“No thanks necessary, sir.” With a quiet grunt, Pipit hefted the saddle from the stallion’s back. “Isn’t another man here who has the nerve to deal with the devil,” he murmured in French as the horse began to dance in place. In moments, Dracula settled again.

“And there isn’t another man I’d trust with my best. An extra scoop of grain wouldn’t hurt him this evening.”

Pipit took the compliment as no less than his due. “As you say, sir.”

Still restless, Bennett turned to walk from the stables. He could have used the extra hour to cool himself down as well. Riding fast, riding reckless, satisfied only part of his thirst. He needed the movement, the speed, but most of all, he needed the freedom.

For nearly three months he’d been tied firmly to the palace and protocol, the pomp and procedure. As second in line to Cordina’s throne, his duties were sometimes less public than his brother Alexander’s, but rarely less arduous. Duties, obligations, had been a part of his life since birth, and were normally taken as a matter of course. Bennett couldn’t explain to himself, much less anyone else, why sometime during the last year he’d begun to fret and chafe against them.

Gabriella saw it. Bennett thought perhaps his sister even understood it. She, too, had always had a thirst for freedom and privacy. She’d gained a portion of that two years before when Alexander had married Eve, and the weight of responsibility had shifted.

Still she never shirked, Bennett thought as he passed through the palace’s garden doors. If she was needed, she was there. She still gave six months of every year to the Aid for Handicapped Children while keeping her marriage vital and raising her children.

Bennett dug his hands into his pockets as he climbed the stairs that would take him to his father’s office. What was wrong with him? What had happened in the last few months that made him want to slip quietly out of the palace some night and run? Anywhere.

He couldn’t shake off the mood, but he managed to tame it as he knocked on his father’s door.

“Entrez.”

The prince wasn’t behind his desk as Bennett had expected, but was seated beside a tea tray at the window. Across from him was a woman who rose to her feet at Bennett’s entrance.

As a man who appreciated women of any age, of any form, he took an easy survey before turning to his father. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I was told you wished to see me.”

“Yes.” Armand merely sipped his tea. “Some time ago. Prince Bennett, I would like to introduce Lady Hannah Rothchild.”

“Your Highness.” Her gaze swept down as she curtsied.