A Royal Affair by John Wiltshire Read Free Book Online Page A

downcast. “I apologize. This is not how I intended to present myself, Your Highness.”
    “Aleksey. My friends call me Aleksey.”
    I raised my eyes. His were shining, as mine must have been. I frowned. Suddenly I felt a stab of insight and then anger, jealousy, and… suspicion . Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “You knew him!” I thought more than this but could not come right out and accuse him of such a crime.
    He blinked, and one tear escaped, rolling down his cheek. He swiped at it angrily. Suddenly I became aware of the wolf. He was standing mere inches from me, muzzle drawn back, canines exposed, saliva dripping steadily in pace with the low, menacing rumble from his throat. Again I had that totally unreasoned belief that this creature somehow understood its master’s thoughts—beyond that normal ability dogs have to sense human mood. I resisted stepping back and turned to Aleksey once more, repeating my observation—my accusation.
    He looked away for a moment, then down at the wolf, as if he’d only then noticed him. He patted his head, a distraction to give his hands something to do and his eyes somewhere to look besides my angry face. “Yes. He was a friend. We had gone there to take him hunting with us.”
    “A friend. You know what he was condemned for.” I wasn’t sure myself whether this was a statement or a question so was not surprised he didn’t appear to either. He pursed his lips, looking slightly mutinous. I suddenly realized what I was saying, what I was thinking, what I had almost accused this prince of, and immediately regretted it. But I couldn’t so easily repress the little inner voice that kept repeating in a whisper, He is outside my jurisdiction. God will judge him ….
    This was getting me nowhere. He had brought up this subject. I did not want to think about it at all. I needed to get back to my patient. Time, for the king, was of the essence. I murmured something to this effect, and the prince immediately straightened and pulled himself out of whatever gloomy thoughts were engrossing him.
    He nodded. “I will have servants appointed to you and your things brought from Mme. Costain’s. His Majesty will be prepared for your examination this afternoon. Is there anything else you need, Doctor?”
    “Yes. For you to call me Nikolai,” I murmured with a smile of apology for things he did not know I had been thinking about him. “My friends call me Nikolai.” But I was wrong. Apparently he had known only too well exactly where my thoughts had strayed, for he replied sadly, “You may come to find that counting me as a friend is a very dangerous practice, Nikolai.”
    I held his gaze. “I think I am willing to take that risk.” I had some inkling that by this simple declaration I had declared far more than an offer of friendship. He seemed to agree.
    I saw a flash of emotion in his eyes, a quick flick from one mood to another, and he mock punched my arm. “Good. I like risk.”
    I did not point out that it was not he who would be at risk. How could I? I truly did not know of what we spoke other than a vague impression of a friendship based on that small illicit first meeting, which was now, by his wish, a secret between us.
    Instead of leaving through the door by which we had entered the apartments, he went through to the adjoining sitting room and then through another door to the side. After a few moments’ hesitation I followed out of curiosity and opened it after him. Another sitting area greeted me, this one full of possessions carelessly scattered around: books, clothes, a chessboard, some sketches—the usual things found in an educated, wealthy young man’s rooms. He was at the window, in the act of pulling off his shirt. His torso was lean, ribs evident, and with musculature that proved he did not spend a great deal of time reading the books he owned, unless he could read and ride and fight at the same time. He turned, startled, dropping the shirt to the