The Prince's Consort (Chronicles of Tournai Book 1) Read online

  The Prince’s Consort

  By Antonia Aquilante

  Legends tell of large cats defending the principality of Tournai, but such creatures have been lost to time.

  Or have they?

  Prince Philip inherited the throne at a young age, and since then, his life has centered around ruling his country and resisting those pressuring him to take a wife and conceive an heir—forcing him to hide his attraction to men. When kind-hearted Amory is offered to the prince in exchange for more time for Amory’s father to complete a commission, both Philip and Amory are horrified. But Philip agrees to keep Amory at the palace, where they gradually become friends, then lovers. For the first time in his life, Philip is free to share not only his heart, but the magical shape-shifting ability that runs in the royal bloodline.

  Neither Amory nor Philip imagined falling in love, and they certainly don’t expect the lengths those who oppose their relationship will go to keep them apart—maybe even resorting to murder.

  To my mother, Patricia, for everything you do and especially for believing even when I didn’t. I love you.

  Chapter 1

  AMORY GIGGLED as he and Tristan practically fell through the garden gate. He slapped a hand over his mouth, but Tristan must not have heard. If he had, he would have teased without mercy, as was his right as Amory’s closest friend. But Tristan just tugged him along, barely giving him a chance to latch the gate behind them so the lock spell would reengage.

  All morning Amory had noticed Tristan’s high spirits, which were unusual as Tristan was usually the more focused one in classes. But when Amory asked him what was going on, Tristan only shrugged. Maybe it was the weather. All of Jumelle seemed livelier now that the warmth of spring burst over the city. The walled garden was blooming, giving them plenty of dense foliage to duck behind.

  He let Tristan pull him down the stone path to a secluded corner of the garden shaded by large trees. With a wicked grin, Tristan turned and pushed him back against a sturdy tree. Before Amory could say a word, Tristan sealed his mouth over Amory’s in a breath-stealing kiss.

  The kiss wasn’t a surprise, not then. They had been kissing a lot over the past year or so. The first time had been a surprise, even for Tristan who seemed shocked at his own actions. Amory never thought his friend would want to kiss him. He hadn’t thought Tristan saw him that way, saw men that way at all. Their first kiss had been tentative and awkward. They had gotten better at it quickly.

  Much better.

  He moaned into the kiss and pulled Tristan closer, urging him to settle his weight against Amory, relishing the feel of Tristan’s firm body against his, even as it pushed him into rough tree bark. But who cared about tree bark when Tristan was kissing him as if he wanted to consume him? Deep and passionate, with tongues tangling and teeth nipping. Yes, they had definitely gotten better with all the practice.

  “Tris,” he gasped when Tristan pulled back. He wasn’t done with that kiss. But Tristan said nothing, just began kissing along the line of Amory’s jaw. The light little kisses made him shiver and stifle another moan. Though they were in a back corner, away from the house, they were still in his family’s garden. He didn’t want anyone finding them. They should go somewhere else, but then a nip to his earlobe made him shudder, and a nuzzling kiss under his ear drove the thought right out of his head.

  He grabbed the back of Tristan’s neck and pulled his lips back to Amory’s own for another kiss. Tristan’s slightly larger frame still pressed him into the tree, but Amory took control of the kiss, deepening it and exploring Tristan’s mouth with his tongue. He nearly laughed when Tristan whimpered, loving that he could provoke such a reaction in the other man. Tristan pulled back with a gasp, and they leaned there together, panting.

  “I love kissing you,” Tristan gasped.

  A burst of relief filled Amory’s chest. Tristan hadn’t said he loved Amory. Tristan was his best friend, but even with all the kissing, Amory wasn’t in love with him. “Me too.”

  Tristan grinned and dropped a quick kiss on Amory’s lips. “I want to do more.”

  “M-more?” His cheeks heated at the stutter.

  Tristan grinned and kissed him again. “Yep. More.”

  Amory’s nerves didn’t abate at the confirmation, though he wasn’t sure where they came from. In all the time since that first awkward moment, they hadn’t done anything but kiss. Oh, they touched a little, but never on bare skin and never below the waist. They’d never discussed the concept of “more” before.

  The idea did intrigue him. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about what it would be like—he had. But imagining it and doing it were two separate things, and the idea of doing more with Tristan made him vaguely uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure why. They were best friends, and they’d come that far. There was no reason not to go a little further.

  Tristan watched him, his blue eyes intense and a little quizzical. How long had Amory stood there, not saying anything? He smiled past his nerves. “Like what?”

  Tristan grinned, slow and wicked, and reached out to unfasten Amory’s breeches without a word. Before Amory could protest, before he could decide whether he wanted to protest, Tristan had his hand inside Amory’s breeches, gripping him and beginning a tight, slow stroke. The feel of another man’s hand on him for the first time stole his breath, and when he got it back, it was only to moan.

  Tristan’s grin widened at the sound, and his hand sped up, working Amory faster. After a few moments standing there, struggling to breathe, he realized he wasn’t doing anything for Tristan. He scrambled to unfasten Tristan’s breeches with fumbling fingers as Tristan whispered encouragement. Finally, Amory wrapped his hand around Tristan’s hard member, and began to stroke him in time with Tristan’s strokes. It felt awkward at first, different from touching himself yet not that different, but Tristan didn’t voice any objections.

