I tilt my head. “I’m not the heir, so why do I need to be betrothed? I’m only nine years old!”
Father smirks from his seat across from me. “Son, there will be quite a few things in life that you won’t understand until you get older. You probably don’t need an arranged marriage quite yet, but your mother is right. Perhaps we’ll marry you off to one of the Astorias. I’m sure Cary would love that. He’s been dropping hints for years.”
“Gross,” I say, and Mother chuckles as she pats my knee again.
“Don’t even worry about it, my little love. You won’t need to marry for quite some time.”
When we finally pull up to the manor, I excitedly jump to my feet, almost tripping over my brother in our race to get out, eager to stretch our legs after being cramped in the carriage.
“Boys!” Father calls out. “You will behave.”
“Of course, Father,” we say in unison.
Colin straightens the collar on his jacket and gives me a look that makes me wary, reminding me of all the times he’s gotten me into trouble.
When we’re finally ushered into one of the family’s sitting rooms, my gaze is immediately drawn to the young girl seated by the fire, completely focused on some kind of sewing project. She looks a couple of years younger than me, but her prim and proper posture makes it clear she’s been raised to be a lady.
We trail behind Father and Mother as he greets Lord and Lady Astoria. Two babies squeal in their mother’s arms, one wearing bright pink and the other purple. I always wanted a baby sister, but Mother said Colin and I were all the gods would bless her with.
“Please, have a seat!” Lord Astoria exclaims to my parents while Lady Astoria tries to hush the crying babes. “Boys, I think there are some treats laid out over there.”
I look to Mother and she nods, so Colin and I wander over to the table laden with pastries and sweets.
“How long do you think they’ll make us stay?” I whisper to Colin.
Colin shrugs as he pops something sugary into his mouth.
I look back at the girl, who is completely in her own little world, ignoring the screeching babies and everyone else in the room. Grabbing a small plate, I put a few treats on it and walk over to her.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hello,” she replies, keeping her eyes trained on her project.
“I brought you some sweets.”
“Thanks,” she mumbles.
What do I need to do to get this girl’s attention?
“You’re being quite rude. Don’t you realize I’m a prince?”
That does it. The girl drops her sewing and tilts her head up to look at me, irritation flaring in her green eyes.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” she says, putting on a fake tone of respect. “Do you need me to get up and curtsy?”
She’s feisty, but something about her sparks my interest.
“I could tell my father you’re being rude,” I say, crossing my arms.
She snorts a laugh. “As if he could hear you over the screaming babies.”
“Do they do that a lot?” I ask, crinkling my nose in disgust.
“Unfortunately.” She sighs. “Chessa is worse than Erika.”
“What’s your name?” I ask.
She reaches for one of the pastries I brought over and smiles. “I’m Raelyn. How did you know croissants are my favorite?”
