Page 21 of Royal Resistance

So I did one of the few impulsive things in my life: proposed marriage to a woman I barely knew.

And she said no.

I can honestly say I didn’t expect that reply. “Is that your final answer?”

The look she gives me is scathing. And I’m not too ashamed to say that somewhere, deep down, I like it. Being a part of the Laandian royal family means I don’t get a lot of scathing.

“Is that honestly how you think you should propose to a woman?” Selene demands.

Her accent is a little stronger, a little crisper when she’s annoyed.

“Well, I was thinking this would be more of an arranged marriage—”

“I’ve seen more romantic concessions in our Charter,” she snaps.

I wish having a beard meant it was easier to hide a smile. “I’ve offended you.” Selene is a beautiful woman—the hair and the eyes, and the face, as carefully etched as a porcelain doll, not to mention the figure—but her beauty ramps up one hundred percent when she’s irritated.

“What do you expect?” she snaps.

“Not to offend you,” I offer, leading her away from the other dancers. I like being the best, and Selene seems like she’s about to tell the world that I am not the most romantic.

That I’m not a lot of things.

“I’ve had sixteen offers of marriage since I was twelve years old, and that was the worst one yet,” she tells me in an icy voice.

I didn’t think it was that bad. “Sixteen?” Why would Selene—and Avelaine—be in such demand? The obvious answer is the beautiful and accomplished Selene, with the gleam of intelligence in those blue eyes, but that many proposals? She looks about the same age as I am, so how many came about before she was even of legal age?

Maybe the people of Avelaine really do have some archaic ideas about their royal family, and princesses in general.

“Yes, that many,” she confirms without acknowledging that it is a lot. “So I know a bad proposal when I hear it.”

The song changes, but I don’t make a move to release her. Selene either doesn’t notice or doesn’t want to stop dancing with me.

Is it bad that I hope that it’s the latter?

“You have my word that I’ll do my best to improve on that,” I tell her, shifting my hand on her back so my pinkie grazes the bare skin under her shoulder blades.

“I would hope so,” she says, as I tuck her close to avoid being hit by the flailing arms of Laura Golden and Nancy Schmidt in the middle of the dance floor.

Selene doesn’t move away. “So how long should I wait?” I ask politely.

“For what?”

“To propose again?”

She looks up at me. “You can’t be serious?”

“I’m not serious about a lot, but I think being a king will change that. So… yes. I am serious about thinking that marrying you would be a good idea for my country. And me. And, I hope, for you as well.”

Her mouth drops open with surprise.

“I think we’d be guaranteed to have blue-eyed children,” I add.

“You dare to talk about children…” And then she laughs.

It’s not a nice laugh. “You wound me,” I say with a hangdog expression.

“Hearing someone say no wounds you?” she demands.