Song Of The Nightingale (DeWinter's Song 1) by Constance O'Banyon

You have not disappointed me.”
    “I surprised the hell out of myself, Your Highness,” Raile said dryly.
    Prinny laughed loudly. “Walk with me in the gallery, Raile. I would like to hear about your famous advance that day at Waterloo.”
    As they moved away, Raile spoke. “I try not to remember that day, Your Highness. As a matter of fact, much of what happened is a blur.”
    “I always thought I would have had a brilliant military career, had I been born a common soldier and not been burdened with this irksome responsibility of governing,” the prince said regretfully. “Don’t you agree?”
    He waited expectantly for Raile to give the right response.
    Even though the prince had a good mind and had mastered three languages, and introduced poets and artists to the court, he was somehow childlike, needing praise and acceptance.
    “Indeed, Your Highness. But I fancy you would have made a better strategist than common soldier.”
    The prince’s eyes brightened. “Yes, 1 would have. Wellington made many mistakes I would never have committed. He had several opportunities to press the advantage and stop Bonaparte in one blow.”
    Raile had once found Prinny a humorous companion; he now found him sadly lacking in the qualities that would make a great king. He would always need to be flattered and coddled, and Raile would show him the respect due his rank, but he would no longer be one of his followers.
    “Your Highness, it was a brilliant move to place Wellington in command,” Raile replied candidly. “The measure of a great man is to surround himself with men of great vision.”
    Prinny was thoughtful for a moment. “I have missed your wise counsel, Raile. You were always honest with me. 1 have a mind to install you in my cabinet.”
    “Not I, Your Highness. I would not take well to court life. I am more for the country.”
    “You have not always thought so.”
    “I have changed, Your Highness. I have no stomach for politics.”
    The prince nodded. “Perhaps not. But I miss having you near, Raile. You spend so little time in London.”
    “I have found that Ravenworth Castle will need my attention for some time to come.”
    There was a pout on Prinny’s lips. “I suppose you will honor us with an occasional visit.”
    “Whenever I can, Your Highness.”
    Prinny’s eyes took on a cunning glow. “I was wondering when you would take a wife, Raile. We would not like to see an old and respected title slip into less, shall we say, capable hands. I would not like your half brother to stand in your stead.” His eyes suddenly grew cold. “Do I make myself clear, Raile?”
    Raile knew the prince had just issued him an order. Damn his interference. He had no wish to clutter his life with a wife at the moment. “Quite clear, Your Highness.”
    “Next time you appear before us, we will expect to meet your duchess.”
    Raile bowed. “It will be as you wish, Your Highness,” he said, thinking it would be a long time before he returned.
    Prinny looked down his imperial nose at Raile. “See that it is.”
    Raile watched the prince walk away, feeling anger in his heart. Justin came over to him as the prince moved among the crowd, expecting, and receiving, adoration.
    “God help England,” Justin whispered.
    “England has survived much worse,” Raile said. “She will survive him as well.”
    Justin smiled at Raile. “Did the prince ask that you get married?”
    “How did you know?”
    “He said as much to us before you arrived.”
    Raile looked at his friend with bitterness. “How is it that he does not condemn you to wedded bliss?”
    “I have never been one of his favorites. And I stay just out of his reach. Besides, Raile, I’m not a hero,” he said mockingly.
    Justin laughed as Raile glared at him. “I will be happy to have you safely married, though.”
    “I’m not married yet,” Raile declared with ill humor. “Nor do I have any prospects. Where does one find a wife?”
    “Why don’t you ask