"The honor would have been negated with the birth of another Janacek son."
"When the Stamboloffs swore to wipe out his whole line? And within months they did so, everyone except for the girl child, whom I secreted out of the country. All that amazes me is that no one has ever whispered that I had more to gain than the Stamboloffs. With the Janaceks' deaths, I gained the throne."
"Their feud was legendary. You had no part in it.
"Be that as it may, the last Stamboloff has finally been found and eliminated. At long last it is safe for the princess to return to her homeland and sit on the throne that is her right by birth."
"She lost that right, Father. No one wanted an infant queen, especially one whose chances of surviving an assassin's bullet were next to nothing. Though she still lived, you were declared king. Even if she returns now, she no longer has a claim to the crown. "
"Except through you," Sandor reminded him softly. "Circumstances have made you king instead of consort. You no longer must rule through her. But hers is the true royal line, and your children can only benefit from it."
"Ours is as royal—"
"Certainly, but indirectly descended. My God, eleven Janaceks had to die before I became next in line to the throne. Eleven! The crown should never have been mine, nor did I covet it, cursed as it was. But it came to me, and now to you, and you, my boy, are the end of the royal line — you and this one surviving Janacek. So whatever maggoty reason you have in your head for not wanting her, you will ignore it and honor my last wish. You will go to the Americas, where Baroness Tomilova has raised her.. You will bring her home and wed her with all the pomp and circumstance a royal wedding decrees. And, God willing, I will live long enough to see it done."
Without those last words, the prince might have continued his quiet arguments, might even have given his reasons for not wanting the Janacek princess, though that was doubtful because his reasons were locked away in the darkest part of his soul. But with those words, the hopeful words of a dying man...
"So be it."
Maximilian Daneff was not treated to the same acquiescence, however, not by any means. But despite the fact that he was nearly half a head shorter than the Crown Prince soon to be crowned king, and frail of body next to the younger man's military-honed frame, he was not the least bit intimidated by the blast of fury that met him outside Sandor's chamber.
"Who even remembers that this royal bitch is alive?" the prince snarled the moment he closed the door.
Maximilian nudged him out of the anteroom and away from Sandor's hearing before he answered. "Everyone present at your betrothal, I don't doubt, which, by the way, is binding not only by our laws but by your honor."
"You bastard!"
"I hope you had more restraint with your father."
"Shut up, Max. Just shut the hell up!"
The words were shouted without the least heed to the guards and attendants they passed, who had been temporarily banished from the royal chambers. If Maximilian weren't thick skinned, he might take umbrage at being spoken to that way before those of lesser rank, who were now wide eyed as they watched the prince stalk away. But being associated with autocrats almost demanded the suspension of one's pride, certainly of one's temper.
"I don't believe you've ever mentioned what it is you object to," Max called out as he tried to keep up with the prince's long strides. "Perhaps if you told me—"
"What difference now? He's made it a last request. Not an order, but a death wish. Do you know what that means?"
"Certainly. You might have ignored the order, but now you will put your heart and soul into fulfilling the wish."
The prince swung around, eyes blazing. "Did you know he meant to employ such vile manipulation?"
He was too volatile to remain still long enough to hear the reply. Maximilian had to hurry again just to stay within shouting distance.
"No," he said. "But it was ingenious of Sandor to think of it, since he hasn't the strength now to coerce you in the usual way."
"Go away, Max, before I forget that you have been like a second father to me."
Max stopped abruptly, not because of that supposedly dire warning, but because he was out of breath — and because the new king in his rage had missed the turn that led to the east wing of the palace where his apartments were located. The corridor he had taken led to a dead end, but it was still several minutes before he discovered that for himself and returned, allowing Max enough time to consider what information he possessed that might make the younger man accept the inevitable with a little more princely grace than he was showing thus far.
Before the prince reached him with his black glower, Max said, "Perhaps you worry that, being reared in a country so dissimilar from ours, the princess will have beliefs opposed to ours. But such could not have happened, not with a guardian like Baroness Tomilova, who was her mother's closest friend. The child will have been prepared for her destiny with great care, taught to love the country of her birth as well as her betrothed. A fortune was also supplied for her keep, so she will have been raised in splendor—"
"And spoiled right down to her toenails, no doubt."
"Possibly." Max grinned. "But her appearance is likely to more than compensate for that. You may not remember her parents, since you were living outside the palace at the time, but they were a magnificently handsome couple. The queen was a renowned Austrian beauty who could have had her choice of husbands from any of the royal houses across the land, but she chose our Janacek king. Their daughter can be nothing less than exquisite in her beauty."
This did not seem to relieve the prince as Maximilian had hoped. Instead the prince appeared even more enraged, if that were possible, snarling as he passed Max, "I spit on her beauty, for I will come to hate it, and her, each time she turns from me in revulsion."
Pain filled Maximilian's eyes, for he finally understood. Dear God, he had not thought of that.
Alicia slumped down in her bath with a start of surprise when the prince slammed into his apartment. It took only a glance to grasp the reason for such a loud entrance. She sighed inwardly and dismissed her two attendants, who were only too happy to get out of there. She couldn't blame them. The first time she had seen this man angry, she had been terrified too. It was those eyes, hotly glowing, that could make a God fearing soul want to cross herself. Devil's eyes, she'd heard them called more than once. But it was the power of his rank that was the true cause for fear, for if he killed someone in a rage, whether by accident or not, nothing much would be done about it. And who didn't know that, including him.
That first time, he had been furious with his friend Lazar Dimitrieff, for some silly reason she couldn't remember now. But she hadn't known that at the time and had thought she herself had done something wrong to make him look at her like that. This had been over a year ago, not long after she had become his mistress, and she hadn't known him so well then as she did now.
She had thought he was going to kill her, with the way he had come after her as soon as he noticed her, dragging her to the bed in the next room, throwing her down on it. But all he had been interested in was expending his passion by the means their relationship allowed him.
It had not been a pleasant experience, certainly, with her fear making her stiff and unresponsive, but she was too experienced for it to be traumatic either. In fact, the only reason she had cried when it was over was because she was so relieved that that was all he meant to do to her. But he didn't know that. He thought he had actually hurt her, and she let him think so, for his guilt could be measured in gold, and was, by the magnificent gifts he had showered on her to make amends.