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T eryn Alante, Crown Prince of Menah, tried his best not to scowl at his fiancée. It was a difficult task considering the woman he’d been engaged to for three years was publicly courting eight other men before his very eyes. It was under the guise of accord with neighboring kingdoms, but Teryn knew what was truly happening, as did everyone around him.

Princess Mareleau was keeping her options open.

Not that he blamed her. And not that he didn’t wish he could do the same. The Princess of Selay was beautiful, but he felt not an ounce of affection for her. How could he when they’d hardly exchanged more than a few letters over the years? Her first letter to him had been uncomfortably ardent while the rest were icy enough to assure Teryn they held each other in the same unfeeling regard.

He stared at Mareleau standing stone-faced upon the balcony two floors up, watching some northern prince spout poetry from the garden courtyard below. Her expression looked more appropriate for someone attending an execution than a Beltane festival. Teryn was grateful his scowl could at least be blamed on the sun beginning its descent behind Verlot Palace—home of his betrothed.

The princess’ long hair shone a silvery blonde in the waning sunlight, adorned with pearls and lace flowers, while her dress was a confection of silvery blue brocade trimmed in white fur. Her skirts were so wide, they nearly spanned the length of the balcony floor. Her parents, King Verdian and Queen Helena of Selay, stood just behind, looking equally as ostentatious. Although, come to think of it, pompous was probably a better word. The king wore a powdered wig and an overly ruffled lace shirt beneath his crimson jacket, while the queen bore skirts that were twice as wide as her daughter’s, her graying brown hair assembled in an enormously tall updo. Selay was known to be a fashionable kingdom, and if that meant ridiculous clothing ensembles and a hefty dose of snobbery, he could see why.

Teryn gritted his teeth as the prince continued to serenade his fiancée. He was fully aware that his glower was growing deeper by the moment. He’d once hoped his engagement would be dissolved before it could come to fruition, but that was before he knew how badly his kingdom needed the marriage. Back then, he would have felt only relief at seeing his fiancée entertain another suitor, but now it gave him no small amount of anxiety.

One of nine. That was all Teryn was to Mareleau now.

When he’d been invited to Verlot Palace for the Beltane festival, he’d assumed it was to solidify plans for his and the princess’ upcoming nuptials. Ever since their betrothal was arranged by their parents three years ago, the plan had been for the two to marry in 171 Year of the Hound, which it was now. So he was quite surprised when he arrived at the palace and found he was one of nine men who held the same marital notions as he. What followed was a week of dinner and dancing—occasions the princess was mind-bogglingly absent from for the most part—and now culminated in a spectacle called the Heart’s Hunt. The nine princes would read the princess poetry from under the garden balcony like some idiotic storybook hero. Afterward, Mareleau would select her three champions whom she’d then send on a scavenger hunt. He who returned with her requested prize would win her heart. It made sense for Beltane, he supposed. As for his pride…

“This is humiliating,” he muttered under his breath.

His half brother, Larylis, leaned in and whispered, “I told you she was cruel.”

Teryn nodded with a shrug. Larylis had warned him. Several times. And if anyone knew the princess’ true nature, it would be Larylis. His brother had met her a time or two when he’d lived as a ward to Lord Ulrich, Mareleau’s uncle.

Teryn’s father stood at his other side, posture tense. “Grin and bear it,” he said, demonstrating the feat himself. His grin, however, looked more like a snarl.

Teryn knew his father’s humiliation must be equal to his own. Mareleau’s public defiance of her engagement to Teryn wasn’t just a slight on Teryn’s behalf. It was a direct affront to his father, King Arlous of Menah. If their kingdom had been in better financial standing, the rulers of Selay would never so blatantly insult an ally, especially not in such a public manner. Wars had been started over far less. Either Mareleau’s parents were well aware of Menah’s state of financial ruin, or King Arlous’ sinful reputation had made the match between Teryn and Mareleau unsuitable in her parents’ eyes.

Another thing he couldn’t blame them for.

