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“WAS I SUPPOSED TO LET YOU BLEED TO DEATH, SYREENA?”
he asked quietly, trying to take back the pain he had caused her with the balm of his words. “Why are you so eager to value my life above your own?”
“Because I am not so special that an entire people should be deprived of their monarch for my sake!”
“Lucky for you, I disagree with that assessment.”
Damien understood, however, that there was baggage beyond her statement other than the immediate disagreement. Still, it did not measure up for him. She had never struck him as the type who devalued herself.
She looked at him as if he were completely insane for a long moment, her confused eyes searching over him for an answer and a logic that just was not within grasp. Then, without knowing why, she leaned in and kissed him.
DAMIEN
THE NIGHTWALKERS
JACQUELYN FRANK
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Prologue
England: The Year 1562
Elizabeth laughed aloud, the sound carrying well into the enormously vaulted ceilings of the ballroom in spite of her obvious breathless state. She was pressing a hand into the curve of her waist, at just the point where her corset always tended to bite at her lung capacity. However, only those in her strictest confidence would be aware of that amusing bit of trivia. To anyone else in the court, young Queen Bess was simply striking an elegant figure as she danced.
Her partner was merciless, grasping her fingers firmly and leading her into turn after turn of the intricate dance. There were few people in Queen Elizabeth’s court who could keep up with the monarch’s passion and stamina for the dance. Apparently, the Romanian Prince who had Bess by the hand was well able to keep up with her, and even push her past her extraordinary limits.
Robert Dudley watched the debacle with dark, avaricious eyes and a tic that jumped tellingly in his jaw. Cecil, Lord Burghley, could not resist the opportunity to taunt the Queen’s neglected favorite. “It would seem, Dudley, that our Good Bess is quite taken with Prince Damien. I do not believe I have ever seen her make such fast friends with a visiting dignitary before.”
Dudley did not respond immediately. He had been forced to watch suitors from a variety of countries come and court his Bess, but this Romanian prince would have just as little success as they’d had if he thought to propose to the notoriously capricious Queen of England.
Her heart is mine, he thought fiercely.
No matter how many handsome dignitaries Cecil thought to parade before her as potential fodder for matrimony, Bess would never betray her heart…or his.
Damien finally pulled Elizabeth into the final turn of the dance, smiling at her with gleaming mischief in his stunning midnight blue eyes.
“You best me tonight!” the English Queen declared breathlessly, taking his offered arm and letting her guest escort her back to her throne. She sat down with little regard for ladylike grace, kicking out her voluminous skirts as she swept a cup of wine out of the hands offering it up to her. “My lord, you will tell me how you ever learned to dance our latest dances with such skill and stamina!”
The Prince gave her a wickedly charming grin, reaching to stroke his closely barbered beard as if giving the matter considerable thought.
“I suspect it was because I heard that the one true way of gaining the attention of the English sovereign is to dance circles all about her.” He exhaled a dramatic sigh. “And now my machinations are discovered and I think you will send me away, never to set foot on the soil of your beautiful homeland again.”
“That all depends,” she countered slyly, “on why one wishes to gain Our attention.”
“I shall concoct a devious ulterior motive if you wish. Otherwise I must confess it was nothing but sheer curiosity that compelled me.”
Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed. His charm and forthright humor were scandalous to the suspicious eyes of England’s native court, but it was clear Prince Damien could not care less. Elizabeth liked that. She had been delighted by Damien from the moment he had greeted her four days ago. He had done so with the irreverent observation that he was not there to court or woo her, that she could expect no offer of marriage from him whatsoever, because he knew without a doubt that she was too good for him and would be far better off without him underfoot.
It had been an outrageous way of breaking the ice, quickly reassuring the tickled monarch that her guest was merely there to enjoy himself, not to play a matrimonial chess match with her as so many visitors from foreign principalities seemed to be doing. They had been thick as thieves ever since. Elizabeth saw in Damien an equal, perhaps a potential confidant who could understand her unique position in the workings of the world.
“Come, walk with Us, Damien,” she said, standing up now that she had caught her breath and taking his ready arm once more.
Elizabeth led Damien into the recesses of the grand London palace. They were being followed, of course, by the small clutch of women who served as Elizabeth’s ladies-in-wait, but both sovereigns easily disregarded their presence.
“Witticisms and charm aside, Damien,” she said casually, “what is your purpose here, really?”
“I have no purpose. I am simply traveling and seeing the world at present.”
“And what of your people? Your homeland? Do they not need their prince?”
“Of course
