By the time Garrin reached the Architects’ chambers, he’d composed a list of new qualities to add to his princess. None were conventional, but then, neither was his plan. He was sure there would be a great deal of convincing to be done, but there had to be some benefit to being a prince. What were the Architects going to do? Refuse his request? Then he would simply order them.
He’d never ordered anyone to do anything before, but he was sure he could.
There was no servant to announce his arrival outside the chamber, so Garrin knocked and strode in without a declaration of his presence. He found five men inside, all dressed in the formal scarlet robes the Architects wore to distinguish themselves from the other members of the court. They jumped to attention as he entered, staring openly before they realized they were staring and scrambled to look busy.
“Your Highness,” one of them stammered, bowing awkwardly. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Garrin clasped his hands behind his back and offered the man a small smile. “Master Aremus. I’ve come to check on the progress of the princess.”
Aremus, the lead Architect and the only one whose name Garrin was sure of, spread his hands wide to indicate the piles of paper spread over every tabletop. “We are just going over the details now, sire. Everything will be ready in plenty of time.”
“Wonderful,” Garrin said. “Then I hope it will not inconvenience you to add a few more qualities.”
Aremus hesitated. “Certainly, sire, if you wish to…”
“I do.” Garrin nodded to one of the other Architects, who hastened to find a piece of paper and a quill.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Aremus said.
Garrin smiled. “I would like the princess to understand all Fyrestian court procedures, laws, and politics, as well as those of Eiliad and Thiyaan. Also a complete understanding of the histories and languages of all three countries, as well as anything a ruler might need to know about economics, trade, culture, and diplomacy.”
“But…” Aremus fumbled when Garrin’s smile hardened, but he pressed on meekly. “Why, Your Highness?”
“Fyrestian procedures are the most important, of course,” Garrin said. “But surely a knowledge of our neighboring kingdoms would be useful as well?”
“Yes, sire, but… but for a king or an advisor. What need does a princess have for such knowledge?”
“I will have no patience for explaining things to her,” Garrin said, waving a dismissive hand. “If she understands the government, will she not be a more desirable queen?”
“Is understanding desirable in a woman?” one of the Architects said. “The queen does not need such useless traits.”
Another nodded, emboldened by his companions. “Knowledge is dangerous, Your Highness, so we have learned to purge it from our queens. Intellect is the burden of man. A princess could not handle it.”
“Then give her the ability to handle it,” Garrin said, his voice low but strong. “Isn’t that your job?”
“Yes, sire, but—”
“She will have the qualities I desire. And she will have them by tonight.”
Aremus paled. “My Prince, surely this could wait until after the betrothal…”
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“Tonight.”
For a moment Garrin thought the Architect would argue, but he simply cleared his throat and bowed. “Of course, Your Highness.”
“Oh, and change her hair color.”
“Her—her hair color?”
“Yes.” Garrin was already turning for the door, but he paused to meet Aremus’s eyes. “Blonde, black, anything but auburn.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Aremus bowed again, and Garrin inclined his head in acknowledgement and hurried out of the room. Alone in the privacy of the hallway, he let out a long breath that felt a little shaky around the edges. He’d never pushed so hard to get his way before, and an inkling of pride threaded its way through what was left of his nerves. Maybe things were not as desperate as they had seemed. If Aremus and the other Architects could add the characteristics he’d requested before the ceremony, he might be free by the end of the year. He wouldn’t officially be king for another four years, but he was expected to use the time between his betrothal and his coronation to learn the finer details of ruling. However, with a princess who already knew every detail there was to learn, no one could blame him for using that time to travel instead. She could handle the few tasks required of him in his absence, and probably better than he would.
And in the meantime, he could search for the other thing lacking from his life in the castle: love. His princess would love him, of course, but it wasn’t true love—not a love he’d earned. Not even a love for him. She would love the prince because she was the princess, and that was that. His personality had nothing to do with it.
Garrin knew little of love besides what he had learned in ballads and poetry, but he knew devotion without choice could hardly be considered love. And that was one thing he was determined to experience at least once in his life. On his travels, he would find actual love, the kind of love that he could earn and return in kind.
And that love, he knew, was not within the castle walls.
“Ah—Your Highness.”
Garrin looked up, though the creaking of armor named the speaker before his eyes could. “Lord Renton,” Garrin said. He pushed away from the wall, straightening his spine and folding his hands behind his back.
The king’s military advisor scowled; to everyone else in the castle, he went by Marshal Renton. Though he no longer served as a field marshal, he insisted on wearing his armor even when there were no formal duties to perform. Garrin had always found the man pompous, and so refused to use his military title—and Renton noticed.
It was difficult to tell whether the scowl on his face was because of Garrin or the dim lighting in the hallway. The coolness in his voice, however, left little doubt. “Is everything well, Your Highness?”
“Of course,” Garrin answered.
Renton’s pale eyes flashed to the door at Garrin’s elbow. “A last-minute visit to the Architects? Are you so eager for a glimpse of your princess that you could not wait until tonight?”
“I had business with Lord Aremus,” Garrin said.
“Business,” Renton repeated. “I certainly hope your business has been concluded in a satisfactory manner.”
Garrin held in a snort. “Yes, thank you. But I must be going. There’s much to do before tonight.”
“Yes,” Renton echoed. “I had wondered what was so important it could keep you from your other duties.”
Other duties? Garrin did his best to keep his expression bland, but when Renton smirked he knew some of his confusion had shown.
“The delegations from the Second and Third kingdoms are due to arrive any moment,” Renton said. “As Crown Prince, you are to welcome them and see them settled into their guest rooms before tonight’s ceremony. But as you have time to consult Aremus on a project which has been finished for some time, I assume you have already made preparations for their arrival.”
“I have made preparations,” Garrin said coolly. “And I was on my way to the Great Hall when you interrupted me. If I am late, my father will know why.”
The threat was empty, and Renton knew it. The smirk stayed lodged on his face as he executed a shallow bow and backed out of Garrin’s way. Determined to keep his irritation hidden, Garrin inclined his head in acknowledgement and swept past him, his footsteps measured and unhurried.
In fact, he had forgotten about the delegations from the other kingdoms—or rather, he’d forgotten that it was his job to welcome them. Whitecliff Castle had hosted several international events during Garrin’s lifetime, but this was the first in which he was to take part as more than an observer. The castle staff had spent weeks cleaning and decorating the guest wing in preparation for the royal families, who would stay with them for several days to celebrate Garrin’s betrothal before returning to their parts of the continent. As Garrin was the oldest of the royal children of the three kingdoms, his would be the first betrothal ceremony—and would therefore be judged the harshest.
So, much as Garrin preferred to retire to his bedchambers for the rest of the afternoon, he instead made his way toward the Great Hall to await the arrival of his guests.