along and bide his time. They might all think him a fool, but that could only work to his favor.
His only dilemmas were where to go, and how to get there—and how to get away from Daimon. He sank deeper into the bath water, waiting for inspiration to strike.
Maybe he should just set out aimlessly. How could anyone find him if even he didn't know where he was going?
Yes, he rather liked that idea. He could pack up all his things and slip out before leaving for the ball, and hide out in the park until Addison showed up the next morning.
He just had to get rid of Daimon long enough to make his escape.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Daimon appeared at the side of the tub. "Highness…"
"Yes?" Jewell asked sourly, not bothering to look up, bracing himself to endure another infuriating lecture about duty and responsibility.
"You recall our earlier discussion at the club?" Daimon asked. "Particularly about your uncle, and the choices he made?"
"Yes," Jewell snapped, splashing irritably at the water, looking with a glare. "Everyone thinks he should have stayed and continued to do his duty. I'm sure you all think I should as well."
Daimon knelt, and held Jewell's head in place, dabbing at his cheek the way he had before. "Duty has its place, but what you're now being made to do is a step too far . It is not what your uncle paid me—"
"What—" Jewell squawked, jerking in surprise. "My parents pay you."
Daimon for once in his life looked completely and openly amused. "Your parents pay me to protect you and fetch you home when you run off, but I was p
ut in place by your uncle. He did not want you to suffer what he did, and feared you would. Until now, only reasonable duties have been demanded of you. This, however, will not be tolerated. Running away is seldom the answer, Highness, but I feel it would accomplish something. I advise you only not to go too far, for you will have to return at some point."
Jewell stared at him, too shocked to form words. "This isn't like you," he finally blurted. "Is this some trap?"
Chuckling, Daimon stood and ruffled his hair. "No trap, and I am not half so evil as you like to think. I have set out all you will need to travel. Do not tell me where you are going, for it will be better for me if I can honestly say I've no idea. But, I do repeat—do not go too far. Go where you might find help."
The words seemed to have some weight, but Jewell was too busy racing ahead to what he'd do, where he'd go, to pay Daimon much attention. He would definitely have to find some way to contact Addison and tell him—
"Do not go to see your new young man," Daimon said sharply.
Jewell kept his expression carefully blank. "I do not know what you mean."
Daimon snorted. "I can see it in your face, Jewell. Do not drag him into this mess. You've already caused him enough heartache."
"I know," Jewell said. "He understands the situation better than I, really. But—but—if you had a chance to be with Truelis, wouldn't you take it?"
"What—" Daimon looked as though he'd been slapped. "How?"
Jewell shrugged in a way he hoped was nonchalant, but really he was pleased with himself. "It wasn't hard. You always watch him when he's in the room. You've read all his books, and you always have someone go and get them signed for you. And—"
"That's enough," Daimon bit out. "My situation with Truelis is nothing remotely like yours with Addison."
"But it could be, I think," Jewell protested. "I really do. It worked with Uncle—"
"Ask your uncle sometime just how much he sacrificed, and what he had to endure, to be with his husband. Pretty stories distract from reality, Highness, they do not change it. Your uncle lives alone and well away from society for good reason. If you attempt to drag Addison into your life, you will both spend the rest of your lives fighting for it, facing hostility, and being ostracized, and your moments of peace will be few and far between."