Page 67 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom
I hadn’t even had the chance to talk to him since that morning because she kept forcing us apart. When would I have had the chance to say anything? I mean, we were alone in the sitting room for about thirty-seconds when I told him his parents had arrived, but literally all I’d had time to say was: ‘Your parents are here.’ Then we’d both hightailed it out to the courtyard to meet them.
“Do you know what I saw before Brendon left to find you last night?”
No, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.
“Domestic bliss,” she said when I remained quiet. “Franny and Brendon have grown close over the past week, spending all their time together, as a new couple should.”
Hearing their names combined like that twisted my stomach into a knot. Even though I knew the person Franny had been with this week was Kit, not Brendon, the words conjured an image ofhimlaughing with her, reading books together, pushing her hair behind her ear. His fingers brushing against her cheek, gentle and teasing. I looked around the hall furtively for some potted plant to purge my distress.
“And yet, five minutes together after his night with you, they can hardly look at each other.”
She was right that it was my fault, even if she was on the wrong track. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t kidnapped Brendon and set things into motion. I doubted it would be the lovey-dovey picture she’d described. I hadn’t necessarily ruined their relationship—that ship had sunk long before it’d ever left the dock. Instead, what I’d done had somehow raised everyone else’s hopes with a false fantasy, then dashed them when reality returned.
I hadn’t said a word during the entire interrogation, too wrapped up in my own thoughts. Mother sighed and said, “I think it’s best if you distance yourself from Brendon until the wedding. This spell is too important for our kingdom. We can’t risk anything going wrong.”
Too late for that.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dinner was both intimate and incredibly awkward and distant. Our fathers laughed about old times that I hadn’t even known they’d shared, while our mothers maintained a more solemn politeness.
Franny and Brendon sat at the head of the table while Kit and I had been foisted off to the foot, excluded from most of the conversation. Brendon remained in the suit of armor.
His mother watched him struggle to eat for about two minutes before telling him, “Son, we’re close enough to the wedding, it’s fine if you take it off.”
Brendon sighed in relief as he removed the helmet. My mother politely looked away, continuing to respect the fake tradition, but Father looked his fill. It wasn’t Brendon’s best showing—sweat stuck his hair to his forehead, turning the red a darker auburn, and his flushed cheeks drowned out some of his freckles.
“Been meaning to ask about that, Greg,” Father said as he washed down a bite with a hearty gulp of wine. “I don’t remember you wearing a get-up like that when you married Clarissa.”
“Ah, that’s because I was the one marrying in,” he replied with a grin. “The tradition is only for the grooms of Bane, and that generation was all girls.”
I snorted at this convenient explanation, then had to cover it by pretending to cough and take a sip of water to clear my throat. “What are the parameters of this tradition?”
Mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s impolite to interrogate people about their culture, Frederick.”
I gave her my best innocent look and replied, “I’m trying to get to know my future in-laws. After all, when Franny and Brendon—”have kids. The words died in my throat and my stomach revolted, tossing around what little I’d managed to eat of dinner. I swallowed bile and chugged the glass of water, gesturing for an attendant to help me fill it up again.
“The tradition began in my great-great-great grandfather’s time,” Clarissa explained, her expression calm and matter-of-fact, but something about the tilt of her eyes hinted at mischief. Brendon sometimes looked like that right before he did something that made me blush and lose my train of thought. “When he switched places with his older brother to marry my great-great-great grandmother.”
Brendon choked on his food and Franny smacked him on the back hard enough to rattle the armor.
Kit froze with her fork halfway to her mouth, eyes wide as she looked at the queen. She had already moved onto a second helping of everything. I wondered if she normally had that large of an appetite, or if she was making up for the days that she’d struggled to eat while impersonating Brendon.
“Why did they need to switch places?” I asked.
“Well, since my great-great-great uncle was the oldest, he was set to inherit the throne. My great-great-great-great grandfather wanted the best for his daughter, so chose to marry her to the heir, even though she and my great-great-great grandfather had already fallen in love prior to the engagement.”
“And did your great-great …” One more? Two more? I had no idea how she kept track of all those greats. Maybe it was easier since it was her family tree. “Uncle agree to the switch?”
“Yes, actually. He had little choice in the engagement, but he knew how his brother and fiancée felt about each other. They created the scheme together. The one person they forgot to include was the bride, who had no idea as she walked down the aisle that she was about to marry the love of her life.” Clarissa’s gaze grew distant, and she swirled her wine without drinking it. “She cried the whole time.”
“That’s terrible,” Franny murmured, her eyes flitting down to me, then back to Clarissa. “Then what happened?”
Clarissa’s lips spread in a contented smile. “Unable to withstand his bride’s tears, my great-great-great grandfather removed the helmet.Once she saw it was him, not his brother, waiting for her, she ran into his arms. They were married and lived happily ever after.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, because that ending made no fucking sense. “What about her father?”
Clarissa shrugged delicately. “How was he going to keep opposing the marriage after such a display?” Finished with her story, she tucked into her meal, chewing enthusiastically.
