Royal Marriage Market (14 page)

Christian

The She-Wolf’s gloating this morning was nauseating. What a striking pair Princess Isabelle of Vattenguldia and I made last night. How beautiful our babies would be (because “ugly babies are unacceptable”). How lovely Isabelle would be as a consort. How wonderful trade treaties between Aiboland and Vattenguldia would be. I’d say she’d gone as far as picking out china patterns for us, except those already exist and are in a cabinet back at the palace. And then she wrapped all this up with the neat bow over how I was required to sweet talk Isabelle at a private little tea being set up for us after my meetings. Or even engage in a little
afternoon delight
if the both of us were willing.

All in all, the noose around my neck tightened significantly as my mother reveled in her role as royal pimp.

Lukas said nothing during the speech the She-Wolf forced upon us where she dictated our actions over the next few days. My role, in summation: I am not to fuck up what she views as an advantageous match. I am to shower Isabelle with attention and woo her to the best of my abilities, even if I must seduce her. I am to pay attention to what she says, likes, and does. It mattered not one bit when I informed my mother I wasn’t attracted to Isabelle, nor interested in the slightest in getting to know her, let alone marrying her.

“Do you think I’m attracted to your father?” was her response. “Or that it was even a consideration?”

She silently challenged me then, and for all the outrage and words simmering within, nothing further came out of my mouth until she’d closed the door behind her.

It was then Lukas said, “You’re lucky to have spent most of your life away,” as he poured himself a far too early glass of cognac.

I rejected the offer of one myself, and instead of stewing in bubbling anger, I allowed my mind wander back to a certain princess drinking warm milk and eating éclairs in the middle of the night with me. I’d felt not so much as a prisoner of the gallows there. Talking to Elsa was easy.

Unexpected.

Sitting at breakfast, I’d been half-minded to beg Parker to book me a flight to anywhere that wasn’t filled with Isabelles and She-Wolves. As if on cue, just as the words were ready to slide out, the princess in question materialized at the table and all my ideas of travel transitioned to curse words.

But then Elsa came over, too. Elsa and all her brash honesty that pales her sister in comparison.

For ten fleeting minutes, I forgot about my mother’s demands and simply allowed myself the surprising ease of once more volleying words back and forth with the heir to the Vattenguldian throne. She isn’t afraid to poke fun at herself, or me, or hell, even her sister. It shocked and yet pleased me how she continued to pull Parker into the conversation even though most peers would have considered him nothing more than a ghost haunting our perimeter.

As her wit curls around me, I foolishly wish I could turn the clock forward to three a.m., to when I get to see the real her again. Because when she smiles, everything else around us disappears and all I see are mesmerizing little lines that trace the corners of her mouth and crinkles that decorate the corners of her eyes.

It’s a bloody gorgeous, addictive smile.

“Elsa,” Isabelle says. “Isn’t that Mathieu in line for breakfast? You ought to invite him to sit with you, considering . . .”

And now the smile is gone.

Our corner of the table falls silent as Elsa’s attention slides away from me toward where Mat is standing in the buffet line with his sister, Margaux. I’ve never personally spoken to the heir to one of the former royal families of Savoy, but Mat has always spoken favorably about his eldest sibling.

“I believe he already has a dining partner,” Elsa murmurs to her sister. She’s frowning. Is she jealous he’s with somebody else? Does she know that’s his sister?

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her, to ensure the tiny frown lines on her forehead disappear, but then I remind myself that it shouldn’t matter whether or not she’s frowning. Or if she wants Mat to join us. Or if she’s upset he’s with another woman.

Isabelle counters her sister’s observation with . . . shite, I don’t know. Something bitchy sounding. And then she’s got that scary as all hell smile plastered on her face again, all gentle and cool and completely forced, like she’s either going to inquire politely about the weather or go volcanic here at the table.

All of my mother’s instructions and threats come rushing back like a tide I can’t escape from for too long. But damn, if I’m not going to keep trying. Come hell or high water, I do not want to marry this girl, no matter what the She-Wolf says.

