Royal Marriage Market Read Free Page A

never a possibility.
    I remold my features and posture until I’m positive I do not appear as I feel. Because, hell yeah, do the gallows feel close at hand. For one, the She-Wolf entered my inner sanctuary with no prior warning. She’s a stealthy beast, stalking her prey and pouncing when least expected. Two, she’s waving a matching invitation to mine, so she’s here to gloat or threaten. And three . . . I refuse to glance at either piece of paper and give her the satisfaction of confirming how I’m truly feeling, even if she already guesses.
    She drops into a nearby chair, dress swishing softly against the hideous nylon stockings she insists on wearing every single day of her life. Then she motions to the chair directly across from her. “Think about all the pretty girls that will be present. Why, I can only imagine how eager they’d be to open their legs for you.”
    Fire ants invade my skin as I struggle to repress the muscles within my body from shuddering. Hearing such a proclamation come from my so-called venerable mother’s mouth is revoltingly disturbing. Not that it’s rare, as she delights in torturing my brother Lukas and myself with crude humor meant only for our ears. To the rest of the country and the world at large, she’s gracious and composed, the epitome of a respectable modern Grand Duchess whose speeches are quoted by millions of admirers. It’s why she’s the She-Wolf: she’s cunning, devious, able to hide in plain sight, and devours those who are weaker than her.
    If she weren’t Her Royal Highness The Grand Duchess Britta of Aiboland, my mother would have excelled as a movie star or stage actress.
    Most of my life, I’ve managed to escape her daily influence. Shipped off to boarding school when I was just a lad and then away to America for university, followed by several tours of duty within our military, I’ve lived more years in England, the US, and the Middle East than Aiboland, a Grand Duchy comprising of a series of tiny islands between Estonia, Sweden, and Finland. But a Hereditary Grand Duke can only run away from his duties for so long. I recently returned home and now reside under the same roof as my brother and parents for the first time since I was eight.
    “I am most grateful for the opportunity to represent our country during the summit’s weeklong meetings,” is what I tell the She-Wolf. I’ll be damned if I allow her to pull me into yet another futile round where I basically plead for my life as she cackles over how I’ll do what she says or else.
    At thirty, I’m considered to be one of the most desirable catches in the world, even though, despite our vast wealth, Aiboland more often than not remains hidden amongst much larger powerhouses within the European Union. I received high marks in all my courses for both my undergraduate and graduate degrees at prestigious universities in the United States. I am a patron of multiple charities in Aiboland, America, and various countries in Africa. I served two tours of duty in war-torn countries in the Middle East, eschewing my title and privilege for service. While other princes publically sow their wild oats, I managed to keep my head down, maintaining an impeccable reputation. Prince Boring , the American rags that even knew who I was dubbed me—and I’m fine with the title. Better boring than some of the other colorful descriptions peers my age are on the receiving end of. I know how to keep my business mine, unlike those sad sacks. Unlike my own brother who, just a few months ago, discovered pictures in the national newspaper of him buck naked and passed out with tequila bottles clutched in his fists. Barely a year younger than myself, Lukas spends most of his time drunk or screwing royal groupies. He gets to live it up while I pretend to be a perfect fucking robot of a prince for a country that most people in the world don’t even know exists.
    And now, my iron-willed mother demands her perfect heir to be perfectly