Second Glance: A Serrulata Saga Romance Novel: The Serrulata Saga, #1

By A.E. Bennett

A proper gentleman. A stoic soldier. Their passion ignites a defiant love…

 

Lord Patrick Upshur seemingly hasn't a care in the world. He's a younger son of a wealthy lord in the Realm and his only responsibilities include behaving in a manner his father sees fit and possibly getting married someday. No one, not even Patrick's closest sibling, knows that he's hiding a painful secret – one that could disgrace him and the Upshur family forever.

 

Commandant Iseul of the White Riders understands he should concentrate on only three things – commanding his men in the barracks, serving the sovereign, and protecting the Realm. He's only given in to his deepest desires once and he's vowed to never do it again.

 

Both are resigned to their fates as the annual summer Solstice festival arrives.

 

After a chance encounter in a secluded courtyard in a tavern, it's love at first sight.

 

Enamored, the two vow to meet again, despite the edicts of the Realm forbidding any relationship between them.

 

As their passion blossoms into something deeper, they plot to run away together but are thwarted by tragedy.

 

Can their love survive in a world that forces them to conceal their feelings?

 

This steamy romance with a guaranteed happily-ever-after is part of The Serrulata Saga but can be read as a standalone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.E. Bennett
• Release date: May 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224442300

Book preview

PART ONE

1

Two years before the death of Jebidiah Fuerte, Sovereign of the Realm and Defender of the Border; 328th Year of the Realm

Summer Solstice was Lord Patrick Upshur’s favorite day of the year.

Despite the stifling heat. Despite the crowds in the city’s market pushing to and fro, the body odor wafting through the air. Despite the cacophony. Patrick loved every aspect of the holiday.

Summer Solstice was the one time of the year Patrick was able to don a mask and forget that he lived in a gilded cage.

If you don’t hurry, we’ll miss the good amber drink! Patrick’s older brother, Silas, called out before him.

Patrick leaned on his cane, propelling himself forward as best as he could. Silas was already full of drink and rushing ahead of his younger sibling because of it. Under normal circumstances, Silas was understanding of his brother’s disability, but this was Solstice, and Silas was caught up in the excitement surrounding them.

Patrick, too, was elated, though an undercurrent of nervousness flowed through him. It was an unwritten rule in that Solstice was a time to ignore certain edicts some citizens saw as outdated—such as the one that declared backwardness a punishable crime—and Patrick wanted to use this day to not just celebrate but speak his truth.

I-I’m coming, Patrick huffed.

As the son of a lesser lord within the Realm, he’d been born into privilege. He was not particularly tall and was well-fed, though his ever-critical father consistently griped he could stand to lose a bit of weight. While his other three siblings had been blessed with hair the color of an autumnal sunset, Patrick’s straight locks were a brilliant red, and brown freckles dotted his nose and upper cheeks. He was not what anyone of the gentry would consider shockingly handsome, but he had straight teeth and deep brown eyes that he sometimes worried betrayed his thoughts.

Though it had to be almost thirty degrees outside, both Patrick and his brother wore silk masks that covered their eyes and noses, in addition to the traditional formalwear befitting their station as members of the gentry. Each had dressed in tight, fawn-colored breeches, white stockings now brown and dirtied at the ankles after having traveled through the stone streets, and patent leather shoes with a slight heel and golden buckles. Both wore linen shirts covered with light-colored gingham waistcoats—Silas’s was a pale pink, whereas Patrick had chosen a periwinkle—and coats that were a bit darker. Each had begun the day sporting a neat, crisp cravat, though Patrick’s had wilted long ago in the heat and Silas’s had mysteriously disappeared between taverns.

Patrick gasped as he almost bowled over Silas. Though Silas was older than Patrick by eighteen months, the two had been thick as thieves since infancy. They’d grown up in the shadow of their older and much more stoic brother and had protected each other from their traditional father’s firm hand and disapproving stares. They were as close as two brothers could be, and each knew the other better than anyone else.

Patrick’s cheeks flushed with exertion. He looked up at the reason Silas had stopped so suddenly: the sign that swung above them despite the lack of breeze.

The ‘Saucy Siren’? Patrick laughed, attempting to conceal his nervousness.

I know what you’re thinking, Silas chuckled. He clapped his brother on the shoulder. It’s a gambling hall. Nothing more. Well, not officially. But it’s Solstice, so you’ll be able to find a woman willing to please.

Patrick tugged on his collar, which was suddenly too tight. He had twenty-two years behind him, and as the son of a lord, he knew certain behaviors were expected of him. He was supposed to follow chambermaids around his father’s monstrosity of a townhome with his tongue lolling out like a dog. He was, of course, supposed to gawk at flower girls and milkmaids in the market. When he’d had just fourteen years behind him, his father had sat him down and explained that getting a child on a woman—especially one of the servants—would be tempting but…ill-advised. Patrick hadn’t had the courage to explain that it was the butler who made his heart race.

