He looked down in resignation at the strange red stains on his black breeches, and then at the swirling patterns in the rose-colored marble floor. Lost in his memories of the underground falls and his worries about his predicament, he didn’t see or hear the woman approach until the almost obscenely high-heeled and equally polished sapphire shoes were only inches away from his own filthy leather boots.
“Good evening, Your Highness.” The soft, velvety voice came from above.
Tristan stood, as he had so often done already this evening, to address yet another of his subjects, and found himself looking into the deep brown eyes of Natasha of the House of Minaar, duchess of Ephyra. She curtsied perfectly and extended her left hand for the customary kiss.
“How wonderful it is to see you again,” she said demurely. “Tell me, how are your mother and father?” she asked, her eyes never wavering from his. She seemed to take absolutely no notice of Tristan’s embarrassing appearance. Either she was being polite to one of the royal family, or she actually liked the way he looked tonight. Tristan thought it was the latter.
He had never liked this woman, despite the fact that since her marriage to Duke Baldric she had somehow become a good friend of his mother’s. He reminded himself of the fact that she was obviously much closer to his own age than to that of her husband, and also of the reputation she had slowly garnered since her marriage. It had been whispered in political circles for years that she had taken many lovers, but she was nonetheless received courteously at court due to the importance of the province of Ephyra to the nation as a whole. His mother apparently either did not know of the woman’s indiscretions, or chose to be gracious enough to ignore them. He groaned inwardly. Time to be prince again.
Bowing slightly, Tristan took her left hand in his right but held it there for a time, purposely forcing her to remain uncomfortably bent at the knees just a little longer than was customary. Finally, after taking his time in gently brushing his lips against the smooth white silk of her gloved hand, he smiled into her eyes.
“Please rise, Duchess,” he said without pretense. As she rose slowly to her full height, he was reminded of how tall and striking she was. Ignoring the inquiry about his parents, he asked, “You are here for the inspection ceremony, no doubt? Tell me, is your husband the duke attending the ceremony with you this evening?” At the mention of her husband, the prince thought he saw a brief look of tension pass across her eyes, but if it had, it was gone in an instant.
“No, Your Highness,” she answered, a somehow unconvincing expression of concern temporarily taking over her countenance and then vanishing as fast as it came. An opened fan had appeared in her right hand, and it began to move the air gracefully across the cleavage that rose above the low neckline of her magnificent blue gown. “And if it pleases Your Highness, please call me Natasha. Unfortunately, the duke was suddenly taken ill with some sort of nasty intestinal bout, just before we were to leave Ilendium for the trip to Tammerland.” She smiled with her eyes over the fan as it continued its seductive path back and forth. Had this woman been anyone else the prince might have been intrigued and only too glad to join her in the beginnings of a flirtation, despite the fact that she was married. But not with her. And not tonight.
“Perhaps I could have one of the court physicians sent to your estate to tend to him,” Tristan offered casually, deciding to keep the subject of her husband foremost in the conversation. He folded his arms across the laces of the dirty vest that he suddenly realized did little to conceal the fact that he had nothing on underneath it. “It would seem the least we could do for such a close friend of my mother’s.”
Her smile showed perfect teeth in the flickering candlelight of the chandeliers. “Thank you, Your Highness, but I have a feeling that as soon as I return home, the malady will leave him as quickly as it came.” She tilted her head slightly to one side. A hidden meaning, perhaps? If it was, he didn’t understand it. She once again curtsied.
“And now if you will excuse me, Your Highness, I am late for a visit with the queen. It has been months since I have visited the palace, and she has granted me the rare honor of a private audience. But I do so look forward to continuing our conversation later, after the ceremony. Could you be so kind as to point the way to the royal chambers?” The ever-present fan sent some of her perfume his way.
“Of course, Duchess,” he said. “The royal quarters are in the west wing of the palace, where you will no doubt find her.” Looking around, he summoned a lieutenant of the Royal Guard forward, resplendent in his dress uniform for the evening. Tristan felt shabby by comparison, but still the duchess’ intent eyes never left his.
The lieutenant approached the prince and saluted crisply. “Your Highness,” he said simply.
“Please escort the duchess to my mother’s quarters,” Tristan ordered him. Turning back to Natasha, he noticed her outstretched hand. Sighing inwardly, he again brushed his lips against the back of the gloved hand and bowed.
The look in Natasha’s dark eyes now seemed even more bold, possibly due to the fact that she was about to take her leave of him. Her head still tilted slightly, she slowly looked him up and down. When her eyes at last returned to his, her tongue darted out playfully to touch the beauty mark at the left corner of her mouth. Then, turning away with the lieutenant, she was suddenly gone.
Tristan was standing there alone, smiling and quietly shaking his head, when a different voice—a deep, rich male voice—came up from behind him.
“A wink from a pretty girl at a party doesn’t always result in climax,” he heard it say, “but only a fool won’t take the opportunity to find out.”
He turned around to the familiar voice and smiled to find Frederick of the House of Steinarr, his brother-in-law and one of his best friends, smiling broadly at him. He stood before a small contingent of the Royal Guard, each of them already in dress uniform. “I’ve heard about that one,” Frederick said slyly, watching her walk away. From the first day they had met, Frederick had inexplicably refused to address the prince formally, instead treating Tristan as an equal. And it was precisely that endearing measure of disrespect that had made him one of the prince’s closest friends. A great, hulking bear of a man, Frederick always seemed too large for his uniform. But underneath that uniform was pure warrior, perhaps the best fighter of the realm, and now the commander of the Royal Guard. Tristan had never had a brother, but if he could have, he would have chosen this man. He smiled again into the face that was framed by the short brown hair and the great forest of brown beard.
“So how long have you been standing there?” the prince asked. He felt even more out of place in his dirty clothes as he stood next to the company of colorful soldiers.
“Long enough to know that you’re obviously slipping,” Frederick retorted. He stepped closer to Tristan, out of earshot of his troops. “I had heard you had a bad day, but I never thought I would live to see you this tired. When I finally saw her open her mouth that last time, I thought she was going to undress you with her teeth.”
“No, thanks,” Tristan said, wryly shaking his head. “I already have enough trouble.”
“So I have heard.” Frederick’s smile evaporated, and he seemed genuinely concerned. “And by now most of the palace has heard, as well. Not the details, mind you, but enough to know that the seven rather powerful men behind those portals are not particularly happy with you just now.” He tilted his head in the direction of the double mahogany doors. “I have spoken to your sister, and I know how worried she is about you. Apparently the two of you, each in your own way, have had quite a day.”