Page 6

HUGO

I slice through the water, each stroke a small act of rebellion.

My muscles burn as I push harder, trying to swim away from the memory of today’s meeting.

But even underwater, I can’t escape my mother’s latest scheme to get me married off, or the face of the petite blonde matchmaker who’s supposed to find me a “suitable” wife.

The chlorine stings my eyes as I surface, gulping air before plunging back down.

Thirty laps and counting. The pool area is one of my favorite places in the palace — high glass ceilings that let in the evening light, marble columns that have watched five generations of Bastiens learn to swim, and enough privacy that I can actually think without an aide or advisor hovering nearby.

“Planning to drain the pool tonight, Your Highness?” Guy’s voice bounces off the water as he drops his towel on a nearby lounge chair.

I pull up at the edge, wiping water from my eyes. “Just getting some exercise.”

“Hmm. And the fact that you’re swimming like you’re being chased by sharks has nothing to do with your meeting today?” Guy sits down, dangling his feet in the water. My oldest friend has always been able to read me like a boring palace document.

“How did you know about that?” I splash water in his direction, which he dodges with practiced ease.

“Palace walls have ears, Hugo.” He shrugs off his robe and slides into the water with barely a ripple. “Plus, your mother mentioned it when I passed her in the hall. She seemed quite pleased with herself.”

I groan. “Of course she is. She’s finally found a way to take control of the one part of my life I thought was still mine.”

Guy treads water next to me. “A matchmaker isn’t the end of the world. Plenty of royals use them.”

“In the eighteen hundreds, maybe.” While Guy isn’t a royal, he knows about as much of my life as a brother would. He grew up in the palace alongside me, and while he now operates a horse farm outside of the city, his father is still an advisor to my mother, and Guy is here often.

I flip and kick off the wall harder than necessary, sending a wave across the previously calm surface. “It’s embarrassing. I’m thirty years old, but my mother doesn’t trust me to find my own wife.”

“Your mother cares about you,” he says softly. “And frankly, when was the last time you even had a date? Wouldn’t it be fun to meet some girls?”

I swim back to the edge and rest my arms on the cool tile. “So, what? I should just roll over and let some stranger pick out my future wife like she’s selecting a tie to match my suit?”

“Her name is Emily, right? What’s she like?”

I stare at the rippling patterns on the pool’s surface, trying to seem indifferent. “Short. Blonde. Lacking a filter.”

“Pretty?” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice that I choose to ignore.

“If you like the bossy type.”

The truth is, Emily Neale is pretty — very pretty — with bright eyes that seem to miss nothing and a smile that appears and disappears like she’s deciding if you deserve to see it. But I’m not about to admit that to Guy.

“She walked into the meeting full of questions about my ‘preferences in a partner.’” I make air quotes with my fingers, nearly sinking in the process. “Like she’s ordering a custom-made doll instead of finding a person.”

“The horror,” Guy deadpans. “She’s trying to find someone compatible with you. What a monster.”

“It’s not the questions.” I go to stand in the shallow end, water dripping from my hair. “It’s the whole situation. I told my mother I would humor her, but now I see how much time this will take up, and it’s time I simply do not have.”

He joins me in the shallow end. “Look, here’s what I think. Go through the motions. Meet whoever this Emily person selects. Make your mother happy. Best-case scenario, you actually like one of them. Worst-case, you can say you tried, and maybe your mother will back off for a while.”

“Worst case is that my mother finds a match for me,” I correct, remembering the deal we struck over brunch. “And what about Emily? She looked at me like I was some sort of… project. All business and tight smiles. I swear she was taking mental notes every time I shifted in my chair.”

“Maybe she was nervous. You can be intimidating when you want to be. The whole Prince of Marzieu thing tends to make people act weird.”

“She didn’t seem intimidated.” The memory of her steady gaze flashes through my mind. “She seemed… judgmental.”

Guy chuckles. “So you’re mad that the woman finding you a wife isn’t falling at your feet like your usual admirers?”

“No!” I protest too quickly. “I just don’t like being analyzed like I’m a specimen under a microscope. She kept tilting her head and narrowing her eyes.”

“Heaven forbid that someone should expect clear communication from you.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Whose side are you on?”

Guy lifts himself out of the pool in one smooth motion, water streaming off his athletic frame. “The side of reason, as always. You need to find a wife eventually, Hugo. The country expects it. The council expects it. And deep down, I think you want it too.”

I follow him out of the pool, grabbing a towel from the heated rack. “I want to find someone on my own terms. Is that so unreasonable?”

“And when would you do that, exactly?” He raises an eyebrow. “Between your seven a.m. briefings and your midnight policy reviews? You barely leave the palace except for official functions.”

His words hit harder than I’d like to admit. Since stepping in to help with royal responsibilities, my life has become a carefully scheduled series of meetings and appearances. The weight of responsibility leaves little room for anything else.

“Look,” he goes on. “Think of it this way. A matchmaker is essentially screening candidates for you. Saving you time. She’s doing the preliminary work so you don’t have to suffer through dozens of awkward dates with incompatible women.”

I run the towel over my hair, considering his words. “I guess.”

“Plus,” Guy adds with a smirk, “if she’s as pretty as you’re trying not to admit, seeing her for follow-up meetings won’t be such a hardship.”

I throw my wet towel at him, which he easily catches. “I never said she was pretty.”

“You didn’t have to. Your defensive tone said it for you.” He shakes his head. “I still don’t get why you’re being so ornery when it comes to this.”

I look away, because I’m not sure either.

What I suspect is that it is all happening too fast. I never expected to settle down this young, just as I didn’t expect to inherit so much responsibility this early.

While I think I do a good job of faking confidence, sometimes I feel desperately out of control.

And a wife? Children?

What if I cannot be the man they need me to be? Just as I might not be able to one day be the king my country needs?

There it is, the real fear, tucked away behind all my combativeness.

It’s not one I wish to share, though. I need to be strong — for my mother, for my country.

A real prince is stoic, in charge, never quaking in fear.

If people saw how often I doubt myself, they would doubt me, and I cannot — will not — let my people down.

So, I need to postpone marriage for a while longer, until I am ready. When that will be, I do not know yet. I only know that I am not yet the man who can handle a family. One day, yes…

But not today.