Now, standing outside of the tavern, Patrick’s throat worked. They’d been moving in and out of establishments all day, but they’d been focused on drink more than cards and dice and sensual pleasures. Patrick didn’t know what was intriguing about this particular place, but it was evident Silas was now interested in sitting down for a game or two, something Patrick had no desire to do. No stool in any tavern was comfortable, and most exacerbated Patrick’s back pain if he sat for too long.

Patrick glanced through one of the open windows and couldn’t help but stare at a giggling woman dressed in a low-cut gown and sitting on the lap of a drunken gentleman. There were no edicts against prostitution, but Patrick had always managed to find an excuse to not accompany his brother when he sought female companionship. Patrick was terrified that any misstep would reveal his secret.

But today was Solstice. A day when anything was possible. And Patrick had vowed to reveal his true self to Silas.

He’d planned out how he was going to tell his brother and closest confidant. He’d rehearsed the speech over and over in his head, muttering it to himself before the long reflecting glass in his chambers.

Patrick clenched his hands together on the handle of his cane and faltered.

He couldn’t do it.

I, um, no woman…would want a cripple, Patrick offered. He detested using his disability as an excuse—too many people in society sneered at him because of it as it was—but the words he truly wanted to speak refused to come.

Patrick’s secret was a dire one; by the edicts, being backward in the Realm was punishable by death if one was a peasant or a servant. Members of the gentry might not face such a harsh penalty, but there was always ostracism and shame—two tools the gentry wielded without remorse. Lord Garrett Upshur, their father, was nothing if not a proud man, who put climbing up the social ladder above everything else, even his family.

The fucking edicts. Patrick cursed them almost daily. The seven paramount edicts, supposedly written by the Founders of the Realm, dictated life within the Border. Patrick had never been a dutiful student as a child—he had always preferred to be out of doors riding one of his father’s many horses—but every citizen of the Realm knew the story. Three hundred and thirty years ago, the Founders, a group of five learned scientists, brought the Border online, separating the Realm from the rest of the continent and saving its citizens from extreme violence and brutality. Patrick never remembered all the particulars, but certain facts drilled into his head from early childhood were difficult to forget. Outside of the Border, chaos reigned; within, there was the Realm—orderly because of the edicts.

And one of those edicts expressly forbid any and all romantic relationships between couples of the same gender.

Thus, though Patrick came from wealth and privilege, he’d been forced to hide his true self from everyone—even his closest sibling—for most of his life.

Even now, as the scents of ale and amber drink and body odor infiltrated his nostrils, he knew he had to maintain the façade. Solstice might be a time for spontaneity among peasants and servants and those with nothing to lose, but if Patrick revealed his true nature to Silas and his brother rejected him…

Patrick shoved his practiced words to the back of his mind, cursing inwardly at his cowardice.

Patrick, Silas laughed, tugging on his arm, come on. You’ll have fun. Trust me! We don’t even have to look at any women, though I dare say you need to overcome your shyness at some point. We’ll sit down at a table, play a few hands. Waste some of that coin Father gave us, huh?

Patrick resisted the urge to yank his arm away. The ache tugged at his heart.

He’s your brother—your best friend! He loves you! Be honest!

He’ll hate you for it! Then where will you be?

As Patrick’s thoughts warred with each other, Silas pulled again on his arm, and Patrick found himself following him into the tavern.

Silas, slow down, Patrick said over the din.

He ducked his head, his red hair falling around his face as he and Silas stepped further into the loud tavern. Groups of men, most wearing masks covering their eyes, sat at round tables playing cards and drinking and laughing. Solstice in meant all types of men were welcome in any tavern, so gentlemen and peasants sat side-by-side.

Off to the left, one long table was outfitted with a wheel that clicked as it spun—a game of chance Patrick had never really gotten the hang of. Further back, three tables of identical size were situated in a row. Groups of men gathered around, each guffawing and yelping as the dice before them cascaded down the velvet tabletops.

Oh, look! A chair’s opened, Silas shouted at Patrick, pointing to one of the dice tables.

You go ahead! Patrick yelled back. He motioned to his cane. I don’t want to slow you down!

Silas narrowed his eyes behind his mask. Patrick knew that ferocious look. Silas had been brandishing it often since Patrick had woken from the weakening fever years ago to discover his legs no longer worked as they should.

You are not a burden! We will walk together, Silas replied.

Patrick’s heart warmed at his brother’s consideration. I will be fine. You go. Play! Run through some of Father’s coin. He’s normally stingy with it otherwise. Besides, I have to…

Patrick pointed to the back of the tavern where the privies were, and Silas nodded. Well, fine. If you insist. Don’t get lost!

Patrick watched as Silas maneuvered through the crowd. The stench of sweat and stale drink permeated his nostrils as he took in his surroundings. It had been seven years since he’d been sickened with the weakening fever, and now he found himself struggling to recall what his life had been like before he’d been disabled by the nasty illness. He knew he was fortunate; the healer had said his case had been especially acute, and he had been lucky to survive it at all. That didn’t stop him from wistfully yearning to change the past.