  “Yes, yes, yes. Amory,” Tristan gasped into Amory’s ear.

  It didn’t last long. Amory might have been embarrassed at how quickly he found his release if Tristan didn’t finish just as fast, spilling over Amory’s hand, and collapsing against him. He was glad of the tree at his back, rough bark and all, because his wobbly knees didn’t have a chance of holding the both of them up.

  He didn’t know what to think about what they’d done. He’d enjoyed it, but the uncomfortable feeling still plagued him. Before he could begin to think about it, Tristan was chuckling, low at first, quiet in Amory’s ear, his body shaking against Amory’s chest. Tristan pulled back enough to look at him. His eyes sparkled with happiness, and Amory’s laughter bubbled up to join his friend’s.

  The laughter eased the way as they fumbled for handkerchiefs, cleaned themselves up, and neatened their clothes again. Then they leaned against each other and the tree, still laughing a little. It was Amory who moved for another kiss. Both of them were grinning when their lips met, and they couldn’t seem to stop laughing as they kissed, as they kept kissing. But the laughter was soft and light, like the kisses, and Amory relaxed into them, wrapping his arms around Tristan. Telling himself he would think about everything later.

  “Good afternoon, brother.”

  The unexpected voice and its snide tone had Amory jerking away from the kiss, the back of his head thunking into the tree trunk behind him. Tristan jumped back, separating them much more effectively. Amory almost wished he hadn’t. The short distance between them seemed like a vast gulf, and Amory felt very alone as he straightened away from the tree and turned to face his older brother.

  Alban’s handsome face was twisted in a sneer even more disgusted than the one h
e habitually wore when looking at Amory. He studied Amory and Tristan in silence while Amory struggled not to squirm. No use saying anything to Alban, he knew from bitter experience.

  “Now I know why you wanted no part of that pretty little maid last week,” Alban said, disdain dripping from each word. “You’re more of a disappointment than I thought. Worthless. How are you my brother?”

  With a shake of his head, Alban turned and strode away, likely heading directly for the house. Amory remained frozen for a long moment, not even blinking.

  “He’s going to tell your father.” Tristan’s voice was flat, so different from its usual exuberant, almost musical quality. The shock of it broke Amory’s paralysis, and Amory turned to face him. Tristan was still staring at where Alban had stood.

  “Yes, he is.” Amory ran a shaking hand through his hair and slumped back against the tree. Alban hadn’t hit him, which was a pleasant surprise, but the consequences were still going to be bad. How would his father react? With disappointment, certainly, but that was nothing new. Most likely with anger as well. However disgusted Alban was, their father would be ten times more so.

  “Do you think they’ll tell my father?” Tristan turned fear-filled blue eyes on Amory.

  “Tris.” Amory reached out. He couldn’t bear seeing him so afraid, and though he couldn’t say much to reassure him, he couldn’t stand by while Tristan was upset either.

  But he stepped out of Amory’s reach. “Do you?”

  Amory tried to hold back a flinch. “I don’t know.”

  Tristan groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “He can’t. I don’t know what my father will do if he finds out I prefer men. I’m his oldest son. I’m supposed to take over for him in the business, get married. Have sons to take over the family business after me.”

  “You can still do that. All right, the children part would be difficult, but you can still take over the family business.” He didn’t bother mentioning that Tristan had four younger brothers. Surely at least one of them would have children someday who could inherit the family’s business if Tristan never had any of his own and his father insisted on an heir of their blood. But Tristan took his responsibilities as first son seriously. Too seriously. He wouldn’t want to hear that at the moment.

  “Not if he disowns me.”

  “Now you’re being dramatic. Preferring men is not illegal. It’s not wrong. Your father loves you. He’s proud of you, and you’ll be the same son he’s proud of after he finds out.”

  “You don’t know that, Amory.”

  No, he didn’t. But Tristan had a better chance of everything working out fine than Amory did. Tristan’s father was proud of his accomplishments, which was more than Amory could say.

  “I don’t know, but I believe it will be all right. Don’t borrow trouble. My father and brother might be too busy killing me to remember to tell your father.”

  Tristan huffed out a half laugh and whacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t joke about that.”

  “Who’s joking?” Amory smiled crookedly. “Seriously, though, I do think everything will be all right with your father.” He took Tristan’s hand and squeezed, letting go before Tristan could pull away.

  “Maybe. I need to go.”

  “All right. I’ll see you soon.”

  “See you.” Tristan slipped out of their little corner of the garden and was gone before Amory could get another word out. He tried not to think about how unsure Tristan’s parting words sounded. He didn’t want to lose Tristan. Not when he would likely need his friend more than ever.

  He didn’t think his father would kill him, but he couldn’t rule out his father hitting him. It was partly why he was so surprised Alban hadn’t—his older brother was a perfect replica of their father in every way. But even without actual murder, his father could make Amory’s life miserable, and Amory wouldn’t be able to do anything until he came of age next week. A week seemed like a short time but was long enough for his father to….

