I pinch my lips together. “Indeed.”
The fact I've never actuallybeenin love is quite beside the point.
“Would it be so terrible to marry someone as pretty as Astrid, darling? Sheisa princess, and princesses your age are few and far between,” Mother says.
I blink at her in disbelief. Has she had too much tea this morning, and it’s somehow scrambled her ability to think straight?
“You’re not serious,” I scoff.
My parents share another look.
What is going on?
“Perfectly serious, darling. Penelope Pemberley-Price might be onto something,” my mother declares, and I could fall right off my chair.
“Did you know about this marriage idea before now?” I question, my gaze darting between my parents with what I can only describe as mounting panic.
Father answers in a careful tone, “We’ve discussed it before, son. As your mother points out, you’re almost twenty-eight, after all. Time is a-ticking.”
I lean back in my chair, my brain racing to make senseof this. I’d raised Pemberley-Price’s idea as something for us to laugh at, notconsider.
Have I slipped into a parallel universe in which royal correspondent’s random ideas are taken seriously?
“What doyouthink of marrying Princess Astrid, Frederic?” Mother asks, and both sets of parental eyes watch me closely for my reaction.
“I think it’s an absolutely preposterous idea,” I reply with a note of finality in my voice.
“Darling,” Mother says. Her tone is slightly condescending, if you ask me. “Surely it’s something to very much consider? The match would not only be advantageous to both Elkevik and Ledonia, but Astrid is so well liked among her people.”
It would seem my mother has well and truly drunk Pemberley-Price’s Kool-Aid.
I turn to my father, always the reasonable one. “What do you think, Father?”
“I think Princess Astrid is very sweet and pretty, and you could do a lot worse,” he replies, without really replying.
I blink at them. “Are you saying I should do what this opinionated journalist has decided is a good idea simply because I was caught on camerasmilingat her?”
“Well, to be fair, darling, you don’t smile all that often,” Mother says.
“It’s more of a grimace most of the time,” Father adds helpfully.
I can’t argue with them. I’m not exactly the smiley type. Life is far too serious for smiling. People like Princess Astrid smile continually, and that’s fine for her. She’s a minor royal from a tiny kingdom off the coast of Norway with a population of about ten people. She loves her chickens and herdogs and her Wellington boots. Oh, and dancing in the rain to amuse sick children.
Me? I’m none of those things. Ledonia is considerably larger than Elkevik, and right now, thanks to the possibility of a referendum on the royal family’s very existence, we’re all under threat.
What’s there to smile about, I ask you?
“If nothing else, think of the benefit to our two countries,” Father says, switching into hislet’s be reasonabletone. It’s the tone he often uses with my younger sister, Francesca, but rarely with me.
I don’t need it. I’m always reasonable. I take pride in my reasonableness, in fact.
Father continues. “As you know, Elkevik is in financial straits, thanks to their failed energy deal, and we’re facing rather difficult circumstances ourselves, with this referendum hanging over our heads.”
“But are those any reasons for me to do something as drastic as get married?” I ask.
Why did I come to breakfast this morning? I should have asked for a tray brought to my suite of rooms before going out for a ride, and then none of this would be happening.
“Think of what Lady Diana Spencer did for the British royal family back in the 1980s,” Mother says. “She reinvigorated the entire institution. Breathed fresh life into it.”
