Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(33)

Nedrak, the Grand Mage in the Council of Mages, found Alexander quite unnerving. Alexander would demand nothing from him, but he would look at Nedrak with his dark blue eyes, and Nedrak found himself stammering and sweating and wanting to tell Alexander whatever he expected to hear.

Nedrak, alas, had to give him bad news.

He looked up from the scrying crystal to find those blue eyes on him, cold and harsh. Nedrak swallowed. He tried to remember that he was as highborn as Grand Duke Alexander, that he held a position almost as important as his, that Alexander was not yet supreme ruler of Nvengaria.

Didn’t matter—the coil of panic would not go away. “The prince is strong, Your Grace,” Nedrak said. “As is the girl.”

“In other words,” Alexander said dryly, “it did not work.”

Nedrak cleared his throat. “I believe the spell was weakened by distance, Your Grace.”

Alexander sat back, bringing his steepled fingers to his lips.

Alexander, for his part, did not believe in Nedrak’s magic nor in the spell the mage claimed to have cast to force Prince Damien and his little princess to break the prophecy. Alexander did not really believe in the scrying crystal either, although Nedrak did seem to know what went on far away.

“Prince Damien’s father nearly killed us all,” Alexander said abruptly. “Do you remember?”

“Too well, Your Grace.” Nedrak nodded vehemently, looking pleased he could agree with Alexander on something.

Alexander’s thoughts moved from the burbling mage to the havoc Damien’s demon of a father had wrought on Nvengaria.

The former Imperial Prince had nearly broken the Council of Dukes with his idiotic schemes and had more or less ruled like a despot. He’d given away the gold on which Nvengaria had been founded to buy himself friends and pay tribute to the greedy Ottomans. Alexander and both councils had found themselves fighting hard to keep the Ottoman Empire from looking upon them as a new vassal state.

The result of the old Imperial Prince’s weakening of Nvengaria was that the stronger Russians; Prince Metternich and the Austrians; and the Ottomans, who thought they had the prince under their thumb, had nearly rushed into the country to take what they wanted. Only luck and desperate diplomacy had kept these power-hungry empires at bay.

Rumors had spoken of the Imperial Prince’s depravity in private, of the women he’d ravished and ruined. Alexander never paid much attention to those rumors—a man could be dissipated and still be a good ruler. The Imperial Prince, unfortunately, had been the worst ruler possible.

The Imperial Prince had not liked it when Alexander’s father, the previous Grand Duke, had disagreed with him, opposing his policies and trying to steer him to a more reasonable course. Alexander’s father had been arrested, stood against a wall, and shot by three marksmen.

The Imperial Prince had forced Alexander, aged thirteen, to watch the execution. He then expected Alexander to train to take up the mantel of Grand Duke, occupying the position as the Imperial Prince’s toady.

Alexander, though grieving and hot with the need for revenge, had understood the folly of acting too openly against the Imperial Prince. Therefore he’d outwardly stepped into his father’s place and said words to flatter the evil man. Inwardly, Alexander had schemed and bided his time.

And now the monster’s son, Damien—the libertine prince, beloved of monarchs across Europe—had become ruler of Nvengaria.

Alexander had tried to stop Misk and the Imperial Prince’s entourage from sending for Damien at the old prince’s death. The Council of Dukes could do much better without the son of the idiot who’d ruined them, he’d argued. The Council of Dukes and Council of Mages would rule in the Imperial Prince’s name, while Damien could remain far away, entertaining countesses, fighting duels, and being welcomed into foreign courts. They didn’t need him.

But Misk, keeper of the Imperial ring, lived for tradition. The man was enslaved to it, as were the Council of Dukes and that of Mages. Too much damned tradition in this country.

Misk had slipped out in the middle of the night, against orders, hunted down Prince Damien, and brought him home.

Alexander had looked into Damien’s eyes and spied in them the same ruthlessness, the same uncontrolled will that had characterized Damien’s father. Alexander had decided then and there that he would not let Nvengaria fall a second time, and he’d stirred the Council of Dukes and Council of Mages to oppose the Imperial Prince’s spoiled son.

Damien, however, had the love of the people—stupid people who saw only the pageantry of their prince. Alexander controlled the army, the treasury, and the Councils. Damien had tradition—Alexander had power and money.

Alexander knew he could save Nvengaria if Damien were made a mere figurehead prince, while Alexander ruled from behind the throne. Damien could ride his horse in parades, bow to his people, be loved—and do exactly what Alexander told him to.

Damien, unfortunately, proved to be as pigheaded as his father. He’d met Alexander’s stare while Alexander outlined the scheme, and flatly refused. He’d even suggested Alexander be arrested for treason.

When Damien understood that Alexander had the military behind him and arrest was not an option, Damien had backed off. They’d come to an uneasy truce, but Alexander knew they’d soon fight to the death.

When the prophecy business had come up—when Nedrak had announced that all the signs were right—Alexander had felt fortune turn in his direction. The Nvengarian people loved prophecy and destiny, all the ludicrous trappings of it. They were all for Damien traveling halfway across the world to find and restore a long-lost princess.