Page 1 of Her Royal Houseguest

Prologue

Prince Deva marched down the palace halls, his face carefully blanked, but his eyes—damnation, he couldn’t control the fury that burned in his dark eyes.

Damn palace politics. Damned life with a mother who’d died when he was three. As a prince without a mother, he had no respected place in the royal harem. As a man who made his own destiny, he had failed to overcome his meagre status.

Again.

He made it to the distant corner of the Grand Palace where the not-so-important princes lived. He was controlled as he crossed the threshold but once the door set quietly in its place, he descended upon a thick cushion and beat it until it was no more than torn threads and fluff.

‘I take it you heard the news,’ a voice drawled from Deva’s couch.

He spun around, his breath heaving and his hands aching, yet still with enough strength to defend himself.

It wasn’t necessary. There, stretched out along the silk cushions of his furniture, was Deva’s half-brother Vaji, his saffron robes tied casually and his bare feet resting on a stack of papers.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to console you. You didn’t want her anyway. She has a shrill voice and a mean temper. Kicks puppies and small children.’

Deva frowned as he straightened up onto his knees. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘You shredded my mother’s stitching.’

Deva winced. ‘Oh damn. I’m sorry. I didn’t realise—’

Laughter filled the room. Vaji could fill a place with merriment, even on a day like today.

‘I hated that thing. That’s why I gave it to you, you idiot.’ Vaji leaned back, his expression carefully constructed to appear foolish. ‘So what news, brother?’

Deva ripped another piece of silk. ‘Prince Suriyawong was just named Phonlathep, the Master of Ceremonies.’

Vaji sat up. ‘That pompous ass? But he’s slept through every event since he was eight. How did he…?’ His question trailed away.

They both knew how Prince Sleeps-Through-Everything got that lucrative, prestigious position. Bribes and threats. It didn’t matter that he’d be horrendous at the task, the right subordinates could hide his incompetence.

Deva folded his arms. ‘So, what news, brother?’ he drawled.

‘Hmmm? Oh, just that. Suriyawong’s an idiot—’

‘Monks are not supposed to lie.’

Vaji winced. ‘It’s not a lie. I’ve come to make you feel better.’

Deva didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Deep down, Vaji was the most honest of souls. In his mind, honesty was the one monastic vow that led all the others. In time, Vaji would answer.

‘Khunying Mali won’t marry you. She’s engaged to Luang Thani.’

‘He’s sixty!’ Deva ground his teeth together. Mali’s father would marry his daughter off to an old man rather than see her linked to him. Was his star really that low?

‘He’s well connected and she can manipulate him. She hopes he’ll die soon and leave her his money.’

‘He hasn’t got any money,’ Deva growled, but not everyone knew that. Vaji gave him a sympathetic smile and offered another pillow to destroy.

Deva didn’t take it. Why bother? He’d pinned his hopes of advancement on two distinct pathways. The first had been to become Master of the Ceremonies.