“How lovely.” I keep my expression pleasant while mentally crossing her off my list. “And, Princess Henriette? What are your interests?”
The strawberry-blonde straightens in her chair and clears her throat. “I’m passionate about horses, Your Highness. My family breeds them, and I’ve won several dressage championships. I also trained with the Olympic team in Vienna last summer, and I speak eight languages fluently, nine if you count my conversational Mandarin.”
“Impressive.” I nod and take another sip of my cold coffee while she continues listing accomplishments I didn’t ask about, like this is a job interview.
Princess Cornelia catches my eye from across the table and gives me a look that says,This is exhausting, isn’t it?before returning her attention to her croissant. She’s barely spoken all morning, only sat there, looking bored and vaguely amused by the entire spectacle.
I find her indifference oddly refreshing.
Princess Katarina hasn’t said much either, but when our eyes meet, I notice something different in her expression. Not competition or calculation or desperation. A quiet understanding lingers, like sheknows exactly how I feel and doesn’t judge me for it. She gives me a small nod and returns to her tea.
“Your Highness?”
I blink and find Princess Tatiana watching me with sharp gray eyes. A small smile plays at her red lips. She’s been quiet through most of the breakfast, observing rather than competing for attention, and that alone sets her apart from the others.
“Forgive me,” I say. “Lost in thought.”
“I was asking about your thoughts on the Mediterranean trade alliance.” She tilts her head slightly. “But perhaps that’s too dull of a topic for breakfast.”
“Not at all.” I straighten in my chair and actually pay attention for the first time this morning. “The alliance has potential, but the fishing rights dispute needs resolution before any real progress can happen. I’m currently working on that.”
Her smile reaches her eyes, which is more than I can say for most of the ones I’ve received today. “Exactly what I was thinking. The current framework prioritizes historical claims over economic viability, and it’s shortsighted. The smaller nations end up squeezed out while France and Italy divide the spoils. There has to be a solution to this mess.”
I study her for a moment because she’s different from the others. She’s beautiful in that polished way with her high cheekbones and perfect posture. She’s dressed in cream silk, and her jewelry is understated but clearly expensive. But it’s her eyes that catch my attention because there’s intelligence there, along with something else—calculation. She’s not reciting facts to impress me, but she’s thought this conversation through.
“You’ve done your research,” I offer politely.
“I always do.” She sips her tea and holds my gaze over the rim of her cup. “I find it’s the only way to have arealconversation. Most people want to hear themselves talk.”
Several of the women tense up.
“I almost prefer it that way,” I tell her. “There’s a lot to be heard if you listen.”
My mother is practically glowing from across the table, and I can almost hear her mentally drafting the engagement announcement. Tatiana would make sense on paper because she’s well-connected andclearly capable of navigating palace politics. Our families have been circling an alliance for years. She speaks five languages and understands duty and wouldn’t embarrass me at state dinners. Maybe, if I tried hard enough, I could make it work. But I don’t want to.
Then a server reaches past her to refill her water glass, and his sleeve brushes her arm.
The change in her is instant and almost invisible. Her gracious smile stays fixed in place, but I catch the slight shift in her expression. I’ve spent my life reading people, and her eyes go icy cold for a fraction of a second. Disgust flashes across her face before she smooths it away. With her napkin, she wipes where he touched her. The movement is so subtle that most people would miss it entirely.
I don’t.
“Clumsy,” she mutters while still smiling, and the server’s face goes red as he backs away with a stammered apology.
Part of me wants to address the disrespect immediately, but instead, I file that moment away. There is something about her I don’t trust. Sure, she may be able to hold intelligent conversations, but she wears a mask as practiced as mine.
“Louis.” My father’s voice cuts across the table, and I turn to find him folding his newspaper. He doesn’t look at me directly, but I can feel the weight of his attention like a hand on my shoulder. “A word after breakfast.”
“Of course, Father.”
The women exchange glances, trying to read the dynamics they witnessed. My mother’s smile tightens. The pleasantries continue for another excruciating hour, and all I can think about is what my father will say. I’m sure it will be another lecture about duty and legacy and the importance of finding a queen. I hold back the urge to roll my eyes.
When the meal finally ends, the women rise, curtsy, and leave the room in a cloud of perfume and rustling silk. My mother follows them to oversee the activities that have been planned for the morning. She’s also judging them, searching for her replacement.
Because of their loyalty to the Crown, my parents will choose the perfect queen for the country. The perfect queen for me isn’t up for discussion.
My father and I are eventually the only two people in the breakfasthall. He doesn’t speak immediately. He sets his newspaper aside and looks at me with eyes that have always seen too much.
“Tatiana seems promising,” he offers.
