The Merchant's Love Page 3

  “I’m happy to see the two of you no longer dress alike.” Cathal’s words came out of nowhere halfway through the meal. His eyes danced above the rim of his goblet as he sipped.

  “You dressed alike?” Flavian asked.

  “We were children,” Faelen said.

  “And it was Mother’s idea,” Alexander continued. “She had us dressed the same from head to toe. I think she still would if she had her way.”

  “Alexander!” But Faelen couldn’t fight laughter even as he admonished his twin, which probably ruined the effect.

  “It was almost impossible to tell them apart,” Philip said to Amory and Flavian. “There were times you wondered which one you were with.”

  Faelen closed his eyes in resignation, but he was still laughing as Alexander spoke.

  “That was on purpose sometimes.”

  “What do you mean?” Amory asked.

  “We did look just about identical then.” Alexander leaned forward a bit, mischief alive on his face. “And sometimes we—”

  “You,” Faelen interjected.

  “I,” Alexander corrected himself with a roll of his eyes in Faelen’s direction. “I would suggest we switch places or try to see if anyone could tell us apart. It was a fun game.”

  “Do I even want to know who you tried that with?” Philip sent a sardonic look in their direction.

  “Probably not.” Alexander said it with a charming grin that had gotten him out of more than one scrape in the past. It seemed to work now too, not that Faelen actually believed they were in trouble for childish escapades years in the past.

  “I think it’s a good thing you can be told apart more easily these days,” Cathal said, chuckling.

  “Maybe. It isn’t as fun, though.”

  Faelen shook his head at his brother’s words. He was glad they’d grown up to look different from each other, even if the differences were slight—the curl in Faelen’s hair, the couple of extra inches Alexander had in height. The real differences were in personality, but then, that had always been true. Even though they probably could still pass for one another if they worked at it, Faelen had no plans to do so ever again.

  “But best perhaps for all of us.” Philip was still smiling, though, and there was no real censure in his words. “So what are your plans now that you’re back? We talked a little when you arrived. I got the feeling what you want and what your mother wants might not exactly line up.”

  “Mother would like to send us to Grandfather along with Thibault,” Alexander said. “I think she’s punishing us.”

  “Alexander.” Faelen sent him a sharp look. Whether or not what he said was true—and Faelen hadn’t been able to come to any conclusions about their mother’s motivation—Alexander shouldn’t be so blunt and flippant at the same time, not in front of their cousins. Philip and the others didn’t know Alexander the way Faelen did and might get the wrong impression.

  His twin simply shrugged, an elegant, unconcerned motion.

  Faelen stifled a sigh. “We’re hoping to stay in Jumelle. There isn’t any reason for us to live with Grandfather. Thibault has a purpose there helping him, but we don’t. Thank you for inviting us to stay here. We were thinking we’d find somewhere to live near the university, if we can find a place there with the scholars.”

  “Nonsense. You’re welcome as long as you like,” Amory said. “What is it you’re studying?”

  “Faelen studies languages,” Alexander said and sipped his wine. “He’s brilliant with them. But he’s something of a scholar all around. I think he’d rather bury himself in a library than socialize with anyone. I don’t know how it is we’re twins.”

  Faelen shook his head. “Stop being silly.” He turned to Philip and Amory. “Alexander is just as dedicated.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” Cathal said with a smile. Alexander laughed, by all appearances sharing the joke. He probably was. He never seemed to mind if people saw him as less than serious, but Faelen was never certain if he really was that unconcerned.

  “We’ll inquire at the university once we settle in some,” Faelen said, both to assure Philip that they had some kind of plan and to deflect attention from Alexander.

  “No need to rush,” Philip said. “You haven’t spent any time here since you were children. Accustom yourselves to the palace and the city first.”

  “We aren’t lying when we say we’re happy to have you here,” Amory added.

  “Thank you,” Alexander said, for once utterly serious. “We appreciate it very much, and we’re looking forward to reacquainting ourselves with Jumelle, and the court, and our family, of course.”

  “It’s been too long since we’ve spent time with any of you.” It seemed Faelen’s hope of forming strong bonds with family might be possible, at least with the people here. Philip was prince, but it was easy to see he was a devoted father, husband, and friend just from the time they’d spent with him today. Amory had been nothing but kind, and Cathal and Flavian were welcoming, even with Flavian’s rather sharp tongue.

  “We’re looking forward to getting to know you again as well,” Cathal said.

  Yes, Faelen had hope.

  Faelen continued to eat, but with a warmth inside born of the knowledge that their family here, who happened to be the prince and his inner circle, were accepting them. Mother had seemed to think Philip would be as angry as she was that they’d kept their Talents to themselves, and perhaps Faelen had begun to believe her. Relief, gratitude even, filled him.

  Amory asked Flavian a question about a painting he was working on, and the subject changed, with Flavian’s enthusiasm about his current project carrying them through the next course. Faelen tried to hide his smile behind his goblet. Flavian was passionate about his work, and Amory was interested. Cathal seemed less knowledgeable about art, but his expression radiated pride in Flavian. It was lovely.