  He needed to think about his options. Amory’s father would never accept his preferences. Once his father knew, Amory’s time in his father’s house was limited. He hated to leave his younger siblings, especially Adeline, but he doubted he would have much of a choice. It might be best to leave before he was thrown out.

  Sighing, he pushed himself away from the tree and started for the house. He hoped he could avoid his father long enough to spend a little time with Adeline and make some plans. And to get his hands to stop shaking.

  LATER THAT night, Amory was still wondering what would happen. He’d canceled plans with friends to attend a show put on by a sorcerer with a strong Talent for illusions who was creating a lot of excitement in the city because he wanted to get whatever was going to happen over with. But nothing had. His father hadn’t hit him, yelled, or even spoken to him when Amory saw him. His expression was more disgusted than usual, but that was all. It didn’t make sense, and with each moment, dread tied Amory into tighter knots.

  Dinner progressed as it always did in their household. The entire family ate each night in the formal dining room. Its wood-paneled walls and heavy brocade hangings made the room dark and oppressive, something even the steady glow of the light globes in the glass chandelier couldn’t alleviate. The magic globes took the place of candles in many of the fixtures in the house and were a costly convenience his father coveted. Amory never liked the room. Nevertheless, he had been required to eat there with the family since he was twelve years old. Before that, he’d eaten in the nursery with his younger siblings. They were seven at the table that night—his parents, Alban, Adeline, their two younger sisters, Adora and Alva, and him. His two youngest siblings could escape the grueling family meals because they were only ten and eight years old. Lucky children.

  His father ordered they eat a meal of several courses, as he insisted the nobility did each night. Amory wasn’t entirely certain how his father could know with such authority how the nobility ate at the palace, or why they needed to imitate the nobility at all, but it didn’t matter. Amory couldn’t complain. He could only endure the long, stilted nightly affair during which his father and brother discussed business, and the rest of them ate silently unless spoken to.

  Which was what Amory was doing that night, though he tried to blend into the background more than usual. He wasn’t even exchanging furtive, speaking glances and signals with Adeline. He felt too much trepidation to do anything but focus on his food and hope he went unnoticed.

  “Amory.”

  Perhaps he’d cursed himself by thinking it. He looked up at his father from his position farther down the table. “Yes, Father?”

  “Alban and I are meeting with the crown prince tomorrow afternoon about a piece he commissioned from us. You will come with us.”

  His father’s blunt words made no sense. He never involved Amory in business. Amory knew the workings of their family’s glassmaking business; he’d grown up learning it. But he had no role there, and he was never taken to meet customers. Let alone customers who were so important. The principality of Tournai was known for its beautiful glasswork and fine mirrors, and his father’s business was at the pinnacle of the trade. The crown prince, and his father before him, ordered exclusively from Amory’s family.

  But Amory had never been allowed to meet him. His father was derisive of Amory’s business skills and deplored his creativity. Amory hoped his two youngest brothers had better luck living up to his father’s expectations. So why was Amory being taken to the palace? His father didn’t know of Amory’s involvement with the piece, so it couldn’t be a problem Amory would be blamed for.

  “O-of course, Father,” he stuttered when he realized he’d been silent too long.

  His father shook his head. “Dress appropriately and do not embarrass me.”

  As if Amory could ever be anything other than an embarrassment in his father’s eyes. “Yes, Father.”

  His father fixed him with a hard stare, and then made a sound of disgust low i
n his throat. “Maybe now you’ll be of some use to me.”

  With that, he turned back to his conversation with Alban and left the rest of the table in silence again. Amory met Adeline’s quizzical stare from across the table, and shrugged. He didn’t know what was going on either.

  But he didn’t have a good feeling about it.

  PHILIP ALEXANDER Stefan Mael threw himself down into his office chair with a long sigh, forcing the weight of responsibility that came with each of those names from his body. Audiences had been long that afternoon, some of the petitions complex, others tedious and frustrating, but he’d insisted on presiding on his own. He wasn’t alone with the petitioners in the audience chamber, there were any number of people with him, but he refused to have his uncle whispering in his ear. Uncle Umber was his father’s brother and had become a source of counsel and support when his father died. But Father had been gone over a year, and Uncle Umber needed to let Philip be the ruler of Tournai. He had been trained and had prepared for it his whole life, but no one would ever see him as a ruler if his uncle was perceived to be the power behind the throne.

  Uncle Umber wasn’t pleased, but he hadn’t protested. Maybe he was coming to terms with Philip’s ability to rule on his own. Or maybe Uncle Umber was waiting for him to give up and crawl back. He couldn’t see a time when he didn’t seek Uncle Umber’s counsel, but Philip would rule his country himself, if it killed him. And it might. Not because he wasn’t capable of doing it, but because ruling was all he did. He looked at the stack of papers on his desk and sank farther into his chair.

  A rap on the door forced him to sit up straight. “Enter.”

  Cathal opened the door and bowed. “Your Highness.”

  “Cathal, you realize you don’t need to bow or to call me that when we’re alone.”

  “You’re the crown prince.” Obviously that explained everything for his stickler-for-protocol cousin. “The glassmaker is here, Your Highness.”