Page 2 of His Perfect Princess

Delicately, he pulled a marker from his breast pocket and placed it between the pages of his book. As he closed it, he unfolded his long legs and tipped his head back to meet my eyes.

“Father has an announcement for us tonight at dinner.”

Strange.

Father—King Iain III, to everyone else—rarely surprised me. Usually his decrees came only after long discussions with me about the future of the kingdom. I was his heir, after all. “Is it about the May Day celebrations? Or the trade agreement the ambassador from Prussia is pushing?”

Before Findlay could answer, Wulf grunted. “It’s no’ about Faencairn at all. It’s about us.”

Something personal? I lifted my brows, urging Findlay to continue.

My youngest brother, clearly smug knowing something I needed to hear, took his time leaning back against the sofa.

“It seems our parents, in their wisdom, have come to a decision…”

My heart began to pound.

“Da has declared it’s time for us all to marry.”

* * *

“Why not follow convention, and hold a ball?”

The decree of marriage had shocked me, but I was glad Findlay had warned me ahead of time. By the time we all met in the more intimate family dining room—we kept the banqueting hall for guests and ceremonies, not a Thursday night meal with our favorite red wine—I’d had time to consider the idea, and I didn’t hate it as much as Wulf clearly did.

Right now, in fact, he was scowling at me across the table, clearly irritated I was helping Father brainstorm.

“Aye, Da,” he growled sarcastically. “Everyone kens when ye’ve got a bunch of royal siblings to marry off, ye hold a ball.”

Our father snorted. “Ye hold a ball to get princesses married off. I assumed the three of ye would prefer to do things yer own way, and at yer own pace.” The King shared a little smile with Mother. “Just know it’s time ye were all married and begetting heirs, and yer mother and I expect to hear yer arrangements as soon as possible. Ye name the woman, we’ll arrange the wedding.”

While my younger brothers voiced their objections—or made jokes about holding their balls—I straightened my shoulders and took a deep breath. Getting married hadn’t been on my list of things to do this year—I had enough on my agenda with the trade treaties and the approval of the designs for the new bridge—but I knew my duty.

And since the idea had taken root, I could admit I didn’t hate it.

I ken what I want…

We might be an island nation, and smaller than most, but we’d grown powerful in the last centuries. I knew one day I would be King of Faencairn, and I needed a wife who would make me proud.

Young women all over Faencairn—and the neighboring kingdoms of Britain, Sweden and Denmark—would be clamoring for the chance to meet and marry one of the three princes, but I appreciated our father’s statement about making our choices in our own way.

I didn’t want just any woman. I was Crown Prince Rickard of Faencairn and I knew exactly what I wanted.

I wanted a wife who was biddable, aye, but not meek. I wanted a wife who made my blood boil. A wife who could meet my desire, my need for perfection, and return it.

I wanted Clarissa.

She was the daughter of the British ambassador to Faencairn, and was as proper and correct as any woman I’d met, befitting the wife of a Crown Prince and future king.

"Och, I’m having a thought,” blurted Wulf.

Findlay calmly speared his beef as he murmured, “God help us.”

“What about that ambassador’s daughter? The one from Britain?” My gaze jerked up to find Wulf’s mocking smile directed at me as he continued. “She seems like a nice snack, eh?”

A snack?

My brother was comparing Clarissa—a jewel among women!—to a snack?

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