Page 8 of The Most Unsuitable Prince (Another Arranged Marriage #8)

I can’t do it. I just can’t do this . That was all Rupert could think as he listened to his intended spouse repeating vows intoned by Harry, every word digging like an ice pick into his skull.

It wasn’t that Winter didn’t have a pleasant voice – it was surprisingly rich and full coming from the much smaller man.

But every word Winter said had carried – people could hear them - and by the time Winter promised to be faithful to him and true to their marriage, Rupert wished with everything he was for the ceiling to fall down or for someone to yell fire.

Anything to stop the farce he was playing an active part in.

It didn’t help that Rupert’s robe was choking him around his neck, and he didn’t dare move much at all in case his shoulders exploded out of the material. They likely would have done so if it hadn’t been for the fact that the garment had been so meticulously sewn.

Rupert was a man on the edge, feeling his life crumbling into ruin as he repeated the words Harry prompted him to say.

Conscious of his father watching his every move, Rupert knew he had no choice.

He mentally patted himself on the back as he repeated that he would be faithful to his husband with only the slightest hesitation.

It's not like he could stop the carnival he’d put in motion. Rupert had absolutely no choice. He knew it. Winter probably knew it, and his father definitely did. Rupert made a vow then and there that if he ever found out who it was that wrote those damn vows, he was going to have them fired.

What that person had done, whether intentionally or not, was ensure that Rupert had no choice but to discuss intimate matters with his husband whom he’d had no intention of talking to beyond what was necessary.

But if I want my life to go back to normal after this farce, that conversation has to be had, before he took off for his next set of social engagements.

Rupert was not used to doing without his pleasures, and he wasn’t about to start purely and simply because somebody stuck a peacock in his path and demanded they get married.

All right, so it had been Rupert doing all the demanding.

In fairness, Winter had nothing to do with that decision at all.

Rupert had picked the man out of a crowd in a fit of pique, and now he was stuck with him.

But Winter had been looking right at him when he said his vows.

It was as if Rupert could feel that man’s eyes on his chin.

There was nothing demure about his approach, no fear or even respect.

Just a man repeating his vows in a voice loud enough for the kitchen staff to hear.

Bedazzled and bejeweled – he even had studs in his ears – Rupert wanted to take his new husband’s confidence and seriously muss him up.

When Harry finally said, “I hereby declare the Crown Prince and Crown Prince Consort as husbands forever more. You may now gently embrace your husband,” Rupert could see the scene in his mind’s eye – smashing Winter to his chest and either wringing his neck, or kissing him until Winter didn’t know what way was up anymore. And then I’d still wring his neck.

But of course he couldn’t, not in front of his father.

Instead, Rupert simply leaned over, catching a whiff of Winter’s spicy scent as he air-kissed on either side of the man’s face.

That’s as close as I’m ever getting to you , Rupert decided as he straightened again, still holding Winter’s hand as they turned to face the crowd.

Rupert’s mind wouldn’t stop racing. He was fuming.

He had pledged to be faithful in front of over a hundred people.

And now his only way of reclaiming his original life was to have a genuine conversation with the man who was happily standing beside him, waving and smiling at people Rupert didn’t even realize Winter knew.

His husband was unusually friendly. In fact…

what has Winter been doing while I’ve been off hunting?

That was a question for another day. As was expected of him, Rupert took his husband over to his father and bowed low, Winter mimicking his movement gracefully beside him. “Father, may I present to you my husband, Crown Prince Consort Winter.”

His father was smiling. Rupert couldn’t ignore the signs of illness around his eyes and his mouth, the pale pallor of his skin, but his father seemed genuinely pleased.

“I am so proud of you both,” he said slowly.

“You have truly made this old man very happy, and I hope that the two of you will be very happy together in the years to come.”

To Rupert’s surprise, Winter leaned over, air-kissing on either side of the king’s head.

“I truly appreciate the robe, Your Majesty,” he said, and Rupert would swear he could hear affection in his husband’s tone.

