Page 16 of His Royal Matchmaker

“The prince prefers natural light and minimalist design,” the architect explains to her team, spreading blueprints across the table. “We’ll be removing the heavy drapes and ornate moldings installed during the previous reign.”

I feel my neck grow warm at having these preferences discussed in front of Emily. It’s silly, really — what do curtains and crown molding have to do with matchmaking? But something about her knowing these intimate details of my living space feels like an invasion.

She makes a note. Just one quick scribble, but I find myself wondering what it says. “Likes minimalism, hates tradition”? “Too modern for a historical royal”? “Would clash with a partner who enjoys baroque design”?

By noon, when we break for a quick lunch in my office (a salad for her, a sandwich for me, both of us eating at my desk while reviewing reports), I can no longer contain my frustration.

“You’re unusually quiet for someone who’s supposed to be getting to know me,” I say, setting down my pen with more force than necessary.

Emily looks up, surprise briefly crossing her face before it settles into a small smile. “Am I? I thought I was being respectful of your work environment.”

“That’s not—” I stop, regrouping. “How are you supposed to gather information if you don’t ask questions?”

She takes a bite of salad, chews thoughtfully. “Who says I’m not gathering information?”

“You’ve barely spoken three sentences all morning.”

“And yet I’ve learned quite a bit.” She sets her fork down and looks directly at me, those blue eyes suddenly piercing. “You twist your ring when you’re making difficult decisions. You’re patient with your older advisors but get visibly tense when the younger ones take too long to make their points. You care deeply about education funding but were distracted during discussions about palace renovations — except when they mentioned your private spaces, which made you uncomfortable.”

I stare at her, unsettled by the accuracy of her observations.

“You asked five follow-up questions about the drought relief measures,” she continues. “Which tells me you care about the welfare of your citizens. And you take your coffee black but add a tiny spoonful of sugar when you think no one is watching.” She smiles at my expression. “I notice things, Your Highness. That’s my job.”

I clear my throat, suddenly feeling exposed. “I see.”

“Besides,” she adds, her tone lightening, “you made it very clear that you weren’t thrilled about sharing personal details with a matchmaker. I was respecting your boundaries.”

A warmth creeps up my neck, an uncomfortable heat that I recognize as embarrassment. “I may have been… somewhat resistant.”

“Somewhat?” She raises an eyebrow.

I sigh, conceding the point. “I apologize if I’ve been… difficult.”

“Not difficult. Just contradictory.” She puts down her salad fork and leans forward slightly. “You don’t want to share personal information, but you’re annoyed when I don’t ask personalquestions. You resent my presence, but you’re bothered when I try to be unobtrusive.”

Her directness catches me off guard. Most people tiptoe around royalty, cushioning their critiques in layers of deference and formality. Emily, it seems, is not most people.

“I’m not used to being… observed,” I admit.

“Aren’t you constantly observed? You’re the prince.”

“That’s different. People observe the role, the crown, the institution, what I’m supposed to be doing… when I’m not doing those things. Not…me.” I’m surprised by my own honesty.

Something softens in her expression. “If it helps, I’m not just watching for flaws or quirks to put in some file. I’m trying to understand who you are beneath the title so I can find someone who will appreciate that person.”

For a moment, we just look at each other across my desk, and I have the strange sensation that she can see parts of me that I’ve kept carefully hidden my entire life. It’s unsettling and oddly relieving at the same time.

The moment breaks when my secretary knocks, reminding me of my next appointment.

“We should go,” I say, standing and straightening my jacket.

Emily nods and rises as well. “For what it’s worth, Your Highness, I think you’re doing just fine with me shadowing you.”

“Please, call me Hugo,” I say impulsively. “At least when we’re not in official meetings. ‘Your Highness’ creates exactly the distance I was just complaining about.”

She stares at me. “That’s quite the offer… Are you going to call me Emily, then?”

I hesitate, having only kept to formalities in order to annoy her. “I suppose so,” I tease.

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