His father had made a mess of his kingdom, all in the name of love. The thought alone made Teryn’s blood boil. He respected his father as king, but he didn’t think he would ever forgive him for trying to replace his mother—Queen Bethaeny—with the king’s mistress. It nearly resulted in war with the queen’s home country, a dispute that could only be settled by taking out a hefty loan from the Bank of Cartha to make amends. In the end, Teryn’s mother kept her crown and a good portion of his father’s finances, not to mention a newly built palace of her own. Teryn applauded her for it, for she had every right to defend her place as queen. But after the attempted-divorce scandal and a year of bad crops, his kingdom now stood on the brink of bankruptcy.

Leaving Teryn to pick up all the pieces.

He needed this marriage alliance. To do that, he had to stoop so low as to become a poet.

Larylis must have sensed Teryn’s unease, for he grasped him by his shoulder. “You can do this. You only have to read it once.”

His only answer was a tightening of his jaw. Why did this farce have to be public? The audience consisted of more than just the nine princes and their families. While the royal guests stood around the courtyard beneath the balcony, there were leagues upon leagues of festival spectators filling the lawn behind them.

The northern prince finished his lengthy poem with a smug grin. Teryn forced himself to bring his hands together in applause along with the rest of the audience, but the gesture felt more violent than friendly. The young man returned to the edge of the courtyard, and the Master of Ceremonies took his place. “Thank you, Prince Nadris of Charsony. Next, please welcome Prince Teryn Alante, son of King Arlous and Queen Bethaeny Alante of the Kingdom of Menah.”

The blood left Teryn’s face at the sound of his name. He stood frozen for a moment, the loud hammering of his heart drowned out by the new wave of applause. His brother gave his shoulder another encouraging squeeze and his father leaned in close. “Just woo the spoiled brat,” he whispered.

His father’s voice steadied his nerves and reminded him what was at stake. If Teryn didn’t secure a favorable marriage with a wealthy kingdom, he’d have no crown to inherit. The Bank of Cartha had already sent pirates to sabotage Menah’s trade routes in warning. Next, they could send war.

With a deep breath, Teryn strolled to the center of the courtyard and lifted his face to the balcony. The sun was now fully behind the palace, casting the princess and her parents in shadow. Good. If he couldn’t see her, he could pretend she was someone else. Someone he loved. Someone who deserved the words he’d agonized over for the last week.

He tilted his lips in a crooked grin and relayed the poem with a ridiculous flourish of his hand. He knew he was about to make a complete ass of himself. But it seemed only an ass had a chance at wooing his bride.

“Oh, what beauty shines from my love fair!

'Tis greater and beyond any to compare,

Her eyes, they glisten like the sea so blue,

She is as sweet as my love is true,

Her lips are rosebuds, her skin like a dove,

Her smile is what my dreams are made of,

Her voice rings like bells so sweet,

I ask one thing; will you be my queen?”

It was over both too soon and not soon enough. His poem wasn’t nearly as long as Prince Nadris’ sonnet, but it was better. Wasn’t it? Or had he just royally screwed up? He blinked at the backlit balcony, now wishing he could see the princess’ face. A small part of him hoped she’d hate his poem. Hoped his words were enough to sever the tie he’d never wanted.

But a greater part of him knew he needed her to love it. To love him. To choose him and his bankrupt, scandal-ridden kingdom over all the others there today.

Polite applause erupted behind him, snapping him back to attention. Keeping his head held high, he returned to his brother and father while the Master of Ceremonies announced the next prince.

Teryn’s stomach turned as he caught a glimpse of the princess. He hoped he’d find her eyes on him, hoped he’d find some sign of her favor. But she seemed as unmoved as ever.

He leaned toward Larylis. “She hated it, didn’t she?”

Brow furrowed, his brother hesitated before answering. “No, I don’t think she did.”

“Seriously?”

Larylis met his eyes then, and there was something pained about his expression. “She smiled.”

Teryn tilted his head back in surprise. “She did?” He hadn’t seen her smile at anyone yet.

His brother’s throat bobbed. Once. Twice. The pained look still heavy on his face. Then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone, replaced with a jovial grin. Larylis slapped Teryn on the back. “Yes, brother, she smiled. It seems you stand a chance with the Thorn Princess after all.”

Teryn snorted at the nickname. Thorn Princess. A woman known for her prickly demeanor and even pricklier heart.

A woman who would—hopefully—soon become his bride.