Page 56 of His Royal Matchmaker

I stare at him, at his careful, professional expression that doesn’t quite hide his concern. “No. Don’t reschedule.”

I loosen my tie and feel my shoulders slump. Emily would be disappointed. She put so much effort into finding these matches, creating detailed profiles, arranging perfect dates. And here I am, canceling them without a second thought.

But that’s the point, isn’t it? I never wanted this matchmaking business to succeed. I only agreed to it to get my mother off my back, to prove that I couldn’t be matched, that I wasn’t ready to settle down with some princess or duchess who only wanted the crown. IwantedEmily to fail.

Except now that she has — now that she’s given up on me and walked away — the victory feels hollow.

Maurice is still hovering at the door. Strange. I thought he had already left. Am I starting to lose my mind, or is it lack of sleep muddying up my mental facilities?

“Yes?” I ask him.

“The queen is wondering when you will be able to join her for tea. She has texted you…”

“Tell her I’m busy,” I reply, looking away.

“She was quite insistent, sir. She said, and I quote, ‘Tell my son if he doesn’t come to tea, I will come to him, and no one wants that.’”

I almost smile at that. Almost.

“Fine. Tell her I’ll be there at four.”

The hours pass in a blur of work and more work. I skip lunch, surviving on coffee instead. By four o’clock, my head is pounding and my stomach is empty, but I make my way to my mother’s private sitting room because I know better than to stand her up. Plus I could do with a biscuit or two.

She sits with her back ramrod straight, reading something on her phone. When I enter, she looks up and frowns.

“You look terrible,” she says by way of greeting.

“Thank you, Mother. Always a pleasure to see you too.” I bend to kiss her cheek, and she catches my face between her hands, examining me with critical eyes.

“When was the last time you slept a full night? Or ate a proper meal?”

I shrug and take the seat across from her. “I’ve been busy.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.” She pours tea into delicate porcelain cups, adding two sugars to mine the way I like it. “Everyone in the palace is talking about how Prince Hugo has locked himself away, working all hours, canceling appointments, avoiding his friends.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone. I’m doing my job.”

“Your job is to take care of yourself as well as your country.” She hands me my cup, and I notice the slight tremor in her hands, the new wrinkles around her eyes. “I didn’t push you to find a match so you could work yourself into the ground.”

I take a sip of tea to avoid answering.

“About Emily…” she starts.

The tea burns my tongue. “Emily? What about her? She went back to Los Angeles.” I set my cup down with a clink. “The matchmaking didn’t work out.”

“Yes, I know.” She sighs. “But why? Those women were all perfectly suitable.”

I laugh, a short, bitter sound. “Suitable. What a word.”

My mother waits, her eyes never leaving my face. She has always been patient, knows when to let silence do the work for her. It’s a skill I’ve never mastered.

“Fine,” I say finally. “You want the truth? I never intended to find a match. I agreed to the whole thing to get you off my back, to prove it wouldn’t work. I thought if I went through the motions, eventually you and Emily would give up.”

I expect her to be angry. To lecture me about responsibility and duty and the importance of securing the royal line. Instead, she looks sad, which is somehow worse.

“Oh, Hugo,” she sighs. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve known you your entire life. Did you really believe I couldn’t see through your little game?”

“Then why did you push it?” I ask, confusion replacing defensiveness.

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