  Faelen wished he painted, or anything really that would fill his time until he could begin studying again. His life had been centered on his studies for years. Alexander would enjoy throwing himself into the court’s social whirl, but Faelen wasn’t as keen on those types of events, though he did his duty at them. Time with his family and learning Jumelle would be enjoyable, but he would go out of his mind with nothing else to do. Perhaps he should try his hand at painting.

  He couldn’t even sketch, though.

  “All right?” Alexander asked quietly as a maid served the dessert of spiced pear tarts.

  “Fine. Why do you ask?” He looked into Alexander’s eyes, exact copies of his own.

  Alexander frowned slightly. “You’re wondering what you’re going to do until you can throw yourself into the university library, aren’t you?”

  Of course, Alexander would know. He knew Faelen best of anyone.

  “You sound like Etan,” Cathal said. “Always lost in his books and his studies.”

  “If you’re really looking for a way to occupy part of your time, I may have something for you.” Philip exchanged a significant look with Amory and Cathal. Faelen couldn’t read it, but Philip must have found an answer with them. “Etan might be able to use your help.”

  Chapter Three

  Maxen was honored to stand as witness for his brother at his wedding, if more than a little awed to do so in the royal palace. Tristan’s wedding surpassed all of Maxen’s expectations. The room was large and airy, not oppressive even when filled with guests, and the decorations were elegant and understated in white and silver. Fresh flowers perfumed the air, and golden light shone through the tall windows, setting the room aglow.

  But Tristan glowed brighter than anything from the moment he and Etan arrived for the ceremony. His happiness made him nearly incandescent, and Maxen was filled with joy for him. Tristan had been pushed into an unwanted first marriage and then lost his wife and been left with a baby to raise on his own, all while Mother meddled terribly. And then Bria had been kidnapped. But she’d been returned safely, and Tristan and Etan had fou
nd their way to each other. They deserved all the happiness in the world.

  Tristan had told Maxen that they’d done their best to keep the wedding as small as possible, but nothing about this event seemed small. Of course, Etan was a royal cousin, so it was understandable that certain people had to be invited. Tristan and Etan barely seemed to notice anyone but each other anyway as they spoke their vows in voices intense with emotion, creating a little island for themselves in the middle of the crowded room.

  It was after the vows, after Tristan and Etan had affixed their signatures in the book in which all royal marriages were recorded, that Maxen let his gaze wander over the seated guests and saw him. And then he couldn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed him immediately.

  His attention was drawn almost instantly to a man seated in the second row. He was pale, his skin like porcelain, with large eyes the green of peridot. His face—an uncanny mix of pretty and sensual—was framed by dark hair that blazed red in the room’s light, falling in soft curls nearly to his shoulders. Maxen could see nothing else of the man, but what he saw pulled at him, and it was so strong, so unexpected, it took his breath. He’d never felt an attraction so sudden; he could do nothing but stare as time spun away from him.

  Abruptly, the man seemed to sense his regard, his gaze snapping over to meet Maxen’s, giving him no time to look away. The unusual green eyes widened, but he didn’t look away for long moments—long moments when Maxen heard nothing but the pounding of his heart in his ears. And then the man looked away, severing the connection and leaving Maxen floundering. What had just happened?

  Maxen forced himself to turn back to the proceedings. Tristan and Etan were still talking to the princes, so, thankfully, less time had passed than it felt like. He refused to make a spectacle of himself at his brother’s wedding.

  But he also wanted to know who that man was.

  He was sitting in the second row. The first held Prince Philip’s sister, the princess Elodie, and Etan’s mother and siblings. There was an order of precedence in the seating, which meant that the man Maxen was forcing himself not to stare at had to be high-ranking nobility, if not part of the royal family itself. Maxen had met Etan’s siblings, but no other royal cousins. Was this man one of them? He didn’t quite have the look of the men of the royal family, but there was a resemblance.

  Nobility or royalty, he was probably out of Maxen’s reach.

  Yes, Maxen’s brother had just married a cousin of the prince, and his brother’s best friend had married the prince himself, but things like that didn’t happen every day. Still, there was no reason he couldn’t talk to the beautiful man who’d so drawn his attention. Maxen snuck another glance. Talking to him, finding out who he was—and if Maxen might like him at all—wouldn’t be inappropriate. It would only be an introduction. Nothing permanent, even if he had just compared the situation to two marriages.

  Maxen had always noticed attractive men, as he’d always noticed attractive women. He’d done some kissing—and a little more than kissing—with a couple of men when he’d been at university and since, and he’d had a brief affair with a woman he’d been utterly infatuated with at the time. That affair was perhaps the closest he’d come to any thought of forever, and he still hadn’t really imagined a life with her. But he was at Tristan’s wedding, and somehow, his brother’s marriage was making him think of the future and falling in love and sharing his life with someone.

  That someone was not going to be the beautiful man in the second row.

  He could still talk to him, though.

  Managing an introduction would have to wait until later. The ceremony ended, and Tristan and Etan processed out, followed by the princes. Knowing Tristan, Maxen bet he’d steal Etan away for a few moments of privacy. He had no idea how they would disappear unseen, but Maxen imagined they’d find a way. Cathal left the dais to join his husband. The royal family would leave next, even though there wasn’t a formal procession, and the other guests would follow.

