Chapter One #2
For years, the papers have loved to depict me as a marble statue, a person devoid of emotion, someone whose smiles are always curated, never genuine. They seem to have no idea the pressure I feel as the Crown Prince. One day, I will be king, and the idea is nothing short of terrifying.
“Darling, you know the tabloids have been calling you the Ice Prince,” Mother says. “Someone like Astrid could help you appear less—”
I raise my brows. “Less what, Mother?”
“You know,” she replies evasively.
“Do you have any marriage prospects?” Father asks tentatively.
I pull my lips into a thin line. “You know I don’t.”
I’m not exactly the dating type. I meet a slew of women, but I’ve only ever had one girlfriend, and that was when I was at Cambridge. It fizzled into nothing when I moved back to Ledonia. She went on to become a brilliant journalist in New York, and I was long forgotten.
“You’ve never been what they call a ‘ladies’ man’,” Father agrees.
I give a self-deprecating shrug, thinking of how hard I find it to speak with attractive women. It’s like the moment I’m in the presence of a beautiful woman, someone sprays fog into my mind and I can’t think of a single thing to say.
“I’m as much a ladies’ man as a lamppost,” I harrumph.
Mother suppresses a smile.
“Is it really such a terrible idea to have an arranged marriage with a pretty, sweet princess like Astrid?” Father asks, far too leadingly for comfort.
My shoulders drop at the futility of this argument. It would seem Penelope Pemberley-Price isn’t the only one with marriage firmly lodged in her head.
I’m about to reply that simply because Princess Astrid is pretty and sweet doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things when the door flies open and my sister bursts in.
“Good morning, everybody! What a gorgeous day!” Francesca trills as she bounces into the room.
“Morning, darling,” Mother says.
“Good morning, Gio.” She flashes a grin at one server, who grins back at her.
“Good morning, Your Royal Highness. I’ll order your eggs now, if you so wish,” he says.
“That would be marvelous, Gio. Thanks a bunch.” Francesca flits around the table, giving my shoulder a squeeze, kissing our mother on the cheek, and then leaning down to kiss Father. She immediately pulls back, her dark eyes widening. “Oh! Are you growing a beard again, Father? You’re all stubbly.”
Our father beams at her. “I’m considering it,” he says, clearly pleased with himself.
“Do it. You look amazing with a beard. A total silver fox.” Francesca plunks herself down at the table.
I roll my eyes. My sister is such a daddy’s girl.
“Isn’t it a stunning day today?” she says as she pours herself a cup of tea.
For the record, it is not a stunning day. It’s Monday, and everyone knows Mondays are terrible, no matter how much sunshine there may be.
My sister turns to me. “You look like you’ve swallowed a lemon, Fred. What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” I grind out, my jaw tight.
“We’ve been discussing whether Frederic should marry Princess Astrid of Elkevik,” Mother begins brightly, as though we’ve all but set the date.
“Mother,” I warn.
Francesca’s eyes have widened. “What? You’re in love with Princess Astrid?
But you only met her last week! And before that you hadn’t seen her since we were children.
” She gapes at me as though I’ve sprouted another head.
“Is this for real?” Her eyes swivel between me and our parents and back again.
“I’m not in love,” I say decisively. “How could I be in love with someone after spending only a handful of days with her?”
“Haven’t you heard of love at first sight?” my sister asks.
“I am not in love,” I repeat.
“Then why are you talking about marrying her?” Francesca asks as she butters a piece of toast.
“Good question.” I look pointedly at our parents.
“We think Princess Astrid might be a good fit for your brother,” Mother says. “See?” She holds up the offending photo.
“Fred! You’re smiling!” my sister exclaims.
I harrumph. “Exactly. It’s just a smile. Not a declaration of love.”
“Well, I suggest you don’t do that again in a hurry,” she replies with a giggle.
“Do what?” I ask.
“Smile. It’s so rare, everyone will think you’re having a stroke.”
“Hilarious,” I deadpan.
“They didn’t think he was having a stroke,” Mother corrects. “They thought he’d fallen in love with Princess Astrid.”
Gio delivers Francesca’s eggs, and she beams up at him. “Thanks ever so much.”
“You’re more than welcome, ma’am,” he replies with a wink.
Francesca has always been friendly with the staff. It’s ill-advised. I keep them at arm’s length because that’s the way it should be. That’s the way I was taught. My father does that, and his father before him, and his father before him.
Not Francesca. She doesn’t play by those rules. I suppose she’s a little like Princess Astrid in that way.
“I would be more than happy to have Astrid as a sister-in-law. I think she’s just marvelous. We still fax each other, you know. We have been doing this since we were children. She always tells me such fun things about her chickens and her goats,” Francesca says.