Though Patrick had grown accustomed to waking in the morning and not knowing whether or how his legs would obey his mind, occasionally anger still overtook him. Why him? Why had he been cursed? On especially bad days—days when he struggled to sit and couldn’t leave his bed—he wondered why he’d been spared at all.

But today was not one of those days.

Patrick attempted to shake away the feelings of ostracism that plagued him as he ambled toward the back of the tavern. All around him, people laughed and clapped and enjoyed themselves. The day had started with such promise, but Patrick’s recent realization regarding his lack of courage sobered him.

Silas, if only I could tell you…

Patrick was startled out of his dark thoughts when a man, clearly well into his cups, bumped into his shoulder. The assault was not violent, but Patrick wavered on his unsteady feet nonetheless.

Fuck! I’m so sorry, the gentleman, a man who appeared to have only a few years on Patrick, slurred. My mistake!

Patrick nodded and steadied himself. He then watched with wide eyes as the man, clad in garments that had been just as fancy as those Patrick had donned earlier in the day but were now stained and wrinkled, much like Patrick’s own outfit, stumbled toward the back wall of the tavern. He fumbled around with his left hand, moving it up and down the stones as though searching for something. Finding what he sought, the man pushed hard on one of the stones, and it depressed inward. Patrick sucked in a breath as a door opened where no door should have been.

The man turned to Patrick, who couldn’t help but gape.

It’s Solstice, the man scoffed. Even if your judgmental ass could find a copper to listen to your accusations, the owners have ways of covering this up. So close your shocked mouth, my lord.

Patrick’s mouth worked as the man disappeared into the hidden room, the rock wall sliding shut behind him.

I—no…you don’t…understand, Patrick sighed.

He approached the wall, his heeled shoes and cane clacking on the stones underneath his feet. Behind him, the din of the tavern roared. In the main room, a woman screamed with delight, and men cackled uproariously. He stroked a finger down the stones, his father’s face flashing before his eyes. Even if he could find it within himself to push the stone inward, he doubted he would have the courage to step forward. The man he’d watched had seemed so sure of himself; Patrick was not like that. A lifetime of hiding had made him timid.

Sighing again, Patrick continued toward his destination. He really did have to take a piss.

He made his way toward the privies and stood in the short line. More than one gentleman knocked against his cane, despite his efforts to pull it as close to his body as possible. When he was done relieving himself, he begrudgingly began to make his way back toward the main room. He wondered how Silas was faring. Knowing his older brother, the man probably already had a hefty pile of coin before him; he’d always been lucky at games of chance.

As he trudged, something caught his eye. A glimmer of sunlight. Something that looked like a doorway made him still.

Ducking away from the torchlight illuminating the corridor, he stepped backward and almost tripped and fell on his ass. Instead of a door, there was nothing but empty space. Spinning around, Patrick clutched the handle of his cane, steadying himself in his ridiculous shoes. He couldn’t wait for the day when sturdy footwear—like the peasants wore—came into fashion.

When pigs fly, Patrick huffed to himself. Righting his body, he continued down the narrow passageway, his heart fluttering at the prospect of traveling somewhere forbidden.

Since discerning he was different from his siblings, Patrick often dreamed of a place where he could be free to be himself or at least talk about his feelings and desires. Then he’d fallen ill and woken to the realization that he’d been altered on the outside, too. Silas and their younger brother, Eion, had worked diligently to make sure Patrick always felt loved whether he needed a cane or chair or couldn’t leave his bed, but their older brother Miguel and, more importantly, the Lord Upshur himself, had made it clear that Patrick was nothing but a burden.

At least I can get lost when I ride…

And what a thrill that was! Patrick had enjoyed running through the city’s streets before he’d fallen ill, but he’d also always had a knack for riding and caring for horses. Running was now out of the question, but Patrick was still able to mount and ride. Miguel, heir to the Upshur title, had snorted that perhaps Patrick could have a place in Miguel’s household tending to the stables when their father finally turned up his toes.

Miguel was currently at a fancy, proper Solstice ball, rubbing elbows with the few Great Houses who deigned to travel into the city for the celebrations. There were twenty-five Great Houses in all in the Realm, and Lord Garrett Upshur—a man who made no secret of his desire for more power and wealth—had ordered his eldest son to marry the daughter of a Great Lord. The Great Houses were the only families in the Realm allowed to own land, and Lord Upshur wanted land. So, Miguel had been sent to a party this evening, and the Lord Upshur had handed his two middle sons a pile of coin and told them to have fun. Poor Eion, with only sixteen years behind him, had been forced to remain confined to the Upshur townhome, too young to partake in the festivities.

Patrick hissed as his fancy shoe caught on something slick. He stumbled and almost fell on his face as he entered a pleasant if sort of small courtyard. Looking around, he blinked as he realized he was outside. Brick and mortar surrounded him, but there was no roof to shield him from the elements.

He breathed in and out deeply, grateful for the fresh air. He loved Silas, but he’d been following his brother in and out of taverns and up and down crowded streets all day. While Patrick could