The Prince

If she didn’t want me, and she didn’t want him, then what the hell did she want?

“You are very kind, Your Majesty.” Yes. “And attractive.” Yes! “And thoughtful.” YES!
I was grinning, looking like an idiot, I’m sure, so pleased she managed to see something positive in me after last night.
Her voice was low as she continued. “But for very valid reasons, I don’t think I could.”

“Remember,” she said, “they’re swarming with nerves, and the thing to do right now is make them feel at home.”
“Act like a prince,” Father urged. “Remember who you are.”
“There’s no rush to make a decision.” Mom touched my tie. “That’s a nice one.”
“But don’t keep anyone around if you know you don’t want them. The sooner we get to the true candidates, the better.”
“Be polite.”
“Be confident.”
“Just talk.”
Father sighed. “This isn’t a joke. Remember that.”

Hannah, Anna . . . how was I supposed to keep that straight? Jenna, Janelle, and Camille . . . seriously? That was going to be a disaster. I had to learn at least a few. Then I’d just rely on the pins until I got the names straight.

“It would also behoove you to refrain from mentioning this to anyone. Understood?”
They nodded, and I made my way to the main stairwell. As I walked I heard one guard whisper, “What’s behoove?”

She was scolding me!

She didn’t answer me, but turned away, back to her crying. Why did women have such a high inclination to tears?

“What if I don’t like any of them?”
“Then pick the one you hate the least. Preferably one that’s useful. Don’t worry on that count, though; I’ll help.”

“Get it together. You look like hell.”

her hand down my cheek. “This is all those dreams made real.”