“Princess Astrid is marvelous, darling. You’re quite right,” Mother agrees.
I throw my hands in the air in utter exasperation. “I can’t believe we’re still discussing this.”
“So, if Fred doesn’t love the princess, you’re having an arranged marriage?” Francesca asks.
Oh, good grief.
“Yes,” Father says simply.
“You’re saying you want me to have an arranged marriage?” I ask, sheer panic making my voice squeaky.
Mother shoots me a confused look. “Isn’t that what we’ve been discussing since you sat down?” she asks, as though I’m operating on reduced brain power.
“In that case, why don’t I marry a nice Ledonian aristocrat? Lady Senita comes to mind. She likes horses. I like horses.”
“You can’t marry someone simply because you both like horses,” Francesca scoffs. “We all know Lady Senita’s as quiet as a mouse, and looks like one, too. Stick a pair of whiskers on her and hello, Minnie.” She laughs at her own joke.
“There’s nothing wrong with Lady Senita,” I protest, even though Francesca is spot on. Lady Senita is rather mouse-like, in both personality and appearance.
“She wouldn’t exactly ignite positive royal sentiment,” Mother explains gently. “Darling, that’s the point.”
“Princess Astrid, on the other hand—” Father begins.
“All right, so we all love Princess Astrid,” I say, now utterly defeated by this conversation.
“Not you, it would seem,” Francesca says, and I shoot her a look.
“It would be for the good of the family, son,” Father repeats for what feels like the hundredth time.
I need some air.
I’ve never dramatically exited the breakfast room before, but I need to get out of here before I combust.
I only make it a handful of steps down the hallway before the reality of my situation catches up with me. I take a deep breath and glance up at the portrait beside me. It’s of my great-great-great-grandfather, King Leopold I.
“Don’t stare at me like that. I know you had an arranged marriage.”
King Leopold I does not reply.
The truth is, I’m not opposed to an arranged marriage per se. But Princess Astrid of Elkevik? She’s light and fun and unpredictable and utterly bewitching. I’d clam up around her every time I saw her, and she’d think I was the dullard the press has labeled me all these years.
But perhaps…
As I think of the pretty woman, her shoes kicked off as she danced in the rain, something inside me stirs and as I trudge down the hallway, I find myself listing all the reasons to marry her.
1. She’s a princess, so she’d understand what’s expected of her in Ledonia.
2. She’s much-loved by Elkevik, which is not something I can boast about in my own country. Far from it.
3. The Ledonian people would fall in love with her, which could mean the referendum on us might simply disappear.
I go for a ride on my favorite horse, Juniper, and then spend the rest of the morning mulling it over.
I find myself at my father’s study door. I knock and step inside.
He looks up. “That was a shorter exile than I expected.”
“It wasn’t an exile, Father. Childish, perhaps,” I admit, sinking into a seat. “I needed some time to think.”
He steeples his fingers. “And?”
I take a breath, my lips taut. “If I were to consider this arranged marriage, I would want it to be on my terms.”
If he’s surprised, he hides it well. “What terms would they be?”
“First, Astrid must know this is a business arrangement between our two families for mutual benefit.”
His lips quirk. “How romantic. I’m sure she’ll leap at the opportunity.”
“Father,” I warn.
“Continue.”
“We each have achievable goals. Ours is to revive whatever the public thinks we’re missing, even though Francesca is practically a miniature version of Princess Astrid.”
“Francesca’s behavior is challenging at times. Princess Astrid, being older, may be less… unpredictable,” Father says.
“Do you call spontaneously dancing in front of children predictable?”
“I would call it charming. But please continue.”
“Our goal is to avoid a referendum. Theirs is financial stability. I assume we’ll offer some financial compensation?”
“A trade deal. We need their wool and they need our money.”
“I don't want the country to know that this is arranged. I want it clear that this is my decision, mine and Astrid’s. Not something we were pushed into.”
“Understandable. But son, you do realize that means appearing as though you’re marrying for love.”
I tighten my jaw. “I do. But I don’t want to play-act. We’ll appear as we naturally are. I’ll be me, she’ll be her, and we’ll make it work. No pretence.”
“No pretence,” he repeats. “Very well, son.” He rises to his feet and we shake hands. “You know, your mother and I didn’t know one another well when we were married.”
“Yes, but you share values. You work.”
“We love each other,” he says simply. “But that took time. You may well fall in love with Princess Astrid.”
I harrumph at the very thought. Me? Love Princess Astrid? That could never happen. We’re too different.
But I can’t ignore the twinge in my chest at the thought.
“Never say never, eh, son?” Father says as he claps his hand on my back.
But I know. This is a business arrangement, nothing more, and that’s the way it will remain.