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Chapter Five
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Along minute of silence bridged into two.
I was the only one in the room who noticed.
The prince was lost to his own thoughts, even while yanking out his big chair then plummeting into it. He leaned back at a slant, comprising one of the most graceful slumps I’d ever witnessed. The man had a pirate’s game, a ninja’s grace, and a dark, etched beauty that was strictly his own. The thick, tumbling hair. The majestic, oceanic gaze. That unstoppable, unmerciful jawline.
He drummed his fingers again, drawing my attention to the two photos—his only personal items—on the desk. The images, in matching black frames, looked recent. In one, Shiraz laughed on a beach with his three siblings. They were barefoot but dressed in formal Arcadian wear, their red and black outfits a perfect blend with the sunset’s bronze glow. The other photo was a formal portrait of the queen mother and king father. Ardent stood behind Xaria, a hand on her shoulder, and she reached up to cover his hand with hers.
With eyes fixed on that image, he finally murmured, “My parents’ marriage was one step short of being prearranged.”
His wistful tone yanked my stare back to the high couple’s photo. “Really?”
He glanced up, a soft tease in his eyes. “Your research about our land did not cover the practice of The Distinct, I take it?”
Deep frown. “The what?”
He rose again. Strolled back around to my side of the desk. “The Distinct date back to Arcadia’s earliest days.”
“What the hell is it?”
“You mean they.”
“Huh?”
“You mean who are they.”
I lowered into one of the chairs facing the desk. Let out a slow, “Okay…”
“The prince in line to next inherit the throne was required to be married by the time he was thirty, whether he’d ascended to full rule or not,” he explained. “Blood lines needed to flow, despite the country’s political climate. A selection of the kingdom’s finest maidens was compiled for him to select from. The final fifteen were culled from an extensive review and vetting process. All of the women, then known as The Distinct, were then invited to the Palais for a period of time, so the prince could make the final decision and proposal for himself.”
I instinctively slid a hand over my belly—as it turned over in three different ways. Was he kidding?
The serious set of his face provided my answer.
“Right,” I snapped. “So they brought him—what—a freaking catalogue of women to pick from?”
Shiraz’s lips twisted. “Not exactly.”
“But not not exactly.”
“It is complicated.”
“You think?” I flung. “So what happened if anyone arrived broken? Maybe a few cracks from shipping and handling? Was he allowed to return her for store credit or something?”
His gaze narrowed. “What?”
“Or maybe they just sent a replacement over. That’d be easier, right?”
This wasn’t keeping the switches off. I knew that and still couldn’t help myself. What was wrong with me? Me, who’d been diligent about my research of Arcadian values, traditions, and ceremonies—
Mostly related to weddings, vows, and marriage.
All the shit that took place after the courtship and proposal.
Because the happy-ever-after was the part worth focusing on, right? Who wanted to deal with the mess of what it took to get there? One look back at my own dating history was a great answer for that one—so who the hell was I to mock the Arcadians’ ways? Vetting brides for a royal wasn’t totally horrendous, even in the modern world. Wasn’t that what the tabloid press was for?
