Page 13 of The Heir's Bargain

FYNN

Women thought getting ready was easy for men, and to some extent, I suppose it was.

The staff didn't have to spend an hour or more on my hair to get it perfectly curled or braided into an intricate design. On the contrary, my hair only took a little over a quarter of an hour to give it that flawlessly rolled out-of-bed tousle that all the women in Pontia fawned after (was that egotistical of me to think? Maybe, but I couldn't help it if it were true). Even if the women didn't say it aloud, I often saw how their eyes flicked to my hair as their heated gazes drank me in. If that wasn't enough confirmation, the thoughts I overheard as I passed them by proved it.

I did not have to don a corset that sucked in my waist and restricted my breathing or mobility. Instead, the staff spent a tedious amount of time polishing every inch of me, from the buttons on the collar to the tops of my shoes—which was a different sort of pain to bear. Because to stand in front of a mirror while someone primed and polished you had a way of dehumanizing you. It was as if they were shaping me into a statue, molding the clay to fit their vision of the ideal prince. Yet no matter how much the buttons sparkled or the creases in the trousers were ironed smooth, I felt like a fraud.

One would think that growing up a prince my entire life would have made this behavior feel normal. However, I don't think I could ever get used to feeling like a human smothered in clay and marble only to be stared at and admired.

No one would be paying attention to the shine of my shoes. Soon enough, the very buttons the staff fretted over would be smeared with some woman's fingerprints—especially if my mother was set on me finding a wife.

I had thought my mother had set aside that wish, but apparently I was wrong. Tonight, my docket would surely be filled with women awaiting their turn to dance with me. When I was younger, I appreciated the attention. But now?

Now, I saw it for what it was: a race for the crown.

Still, when my mother walked in and brushed the lint off my shoulders with a crisp swipe of her hands, I smiled at her.

"You look just like your father," she whispered, the tinge of loss and longing lingering in her voice as it did every time she talked about my father.

Once, Pontia was the safest kingdom in the world. For centuries, no foreign kingdom had been able to infiltrate the land. With the god Pontanius watching over the Red Sea, the waters were treacherous and wild. One had to be a skilled sailor with a seasoned crew and the gods on their side to traverse the sea without incident. If an enemy were able to cross the sea and surpass the torrential storms brought forth by Pontanius, they would have the kraken to face—a creature brought down from the stars by the gods themselves. Very few enemies had managed to cross the waters and navigate the cliffs in Pontia's history. The last time an enemy had managed to step foot on Pontian soil, everything had changed.

Fifteen years ago, our defenses failed us, and our kingdom was infiltrated. That night, we lost so much as our home burned down and my father and sister were taken from us.

My father had been dead for fifteen years. While we did our best to carry on, the pain of his death still marked the castle. Yet many of us—myself included—still wished for revenge upon our enemies. No matter how much we tried, it was hard to put the past behind us.

When we were children, we didn't understand what had happened. We were angry, upset, and scared. But we were only children. What could a bunch of eight-year-olds do?

We were no longer children, though.

Yet now was not that time either.

Now was never the time, according to my mother. Currently, her primary focus was on me and my future rule.

Lucky me.

"You say that every time, Mother."

"And it continues to be true." With an assessing gaze, she nodded. "Any woman would be lucky to win your heart."

I straightened, swallowing the lump in my throat. Changing the topic, I asked, "Is Terin ready?"

My mother chuckled. "He's been ready, darling. It is you whom we have been waiting on."

I couldn't help the eye roll.

Terin was lucky. While being second in line for the throne still meant that my brother had to look his best, he didn't bear the impending weight of the crown.

I forced a smile and faced her. "Were you not the one who said a royal is never late, but rather their guests simply early?"

My mother grinned. "Ah, so you have been listening to me."

"When it suits me, I suppose." With a wink, I held my elbow out.

With a wistful sigh, she slipped her arm around mine. "I suppose I will need to cherish these moments at your side, son, for soon—if all goes well—your future wife will be at your side instead."

I knew what the people thought of me: I was a rebellious and flippant prince. Some believed I did not take my role as heir to the throne seriously. But it wasn't the crown that I feared. In truth, I enjoyed visiting the villages and the people of Pontia. When I thought about it, I even looked forward to taking the necessary steps to make this kingdom even better than it already was one day. This kingdom was my world, my life, my home.

However, a king or queen should not need to become some stuffy ruler to be a good one. I wanted my people to know who I was. I wanted them to see that I was human.

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