The Wrong Prince Read Free

Lucie had had no choice but to grumblingly obey.
    Perhaps the year before, she would’ve been full of dreams and delight to attend such an event. But Lucie would never divulge the true reason why she dreaded returning to the castle. She descended the staircase, brushing intimate thoughts of Georome Straussen—his heavy hands on her body, rough mouth hot against hers—from her mind. She begged her cheeks to cease blushing.
    She had first met the prince at the previous autumn’s harvest festival. Lucie was instantly taken. And what girl wouldn’t be? Georome was rugged and olive-skinned, with a vibe of recklessness. And, of course, he was royalty.
    To her pleasure, the man had seemed drawn to her, too. Those brooding eyes had followed her all through the ballroom, until he’d finally asked her to dance. For nearly a year thereafter, Lucie had been sneaking from Backshore’s manor to the other side of the lake for many a memorable tryst with the prince.
    Presently, her fine slippers connected with the ground floor. The young woman tossed her hair behind her shoulders and stepped outside to the roundabout, where her father’s carriage was parked, coachman at the ready. “Evening, Lu,” the baron greeted her as she hoisted herself inside. He sounded unusually energetic.
    Lucie eyed the six snorting horses that anticipated the coachman’s command. “The whole ensemble?” She arched an eyebrow. “Surely, we don’t need a half-dozen horses to carry us less than a mile?”
    “Ceremony, daughter,” replied her father. “Although, I do not doubt you’d know your way to the Straussens’ castle on foot.”
    Lucie held rigid in her seat as the horses commenced in a trot. Did her father mean something significant by the statement? What—and how—could he possibly know? But when she dared glance over at him, he was already lost in thought, watching the scenery pass outside the window. Lucie exhaled, relaxing against the bench. She was being paranoid.
    The ride was over in a matter of minutes, and they halted before the welcoming limestone castle. Turrets unfolded from each wing, and arranged on the sprawling back lawn were long tables, countless chairs, and a hundred hanging lanterns to greet the dusk.
    Lucie walked slowly at her father’s side, bored by the faces both new and familiar that eyed her with interest. She was accustomed to the stares. While her mother, the late baroness, had been a thoroughbred Tybirian with skin as pink as a summer’s peach, Lucie had inherited her father’s darker complexion. As ambassadors, his parents had emigrated from Heppestoni, a land to the west.
    Guests poured in from every direction as she was guided to a chair. She rolled her eyes at the other young ladies with their hair coiffed and garnished with fresh flowers, figures draped in expensive garments and flashy jewels, as though each was certain that the party was held just for her. In truth, no one but the parents of the spouses-to-be knew the identity of the Crown Prince’s bride, to be announced after the meal. And every young woman who’d been invited was hopeful for her own prospects, except Lucie.
    She had no part in this game. Resigned, she took the seat adjacent to her father’s and spread a white linen napkin over her lap. The harpers played, the jester teased and the king’s announcer made extensive introductions. Lucie yawned as servants brought out the dinner courses, one by one, and she ignored the excited blather around her. Yet, all the while, she couldn’t help but scan the crowd for Geo. She dreaded, yet simultaneously prayed, to spot the man. After all, she hadn’t seen him since….
    Her insides jolted as she caught a glimpse of the younger prince standing near the head table, where his family was seated. He was grinning, engaged in conversation with a circle of knights. He was popular among them, Lucie knew. A fine warrior himself.
    He then turned his head, glancing into the crowd, and Lucie