By noon, I’ve rescheduled two afternoon meetings, so I’ll have time to prepare before seeing Addison at five. I take lunch at my desk so I can eat in peace. The sandwich tastes better than usual; the sparkling water is crisp and cold. Even the sunlight streaming through my office windows seems brighter.
There’s a knock on my door.
“Enter,” I say, sitting up straighter.
My father’s secretary appears with that rigid posture that always signals trouble. “Your Royal Highness, the king and queen request your presence in the formal sitting room.”
My appetite vanishes. “When?”
“Immediately, sir.”
I push back from my desk and leave the half-eaten sandwich abandoned. “Did they say what this concerns?”
“No, sir.”
The walk to the sitting room feels like a march to my execution. Each step echoes against the marble floors, and I know my parents only summon me in the middle of the day when something serious is happening. When I push open the door and see them sitting side byside, wearing matching expressions, I know this is about the arrangement.
The room smells like my mother’s jasmine perfume and tea that’s steeped too long. A grandfather clock ticks in the corner, counting down seconds I suddenly want to freeze.
My father doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “Sit down, Louis.”
I lower myself into the chair across from them and cross my ankle over my knee, forcing my posture to stay relaxed even though every muscle in my body is tense.
“The council met this morning without you. They’ve lost confidence in you, and frankly, so have I,” my mother says.
I keep my face neutral even though my pulse is racing.
“We’re trying something different.” My dad’s voice is gentler than my mother’s, but it’s just as serious. “Seven women are traveling to Montclaire as we speak. They’ll stay in the north wing.”
“You’re bringing them here? Why? I can travel.”
“No more of that.” My father stands and moves to the window. “You’ll have meals, activities, and real conversation. No more one-hour meetings, where you dismiss them before the main course arrives.”
“And then?”
He turns to face me. “You’ll choose one to continue courting, one you will propose to, or we’ll choose for you.”
My adrenaline rushes, and I know I can’t outrun this. I knew this day would arrive, but living it is more of a nightmare than I expected.
“I need more time,” I say, and I hate how desperate it sounds.
“You’ve used it all.” My mother rises and crosses to stand beside my father. “The test results we received this morning have shown the cancer has progressed.”
I glance between them. “Get more treatments.”
“No,” my father says. “I’m tired, Louis. I don’t want more treatments, more medicine, more blood work.”
“Please,” I whisper.
He shakes his head and looks away from me. “Starting tomorrow, your official duties are on pause. You need to concentrate on finding a wife. You will be charming and present. And at the end of it, you will make a choice.”
“Or you’ll make it for me.”
“We will,” he says with regret in his tone.
I think about Addison in her cottage, completely unaware that my entire life has shifted beneath my feet.
I have two weeks to pick a wife, and in two weeks, the artist competition will end. If she wins, she’ll become the royal portrait artist, which means she’ll paint my future wife, my wedding, and my children. She’ll be forced to watch from the sidelines while I build a life with someone else.
