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Martin let out a rare wince. “Well, it could be worse. Neandia has some beautiful countryside.”
“She is a child. I’ve seen her. It couldnotbe worse,” I groaned.
“Is she hideous?” Martin asked.
“No. She’s not hideous. She’s not ugly. She’s… judgemental and stuck up. And far too young for me. She didn’t seem to like me at the ball. I didn’t make a good impression. I don’t blame her, but we are no love match.”
“Neither were Mikkel and Marie at first but I would say they’ve done well.”
“They’ve barely been married. It’s not how I wanted this to go.”
“How so?”
“Me in contrived royal matrimony with a woman ten years younger than me? A woman who is square and boring? It sounds stupid but I want to fall in love—mad love. I did before but it was all wrong.”
“I didn’t like my wife when I met her,” Martin chuckled. “But she’s been the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“What was wrong with her?”
“She was always right.”
“Hate women like that,” I groaned. “How did you fix it?”
“She fixed me. She is usually right,” Martin said. “Her foibles became things I didn’t only endure but adored. You will never know what is possible until you try. You can fall in love again.”
I stared out the window.
“Martin?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Thanks for saying ‘again’. Thanks for acknowledging it.”
He had been the first to do so. It was sad that theoneperson who saw me was my paid bodyguard.
Seven
Alexandra
Iwas told nothing about the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with until the morning I met him. Celeste informed me he was Prince Rikard of Lundhavn— a small nation much like my own sandwiched in Northern Europe which spoke a dialect like my mother’s native Danish. I hoped his English was good because my Danish was poor with limited practice.
I assumed nothing honest would come of this but practiced my pitch for two days. I would come in guns blazing. This wasn’t about love. It was about winning. I would beat the old crone at her own game and win my freedom. Maybe I was the sacrificial lamb that allowed my sisters to live a normal life, but I would take my chances.
Celeste met with my presumed future husband first. I was announced by a footman when I joined. A blonde head popped up from a seated position catching me off guard, but his height pleased me.
As I tried to assess the situation, our eyes met. I realised I had met him before. He was the drunk arguing with the bartender in Brussels. I shook my head and stepped back. He stared at me, confused by my reaction. Why? Did he not even remember when I tried to help him? He was a total ass! But Queen Margaux approved of him? How? We made eye contact and he decided to go first.
“Your Majesty.” the man bowed.
He knew who I was already.
“This is Prince Rikard of Lundhavn,” my grandmother said.
“Yes, obviously,” I stammered. “Um… hello, Your Royal Highness.”
I was angry, deep down. He was not what I wanted, but if I ran out of the room in anger, Celeste would win. No matter what, Celeste could not win.
“We’ve met before,” I said. “But I did not know who he was.”
