Page 68 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom
“But what about the brother? Did he marry anyone? Did he still inherit the throne?”
“This is quite good, Francesca,” Clarissa said to my mother. “I simply must have the recipe for my cook.”
“Of course—”
I looked between them incredulously, wondering how they could change topics so easily when the story was so frustratingly incomplete. It couldn’t just be ‘she was sad, so everyone gave her what she wanted’—otherwise someone would have given in before the whole damn suit-of-armor scheme.
“Let it go,” Kit whispered.
“But—”
She grinned and scraped her second plate clean, letting the noise cover our conversation. “The queen was just making it up as she went. There’s no actual tradition, no star-crossed great-great-great-grandparents.”
I blinked in confusion. Sometime between one blink and the next, my half-full plate had been swapped for Kit’s empty one. “So, she was lying.”
“Well, she had to say something.”
“Butyou’rethe one who claimed it was a tradition. I thought maybe there was some basis of truth to it.”
“Oh, I didn’t come up with that idea,” she said. Before I could ask who did, she added, “Anyway, Clarissa’s a much better bullshitter.”
Which made sense. Diplomacy was basically fancy bullshitting.
“Would you like another helping, sir?” an attendant asked, noticing my empty plate. I glanced at the one Kit had pilfered, already almost gone. She looked up at me with big, pleading brown eyes, apparently too polite to request any more food for herself. Where was sheputtingit all? Probably in those damn muscles.
“Yes, please,” I said. The attendant prepared another plate and set it in front of me. My stomach had settled a bit, so I ate a few bites before surreptitiously pushing it over to Kit.
Except I didn’t have her stealth, so half of the table noticed the maneuver. Brendon’s brow creased and he frowned. My mother looked at me with disapproval, probably thinking I was insulting the cook by not finishing my meal.
Only Father commented on it. His eyes lit up and he chuckled. “What have we here? Getting close to Kit already? Might have a second wedding on our hands, eh, Gregory?”
Kit choked on her mouthful and smacked her chest to help it the rest of the way down. For my part, I used so much energy forcing my expression into a poker face that I couldn’t think of anything to say.
Franny stabbed her meat so hard that the resulting fork scrape distracted everyone. “Father,” she said, her smile fierce and deadly, “Fred and Kit don’t even know each other. Please give them the dignity of at least one full conversation before trying to hurry them to the altar.”
“I—” Father began, looking to Mother for help.
“Besides, she’s not his type,” Brendon added. He’d said it quietly, but Franny’s outburst had silenced everyone else, so we heard it anyway.
Mother smiled, somehow appearing kind and encouraging rather than enraged. “People’s tastes change. I think Frederick and Kit would suit each other quite well.”
I think her definition of ‘suit each other well’ meant ‘If I tried to lock Kit in a tower, she would knock me unconscious with one punch.’ Or maybe ‘specifically because Kit was a woman, I probably wouldn’t have the urge to lock her in a tower.’ Or, a third possibility, ‘I’m just saying things to be contrary because I don’t like how the conversation is going.’
Probably the third option.
“Well, Fred isn’thertype either,” Franny muttered.
Father blinked and swiveled his head around like an owl who’d somehow found itself prey rather than predator. “Clearly, I’ve said the wrong thing.”
Gregory gave him a commiserating smile. “I’ve been in your position a time or two. Best just to apologize and change the subject. Speaking of, is there dessert?”
There was, in fact, fruit tart for dessert, and it created enough of a distraction that everyone forgot about any ill-fated matchmaking attempts between Kit and me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
After dinner we went straight to the ballroom that had been transformed into a wedding hall. I never realized how many people could fit in that room until I saw the hundreds of white chairs perfectly lined up. A red carpet ran straight down the center, the brightest spot of color in the room.
Mother fussed with Franny’s hair, tucking loose strands into submission like it even mattered for the rehearsal. Brendon stood off to another side near his parents, the helmet on again now that he wasn’t eating. Kit leaned against the wall next to him.