  Maxen’s family had pride of place as the family of one of the grooms. Maxen joined his mother, sister, and younger brothers and offered Mother his arm. His brother Renaud did the same for Selene, and the two youngest boys fell in behind them. Maxen had offered some advice to his brothers as he’d learned what he could in the weeks leading up to the wedding, so they were all somewhat aware and on their best behavior.

  Mother’s thrill at Tristan marrying into the royal family was still palpable. Maxen couldn’t imagine how much happier she’d have been had Tristan married a lady of the royal family, which they all knew she’d have preferred. Maxen had actually been surprised that Tristan had invited her and Selene to the wedding at all.

  Tristan and Etan returned, flushed and smiling, and took their places at the high table with the princes for dinner. Maxen had a place there as well—something he’d been surprised to learn—as Tristan’s witness in the ceremony. Cathal; his husband, Flavian; and Princess Elodie made up the rest of the table. Maxen saw Mother and his siblings seated at their table nearby in the softly lit room before taking his place beside the princess.

  He forced himself not to shrink back into his seat. It was somewhat surreal sitting there—to be in the palace at all, really—but he’d better get used to at least visiting sometimes. If Maxen ever wanted to see his brother and niece, he’d have to conquer his intimidation at even entering the building, let alone spending any time with the royal family.

  Elodie was as beautiful up close as she appeared at a distance, with her dark hair in a complicated arrangement of coils and braids and her golden-brown eyes and her features a more delicate version of Prince Philip’s. Slender and petite, she was dressed at the height of fashion in an elaborate gown of deep rose silk. She was also bright and chatty, energy bubbling just beneath the veneer of proper princess. He’d never spoken with her before, and he was surprised how much he enjoyed doing so. Elodie unabashedly relished court entertainments and gossip, quite clearly, and she seemed as excited for the party as for the reason behind it.

  Maxen resolutely ignored Mother’s stare—she’d dreamed of a match between Tristan and Elodie at one point. He’d have to make certain she never imagined the same for him.

  It was Elodie who told Maxen who the beautiful man he’d seen at the ceremony was, and he didn’t even have to ask.

  “Aunt Edine came all the way from Teilo for the wedding—for other reasons too, but for the wedding—and she brought her sons with her. Thibault, and the twins, Faelen and Alexander. I haven’t seen them since Philip married Amory.” She’d gestured with a graceful, discreet motion toward the table where the focus of Maxen’s interest was seated as she continued talking.

  Maxen hadn’t noticed there was a twin, but he saw him now. They looked almost identical—the twin was maybe a bit taller and had wavy hair instead of loose curls—but Maxen could easily tell them apart, and was still only fascinated by one of them. His twin was more animated, more social at their dinner table, while he was quieter. But there was a glow about him. Was he Faelen or Alexander? Maxen wanted to know perhaps more than he should.

  “I think you have an admirer,” Alexander said, looping his arm through Faelen’s as they walked to the ballroom after dinner.

  “Excuse me?”

  Alexander was in his element. He sparkled when surrounded by people at these social events—talking and laughing, effortlessly drawing them in with his charm. Faelen would always be more comfortable with smaller, intimate groups, but he’d cultivated his ability to navigate court functions. This wedding was an odd in-between. A personal event, surely, with a strictly limited guest list, but a court one too due to Etan’s position. It made for a more complicated consideration of behavior.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?” Alexander laughed affectionately but with an edge of incredulousness. “You didn’t.”

  He hadn’t. Alexander was much more attuned to the attention of men than Faelen had ever been, and they both knew it, so there was no po
int in trying to deny anything. “I didn’t.”

  Alexander shook his head in an exaggeratedly mournful way, but there was still a flash of something like concern in his eyes—Faelen had seen it countless times before but hadn’t quite put the right name to it. “Tristan’s brother. Maxen, was it? He seems quite taken with you. Kept stealing glances through dinner.”

  “He couldn’t be taken with me since he hasn’t met me.” He and Alexander garnered their share of attention, and Faelen supposed it was flattering. He just never knew what to do with it, had never felt quite comfortable, especially if attention turned into something with more intent behind it.

  Alexander rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. He’s taken with the look of you. He’s certainly handsome himself. Did you see?”

  He deemed it safer to ignore most of what Alexander said. “Then he’s taken with the look of you as well. Are you sure he wasn’t looking at you?”

  “No, dear, he was very much looking at you.” Alexander covertly glanced around the ballroom as they walked inside. “He’s there. Talking with Tristan and Etan.”

  Alexander hadn’t needed to point Maxen out. Faelen had seen him during the ceremony, and, objectively speaking, Alexander was correct—Maxen was a handsome man. His shining blond hair gleamed like antique gold, and he shared his older brother’s vivid blue eyes. Faelen glanced at him anyway, cataloguing those characteristics once more, taking in the brilliant smile and the crinkle at the corner of his eyes while he laughed at something Tristan said. Etan and Tristan held hands and seemed to be drawn toward each other by some invisible force, but Maxen didn’t look as if he felt like the odd one out. He just looked happy.