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Read Online The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) by Suzette Hollingsworth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Suzette Hollingsworth
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feel relief as the memories slowly began to fill in, but he could not. The memories were like pieces of one of those irritatingly tedious puzzles, each piece raising one’s expectations only to find that the last piece was missing.
Ah, yes. He had come to Constantinople on the king’s behalf and fallen sick almost immediately. King Don Bartolomé would not be pleased.
He wished he had never been taken from active duty. Once he had finally been allowed to return home, it was the last thing he wanted . He had never been so happy as when he had entered military school. For once in his life he was like everyone else. He was accustomed to discipline and to working beyond endurance, more so than the other young men, and finally his competitive spirit had been given a realistic outlet. His commanders had called him an “animal,” much to his pleasure.
Now this wild beast was reduced to lying about in silk pajamas, ogled by strangers. It was a humiliating way to die. He who had served, fresh out of military school, on the Almirante Oquendo , a 6,890-ton armored cruiser launched at Balboa, Spain. He had longed to stay in the navy and travel the seas, rising up through the ranks to command his own ship.
Sweat trickled down his brow. It was no wonder that his mouth was dry. He reached for the cup of water but was unable to pick it up, although his arms searched everywhere for it. Suddenly the chatter grew louder and more frantic, but still no water.
Where had he been housed? Why was he situated so close to the dining room? He could even hear the clash of dishes and the distant sounds of chatter. No doubt he was adjacent to the doctor’s quarters. Somehow he managed to will his eyes open, which immediately met checkered tiles on the floor. It made him feel dizzy as they danced about him. Blue silks swayed back and forth between large fluted columns, as if to mock him.
Through slitted eyes he saw the inhabitants of his room and their distress. Their remorse was not personal—how could it be? Only one person alive knew him personally, and he had long ago been removed from his life.
And yet Alejandro was grieved that those who surrounded him would suffer because of his inability to conquer this malady. It was inexcusable.
He was so tired . It was near . Not much longer and he would finally be free.
And then he heard it . Music so enchanting, so exquisite, so deliriously beautiful that he knew he was at heaven’s gate. There could be nothing so rapturous on this earth.
His heart filled with pleasure, recalling a long-lost feeling. He had to hear more. He opened his eyes and looked around. Still the music continued, and a smile formed on his cracking lips. He heard the rustle of silk and excited, foreign mumblings.
The strangers smiled back and hurriedly lifted his head. Finally the water drifted between his lips. He swallowed, fighting the urge to cough. He opened his mouth to speak, attempting to thank the hand that assisted him, but no sound came forth.
As surprisingly as it began, the music stopped and was replaced by abrasive shouts and roars, presenting a sudden jolt to his system. Momentarily he ignored his calamity to question the raucous noise level in the dining room of the sultan.
All that concerns me is the cessation of the music. Why did he ponder such things in his state?
Reality set in. In an instant the colors dulled before his eyes, turning everything to gray.
There would be no more music.
It was time to get back to work .
Chapter Eight
If you wait for it no more, it is there!
All around you, quickly, quickly
It comes, it goes, then it comes back
— Georges Bizet, Carmen
The wheels of the French Brougham carriage made a noticeable clunking sound as it traversed over the cobblestone streets, offset by the rhythmic clippity-clop of four strong palominos the color and sheen of fourteen-karat gold. The cream-colored carriage might be old-fashioned, but it sported all the landmarks of elegance.
Ah, yes. He had come to Constantinople on the king’s behalf and fallen sick almost immediately. King Don Bartolomé would not be pleased.
He wished he had never been taken from active duty. Once he had finally been allowed to return home, it was the last thing he wanted . He had never been so happy as when he had entered military school. For once in his life he was like everyone else. He was accustomed to discipline and to working beyond endurance, more so than the other young men, and finally his competitive spirit had been given a realistic outlet. His commanders had called him an “animal,” much to his pleasure.
Now this wild beast was reduced to lying about in silk pajamas, ogled by strangers. It was a humiliating way to die. He who had served, fresh out of military school, on the Almirante Oquendo , a 6,890-ton armored cruiser launched at Balboa, Spain. He had longed to stay in the navy and travel the seas, rising up through the ranks to command his own ship.
Sweat trickled down his brow. It was no wonder that his mouth was dry. He reached for the cup of water but was unable to pick it up, although his arms searched everywhere for it. Suddenly the chatter grew louder and more frantic, but still no water.
Where had he been housed? Why was he situated so close to the dining room? He could even hear the clash of dishes and the distant sounds of chatter. No doubt he was adjacent to the doctor’s quarters. Somehow he managed to will his eyes open, which immediately met checkered tiles on the floor. It made him feel dizzy as they danced about him. Blue silks swayed back and forth between large fluted columns, as if to mock him.
Through slitted eyes he saw the inhabitants of his room and their distress. Their remorse was not personal—how could it be? Only one person alive knew him personally, and he had long ago been removed from his life.
And yet Alejandro was grieved that those who surrounded him would suffer because of his inability to conquer this malady. It was inexcusable.
He was so tired . It was near . Not much longer and he would finally be free.
And then he heard it . Music so enchanting, so exquisite, so deliriously beautiful that he knew he was at heaven’s gate. There could be nothing so rapturous on this earth.
His heart filled with pleasure, recalling a long-lost feeling. He had to hear more. He opened his eyes and looked around. Still the music continued, and a smile formed on his cracking lips. He heard the rustle of silk and excited, foreign mumblings.
The strangers smiled back and hurriedly lifted his head. Finally the water drifted between his lips. He swallowed, fighting the urge to cough. He opened his mouth to speak, attempting to thank the hand that assisted him, but no sound came forth.
As surprisingly as it began, the music stopped and was replaced by abrasive shouts and roars, presenting a sudden jolt to his system. Momentarily he ignored his calamity to question the raucous noise level in the dining room of the sultan.
All that concerns me is the cessation of the music. Why did he ponder such things in his state?
Reality set in. In an instant the colors dulled before his eyes, turning everything to gray.
There would be no more music.
It was time to get back to work .
Chapter Eight
If you wait for it no more, it is there!
All around you, quickly, quickly
It comes, it goes, then it comes back
— Georges Bizet, Carmen
The wheels of the French Brougham carriage made a noticeable clunking sound as it traversed over the cobblestone streets, offset by the rhythmic clippity-clop of four strong palominos the color and sheen of fourteen-karat gold. The cream-colored carriage might be old-fashioned, but it sported all the landmarks of elegance.
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