Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(116)
Under her hands, the pattern abruptly rippled into place, every thread becoming smooth, straight, and neat. The finished tapestry made her smile, a warmth like joy flowing through her limbs.
Alexander jumped, dragging in a quick breath, and Penelope opened her eyes.
Alexander was staring at her, his focus sharp, his lips parted in shock. Color had returned to his face, and his breathing and heartbeat were as normal. Every wound on his torso had dried and closed, dark red streaks the only evidence he’d ever been hurt.
Petri stood beside Penelope, a dripping bowl of water in his hands, and Egan looked over Petri’s shoulder, his mouth open in astonishment.
Damien gazed at Penelope with eyes full of pride and hope. “Well done, love,” he said quietly, which was enough.
“You see,” Sasha said, as though nothing extraordinary had happened. “She is the true princess. I have always said so.”
Chapter 33
The royal wedding was scheduled to take place in a week. When Damien informed the duchess who would be in charge of this, she fell into hysterics. “A week? I cannot organize a royal wedding in a week! There is a banquet, and invitations, and …”
Damien soothed her by telling her that while the wedding would be a simple affair, the coronation, which she had months to plan, could be the most opulent in the history of Nvengaria.
The duchess went away, shaking her head, and Sasha, looking aggrieved, went with her.
There remained the question of what to do with Alexander. Damien had him placed under house arrest—no more dungeons, he said sternly—but Damien needed to mete out his sentence sometime, the sooner the better. He couldn’t risk Alexander’s supporters drawing together to rescue him—he needed to put a swift end to the revolution before it could start.
Three days after Alexander’s surrender, Damien bade men from his handpicked palace guard, who had all been vetted by Petri, bring Alexander to Damien’s small study. Soon Alexander was seated in a comfortable chair facing Damien, suspicion and resignation in his hard blue eyes. He obviously thought Damien had brought him here to give him a last speech before Alexander was taken out and shot.
Damien had chosen this room to be part of his personal suite because it had the least amount of gilding, marble, tapestries, and overly ornate furniture. It looked more like the large study of a simpler country house, and Damien wanted simple. No more garish opulence of his father. Tapestries might be grand and celebrate the history of Nvengaria, but they could also hide listeners or persistent assassins.
Alexander steepled his fingers, waiting for Damien to pronounce sentence. His posture was relaxed and indifferent. Except for the hardness of his eyes, he might be waiting to learn the outcome of a horserace he had only passing interest in.
Damien began without preliminary. “I went through your notebooks and read your ideas and schemes for the new Nvengaria. Your reforms are sensible, you know. They complement Nvengaria’s need to compete with the rest of Europe in industry and yet keep us from being swallowed by the larger fish.”
Alexander flicked an eyebrow. “I am pleased you approve.”
“I will do more than approve.” Damien let his voice grow animated. “I will adopt most of your reforms—many of them match my own ideas. On the other hand, your outline for the complete restructuring of the government will have to go.”
Alexander tapped his fingertips together. “The restructuring is not implausible. Our system was out of date a century after it was initiated.”
“True,” Damien conceded. “I recognize that it is unwieldy and divides power too unevenly, but it will have to do. The only way I could instigate a complete restructuring is to force it on the people, by sword if necessary, and that I refuse. Gradual change is better. I have also recalled the Council of Mages.”
“So I heard.” Alexander’s eyes darkened with anger. “Many of those men were fiercely loyal to your father and are not happy with his libertine son. They will fight you on anything you want to change.”
“I know that.”
“Many in the Council of Dukes bear animosity for you as well,” Alexander went on. “They did not like me, but they simply did not like me. The Imperial Prince they loathe with a hatred that has run deep for centuries. It is a different thing.”
Damien nodded, twisting the heavy silver ring on his finger. “I will handle each problem as it occurs. I never believed being Imperial Prince of Nvengaria would be a particularly safe occupation.”
“Why did you come back then?” Alexander asked. He rested his hands on the arms of the chair, fingers dangling. “The first time, I mean, when Misk took you the ring. You could have fled to the other side of the world and said to hell with Nvengaria. You have your own money, and your popularity in Europe is enviable.”
Damien had wondered the same thing himself, many, many times. He recalled the evening Misk had come to his chamber in Paris, bearing the ring of the Imperial Prince, when Misk and all the lackeys had knelt before him. Damien had stood poised between the two courses his life could take—the difficult one of Imperial Prince, and the lonely but much easier one of Damien the bon vivant, rich, carefree, and admired.
“Nvengaria called to me,” Damien said. “That is the only way I can explain it. It called to me, and I believe the prophecy did too. I cannot now imagine a life which does not have Penelope in it.”