“I believe our meeting is close to starting,” I tell Elsa. “We ought to go.”

She pulls her attention away from Mat and stares at me, like she can’t believe I just used the word
we
. Lukas’ eyebrows shoot up. Parker’s staring strangely at me, too; I can’t get a good enough read if he thinks I’m being weird or if I totally bungled the time for the meeting. I didn’t tell either of them about Elsa and I running into each other last night because . . . I liked the thought that what happened was just ours. Our secrets. Our lists of firsts. Our little club.

And yet, this is another first, too, because I normally tell Parker everything.

He passes me my leather satchel filled with everything I could possibly need in a meeting directed at issues young crown heirs in the twenty-first century are faced with. As if we were children, in desperate need of schooling.

I stand up; I’m oddly relieved when Elsa does, too. “No bag?” I ask as she rounds the table.

“Shite.” She blushes and shakes her head. “I mean, crap.” A huge sigh escapes her. “I left it behind; I’ll have to fetch it.”

Parker, who stood up the moment she did, says, “Your Highness, I will be more than happy to ensure that your bag is procured and sent to the meeting right away.”

Thank God for Parker.

“You’re not my butler.” Her grin is wry. “There is no need to fetch anything of mine.” She pauses. “Also, no need for such formality, remember?”

“Does your butler fetch much?” I ask.

There. She’s smiling at me once more and all seems to be right in the world again. “Actually, no.”

“Let Parker get your bag,” I tell her. “If I’m not mistaken, he’s about to be subjected to a meeting just as boring as ours, only it’s like a Personal Secretary Seminar for Dummies. This will give him reason to skip out on at least the first fifteen minutes.”

Parker does not argue this in the least.

“Then by all means,” she tells him, “please procure my bag. Or, at least inform Bittner I’ll need it.”

“Bittner?” I ask.

“My father’s personal secretary. Who I am fairly certain is quite glad he is not mine. I’m surprised your source didn’t fill you in on that, too.”

Lukas stays where he is, nursing his flask. He’ll be blitzed in no time, no doubt searching for yet another conquest. The She-Wolf will love that. Isabelle stands up, though; I cannot decipher the look in her eyes. It’s okay, though. I don’t care to anyway.

My stand begins now. I simply nod politely at my mother’s choice and inform my brother and Parker I’ll meet up with them later. And then I lead Elsa out of the door, relieved that she doesn’t flinch when my hand meets the small of her back for the briefest of moments.

“This meeting,” she says as we consult a small map Parker packed, “is obscenely asinine. I cannot believe that, while our parents sit in meetings that help shape country policies, we are to be babysat in some kind Crown Heirs’ nursery. Why didn’t you warn me about this?”

I glance up from the map and take her in. She’s wearing a navy blue coat that works well as a dress, and it’s sophisticated and simple on her all at once, as if it was tailored exactly for her body—

Wait. What was she just saying? Oh. Right. The dumb as all shite meeting we’re off to. As I think she’d rip my head off for complimenting her coat, I say, “My apologies. I thought you might have actually looked in the packet. I’ll be sure to keep you updated accordingly from here on out. But you’re right. It looks like fucking torture.”

She grimaces. “It’s bad enough we’re here to be . . .” As we curve up a tight, winding staircase, her voice drops when the Japanese Emperor walks by. “Auctioned off like medieval maidens, but the silver lining was that we were to at least join the adult table, you know? Only, I suppose that’s a farce, too.”

She’s completely spot on. “I find your use of
maiden
terribly sexist, Els.”

A startled yet pleased look crosses her face when I call her that, one I definitely like.

Bloody hell. It’s day two, and I’m already thinking stupid things.

“Well, you are quite dainty.” While humor dances in her eyes, her lips press together hard, like she’s fighting to hold something in. It’s not the first time she’s done it in the small amount of time we’ve known each other.

It’s none of my business, but the question comes out anyway. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what? Insult you?” She leans back, scanning me up and down. “I have the distinct feeling nobody, except your brother, ever finds fault in you. I am just doing my part to keep you humble.”