“This beautiful garment has a decided festive feel, which will be useful with the reception still to come.”

“You’re very welcome, Winter, although I will not be able to attend your festivities.

I was looking forward to seeing you both enjoy your first dance together, but I am sure there will be a dozen tongues who will tell me about it in the morning.

Rupert is a masterful dancer.” The king included Rupert in his smile, and Rupert knew, no matter how he might feel about the situation, he’d be sharing a first dance with his new husband – even if it was just to appease the gossips.

“Despite my absence, know I am with you in spirit. I genuinely welcome you into the family, Winter. Rupert has made an excellent choice in his spouse, and you’ve certainly made this old heart feel young again, even if it is just for five minutes.”

Rupert could not believe his ears. His father was proud – of him! Not only that, but it sounded as though his father, the king, had ordered the bright robe for Winter. What the hell has been going on when I’m not here?

But Rupert didn’t have a chance to ask, as Harry was there at his elbow, coughing beside him in that annoying way that people did when they could just speak up.

“If you’d like to follow me, Your Highnesses, we’ll go through to the reception and the esteemed guests can follow us.”

Go through to the reception? Rupert desperately wanted to escape – run out to the stables, tear off his robe as he demanded his horse saddled for him immediately, before riding off into blissful oblivion.

The button holding the top of his collar closed was digging into his throat, and no matter how much Rupert tried to surreptitiously twitch or wiggle, he could not get the tight material to ease around his skin.

What was worse was that Winter had a very firm hold on his hand as they made their way back down the aisle. Without making a big deal about it, Rupert had to stay tethered to his husband, who was smiling and waving at people who all called out their congratulations.

Is Winter truly enjoying all this? Rupert felt a sudden shaft of fear.

Who the hell have I married? What if he’s a complete and utter simpleton?

Determined to find out – and yes, it wasn’t lost on Rupert that he probably should’ve done that before the ceremony – he walked like a puppet, down the aisle, through the large doors, across the hallway, and into the grand dining hall, his new husband matching his every step.

Rupert had to admit his father had done a lovely job.

The decorations and the seating were all designed to give the air of a spring celebration, with white flowers strung in garlands everywhere, their centers dusted with gold.

The chairs were ones that Rupert preferred, sturdy wood with cushions of the rich red and blacks, which were the Simigile royal family’s national colors, and the staff had pulled out the finest china to form the place settings for the numerous guests who would be seated according to their societal family rank.

The royal table was just as beautifully decorated, with a rich table runner in embroidered gold. Rupert’s lips tightened at the initials that were featured in front of his and Winter’s place settings. His R was taller, but Winter’s W was wider, making it look more prominent.

“Hasn’t your father done such a beautiful job?” Winter said brightly, smiling his thanks at the footman who held out his chair, before taking his seat. “So much work and planning must’ve gone into this. A sign your father cares for you deeply.”

“My father has never stinted on social occasions.” Rupert sat down, still feeling unsettled.

He felt a bit better when Tristan took his seat to his left, noticing a man who bore a faint resemblance to his husband taking the seat to Winter’s right.

August. Rupert remembered Tristan mentioning Winter was going to be supported by his brother for the ceremony.

Waiting for everyone else to be seated, Rupert felt he probably should say something to his new husband.

He just wasn’t sure what he could say. It’s not like he knew the man, and he was still stubborn enough to believe he didn’t want to get to know him.

Winter was the sign of changes he didn’t want or need.

But there were social obligations Rupert was all too aware of. “Did you have a pleasant trip to Simigile? I understand we’re a few days ride from Martingale, is that correct?” See, at least I know where you’re from.

Winter’s smile was wide and warm. “More like a four-day ride on a fast horse. However, my staff and I didn’t travel from Martingale. We followed you from Monce, with a brief stop off to visit Prince Lewis of Ravenclaw. Just imagine, we were probably only two days behind you the whole way here.”

Two days? That means you’ve been here since… But Winter hadn’t finished.