Free The Third Son by Elise Marion Page A

the large fireplace over which a cauldron hung containing boiling water. A row of buckets filled with steaming water sat near the fireplace.
    “Hurry up with those buckets,” a footman called from the door to the kitchen. “You know Prince Damien likes his bath water hot.” 
    Tatiana shot Esmeralda a smug look and fell in behind the maids lifting the heavy water buckets . G etting to Damien would be easier than they’d thought. A stack of drying towels was shoved into her arms and she fell in step behind her cousin and the long line of maids headed to Damien’s chambers. Her heart hammered in her chest as they filed down the winding hallways, past other bustling maids moving in and out of guest rooms, preparing for guests who had not yet arrived.
    Esmeralda lost count of how many turns they took, and hoped they would be able to find their way out. Finally, they reached the door leading to Damien’s chamber, where footmen had already dragged the largest tub Esmeralda had ever seen. Two armed sentries stood guard on either side of the door. She quickly surveyed the room finding no sign of Damien and at a loss as to what to do next. Surely , she could not be present while the prince was bathing and the thought caused Esmeralda’s cheeks to flush hotly.
    Esmeralda placed her armful of towels on the small stand beside tub where various bottles and vials were neatly placed. She felt Tatiana’s hand tighten around her arm, and before she could blink, she’d been yanked through the connecting door to the prince’s sitting room. Tatiana put her finger over her lips, listening for the footsteps that signaled the other servants leaving the other room. Once they heard the door shut firmly, Esmeralda breathed a sigh of relief.
    “You’d better get out there before he comes in and starts undressing,” Tatiana laughed, “Unless that was your intention all along.” 
    Shooting her wayward cousin a glare, Esmeralda pushed the connecting door open a crack and peered inside. There was no sound or movement. “Are you going to wait in here?”
    Tatiana shook her head. “Oh no, I don’t want to intrude. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen. I’ll keep posing as a maid and when you come back we’ll sneak back out the servant’s entrance.”
    Esmeralda nodded, moving through the door and quickly shutting it behind her. She had been so nervous about getting caught, she hadn’t even taken the time to notice her surroundings. Damien’s room was as large as the entire bottom floor of her house, boasting a great oak bed with four massive posters stretching toward the ceiling. Chairs in brown, ivory and gold brocade matched the bedding.
    The intimacy of her position was never far from Esmeralda’s mind. The tub sat near the crackling fireplace, hot and inviting, the bed curtains were pulled back and held to the posters by tasseled ropes, the bedcovers turned down.
    She noticed for the first time that there were a set of glass doors open to a circular balcony. It was there she found Damien, a dashing figure in black, his hair glowing like a moonlit halo about his head. She found herself drawn toward the doors, her voice caught in her throat, her hands clenched tightly before her. He half stood, half sat, on the stone rail of the balcony. Damien held a strange black instrument to his eye, his head tilted upward to the midnight blue sky. 
    She cleared her throat, knowing that she was still too overwhelmed by the sight of him to speak. He lowered the instrument and turned.
    “Is my bath ready?” he asked, walking toward her. Her face was partially covered in shadow and she knew he was too far away to recognize her.
    “Yes, Your Grace,” she said, waiting like the coward she was for him to discover her.
     
    Damien inhaled deeply as he walked toward the maid awaiting him on the balcony. Jasmine. The fragrance was unmistakable and also slightly familiar. Damien could not determine where he’d smelled the scent before, though it