Is she saying she finds me perfect? Or riddled with faults? I’m equally fascinated with both scenarios. She’s right, though. Outside of the She-Wolf and Lukas, nobody ever dares to point out my flaws. “Should I be insulted?”

A sly grin traces the corners of her mouth. “That is up to you.” And then her lips press together once more, keeping whatever she’s desperate to hold onto inside.

“That.” I motion at her face. “What are you holding in?”

Her eyes, so expressively dark blue, widen significantly. And then she sighs deeply. “My mother insists it is unbecoming to laugh in public. I know this will probably come as an utter shock to you, but I do try to have some manners.”

My own laughter escapes me. “You’ll ask me if I’m a virgin shortly after we’ve met, but won’t laugh in public?”

To my surprise, pink stains streak her pale cheeks. But that’s not the worst; she hushes me as she angles me toward a nook off the staircase. The movement provides me a long whiff of her perfume. Damn, she smells good. “Fine. I behaved beastly yesterday. I already admitted that.” Her eyes trace the stairs before settling back on me. And it’s strange, because I physically have to fight off a shiver when they do. “It’s just, I didn’t want you to like me. Not at first, anyway.”

Just as my mouth opens, she clarifies, “Or, you know, propose again.”

She’s teasing me. I give as good as I get. “I never proposed in the first place. Or,” I add, when she prepares to argue, “proposition you.”

“Fine. You didn’t. I’m just saying—”

I’m unable to help the step forward I take in the already small space. “Look, you don’t have to explain it to me. Like I said last night, it’s not like I’m ecstatic to be auctioned off, either.”

One of her eyebrows arches up. I like that it’s not one of those skinny scary ones that looks drawn on by a toddler.

“Even to my sister?”

The ground below me turns soft and unstable. We’re not in a truce, I suppose, but in a place where we’re conversing like normal people. At least, what I assume normal people converse like. I can admit I don’t want to lose that. But as much as she and her sister needled one another at breakfast, they are also siblings with inevitable loyalties, just like Lukas and myself. Nonetheless, I tell her firmly, “Not even to your sister.”

How could I even think about her sister when a Valkyrie stands right in front of me?

chapter 16

Elsa

An inappropriate, irrational stab of pleasure surfaces at Christian’s quietly voiced conviction. He is uninterested in her. He doesn’t want to be a pawn in the RMM any more than I do—not that it matters in the long run, but still.

The loaded silence that fills the space around us is so thick, so tight I am helpless to do anything other than break it. “The writing on the wall says you two are to be matched.”

“Much like you and Mat.”

It is tacky, but my nose automatically scrunches. “Don’t lead her on if it isn’t what you truly want.”

It is his turn to let out a soft exhale of frustration. “Believe me, that isn’t even a consideration.”

I would like to believe his sincerity. “My sister is in a vulnerable place right now. She doesn’t need to believe somebody fancies her when . . .” A rueful ghost of a laugh surfaces. “That sounds quite secondary school-ish, doesn’t it?”

“This whole farce feels secondary school-ish,” he mutters, running a hand through his dark hair. And then, “Why didn’t you want me to like you, Els?”

I open my mouth to correct him, but he cuts me off, smirking. “I mean friendly liking, of course.”

“It isn’t that I didn’t want you to like me, per se.” The urge to kick myself is strong. Why do I keep saying ridiculous things around this man? “If that makes sense. Which it most likely doesn’t.” I am digging a deeper hole for myself, aren’t I? “I suppose I am on the defensive.” I lamely wave a hand between us. When it grazes his shoulder, I jerk back at the static shock. “As are you, and rightly so.” Good lord, I’m raving once more. And my fingers are tingling, all from a simple brush against broadcloth. “To think I assumed you were the egotistical one, thanks to all of your . . .” I motion toward his face, and then his body, careful to keep my distance. “You know. All of your
too
-ness. And yet, perhaps it was me and my ego that ought to have been of concern.”