The Prince’s Charm (Princely Plans #1)

Chapter One

Tor

Up! Your Highness! Wake up! Prince Torex! I really must insist—!”

It took a few moments for the irritating voice to penetrate Tor’s deep slumber.

He tried to cling to the last vestiges of sleep, enjoying the feeling of cozy warmth and contentment that came with a fuzzy head, but the insistent voice repeated itself until Tor conceded that he wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep—at least not until he dealt with the voice.

He reluctantly slitted open his eyes to find that it was Yomil, his brother’s stick-in-the-mud advisor, who was staring down at him with a pinched expression, disgust not even veiled in his eyes.

“What?” Tor demanded.

There was a slim chance there was a valid reason he was being woken.

“The High King requires your presence,” Yomil intoned as though he were importing words from the goddess herself. Tor barely restrained an eye roll.

“Is it urgent?” he grumbled.

The man’s lips pinched even tighter, and he sounded censorious as he said, “It is the High King’s command.”

Tor gave in and rolled his eyes this time; he should have known better than to ask. Yomil was a stickler for protocol, punctuality, and being proper in every conceivable way.

Tor could try to ignore him, but he knew from experience that he either wouldn’t leave or that he’d come back with increasing frequency until it really wasn’t worth being in bed, even on principle.

“I’ll be there soon,” Tor said on a sigh.

Yomil’s lips compressed even further, until it looked almost like he had no lips at all—not an improvement to his long, thin face that never had a pleasant expression on it.

Tor raised an eyebrow and asked with would-be innocence, “Or would you prefer that I attend the High King while naked? Certainly, if that’s what you believe the situation demands…”

He moved to fling back the bedsheets.

Yomil’s eyes widened, the look of horror on his face at least a change from the perpetual disapproval, and then he fled.

A deep-throated chuckle joined Tor’s laugh, and there was a murmur of sleepy protest from the blond woman sandwiched between them.

“You’ll pay for that later,” Rin said with a grin.

Tor climbed out of bed with a groan, his head whirling as he tried to acclimate to the upright position.

“Don’t I anyway?” he asked wryly.

Rin knew better than to vouchsafe a response. Instead, as he watched Tor try to find the clothing he’d discarded in a rather distracted state the night before, he snaked his arm around the pretty woman in the bed, a hand settling comfortably over one breast.

Tor cast his best friend a look, but Rin grinned unapologetically. It was part of why Tor liked him so much. He was a fantastic knight and an excellent friend, but he didn’t take life needlessly seriously. Tor’s brother could learn so many lessons from the two of them.

Dressed, Tor took a last, regretful glance at the duo in the bed, and then he left them to their entertainment.

There was a guard standing outside the door.

Tor considered taking exception to that but decided it was probably his brother or Yomil trying to be officiously helpful rather than asses—ensuring Tor was protected as much as ensuring he went where he was told.

He briefly considered what would happen if he veered off to a location that was not his brother’s throne room. But he was awake, his head was pounding, and it seemed better to get this confrontation over with so that he could continue on with the rest of his day.

Once his brother got an idea into his head, he was the definition of stubborn.

Tor wished he could see a healer before the impending scolding—he didn’t know what it was for, but he knew there’d be a scolding—but Varex had forbidden them from healing Tor’s hangovers, claiming it was a waste of magic.

Tor wasn’t arguing that his hangover should be cured before serious injuries, but if the castle healer had a spare moment… ?

Varex had been king for the past seven years, and unfortunately, Tor had seen each one of those years impact the behavior of his brother to the point that sometimes he felt as though he couldn’t even recognize him—which was absurd given that he had only to look into the mirror to see a perfect reflection.

Of course, Varex would be the first to point out that what was on the outside didn’t necessarily reflect what was on the inside.

Tor reached the throne room, blew out a breath, and determined not to let it nettle him that Varex had taken to meeting with him here like he was purely the king and not also Tor’s brother.

Nodding at the guards stationed outside the doors, Tor passed through once they hauled them open.

The room was large and ostentatious, meant to impress.

The floor was marble, the vaulted ceilings were high, and the walls displayed the banners of all six realms. Varex was High King and ruled over them all.

Alossa, and its capital city of Nexa, was his seat of power, so those banners were the biggest and most extravagant.

Instead of torches or lamps, the brackets on the wall held crystal orbs, which Varex had wrapped his magic around.

They gave off a bright, steady radiance, reminding everyone—as if they could forget—that he was Extraordinary.

Only Extraordinary could use their magic on objects they weren’t touching, and only a ruler was likely to light an entire giant room just to show off.

The showpiece room had ceased to have the power to impress Tor years ago, when he’d played here as a child with his twin.

Still, there was an element of the chastised child about the experience of walking the entire length of the large space to come stand before the man seated on a throne.

Varex was not alone, which was unfortunate—but Yomil wasn’t in evidence, at least, and that meant that Tor had only to contend with Fernila.

Varex’s wife was one of Tor’s least favorite people, but at least it wasn’t her and Yomil.

He finally reached the dais upon which his brother and the queen sat, and he offered an ironic bow that didn’t have a fraction of the grace or depth required before the High King and High Queen of the United Realms. Fernila’s face took on the pinched look with which Tor had become so familiar in the last five years, but Varex just looked resigned and a little bit disappointed.

(That expression, too, was one which Tor readily recognized.)

Tor made sure to appear relaxed and at ease as he pasted on his most charming grin. “I hope that I haven’t kept you waiting. I had to find something to wear.”

The pained expression increased, and his brother said, “It’s almost two o’clock in the afternoon.”

It was like watching an inverted mirror, really.

The same dark hair, the same pale skin, the same bright blue eyes that they’d inherited from their mother.

Long straight nose, square jaw, solid shoulders…

plus scowls, grimaces, and stern expressions.

What had happened to the fun-loving brother who used to match Tor escapade for escapade?

Well, Tor could hazard a guess. Varex had gained a crown—and a judgmental wife.

Tor kept the smile in place with practiced ease. “Why, so it is. I didn’t make it to bed until late last night.”

“Or early this morning?” Varex asked pointedly.

“Entirely possible,” Tor agreed with a casual shrug. “I wasn’t keeping an eye on the time—I had more enjoyable things to be doing.”

Fernila flinched faintly, and Varex reached out to softly touch her arm before his attention returned to Tor, his gaze stony.

“The Queen was missing an attendant this morning.”

“Was she?” Tor made sure to keep his voice nonchalant. “Perhaps she was under the weather.”

Perhaps she was under Rin at this very moment.

Varex looked unimpressed. “Or perhaps she was in your bed.”

Tor tried to appear shocked. “Oh, is that who she was? I thought she looked familiar.”

Fernila spoke, her voice shrill and grating—and it wasn’t just the state of Tor’s head, it was always like that, at least when it came to him. “You have no right!”

Tor raised an eyebrow. “No right to take willing folks to bed? Goodness, has a law been enacted of which I am unaware? Brother, do enlighten me.”

Fernila flushed, face blotchy and clashing terribly with her red hair. Varex glowered at him, a predictable reaction these days.

“Watch your tongue,” he warned.

Tor felt his own lips tighten and then made a deliberate effort to relax them. He didn’t want to have anything in common with Yomil, after all.

“Varex.” He allowed some of his annoyance to color his tone. “I had a very enjoyable evening with an entirely willing woman. What do you want from me?”

“The list is endless,” Varex said sternly. “For a start, an end to the orgies.”

“I don’t recall any.”

“With the amount of drinking you do, that is hardly a surprise.”

Amusement dissolved some of Tor’s annoyance. He’d walked right into that one. “I mean there haven’t been any orgies recently. Seriously, Varex, not even one dancer, never mind a whole group.”

“But there were multiple people in your bed last night?” Varex asked pointedly.

“Uh, it wasn’t my bed, but yes.”

Rin was always up—ha!—for casual amusement.

“What sort of a message do you think that sends to everyone?” the King demanded.

“That at least one of us is still capable of having fun,” Tor said impatiently, barely resisting the urge to massage his aching temples. “Just because you’ve forgotten doesn’t mean the rest of us have.”

Fernila flushed again, gaze dropping.

“That’s enough!” Varex snapped.

Tor let out an aggravated huff of breath. “Why did you summon me? To tell me that I’m not allowed to have sex with anyone anymore? To restrict how many partners I’m allowed to take to bed at a time? Surely that’s a little excessive, even for you?”

Varex’s jaw clenched, a tell that Tor did share with him. They were both stubborn, which was a problem in situations like this.