Page 1 of How Not to Marry a Prince

True to form for the joke that his life had become, Amador arrived in the kingdom of Portan amidst a thunderstorm, looking very much like a soaked cat and at least twice as cranky about it.

Still better than the time he'd arrived covered in mud with a twisted ankle, thanks to a bad combination of pigs, farm boys, and beer. But not by much.

He waved off the servants who came rushing to help him, not wanting them to get soaked as well, and trudged up the stairs until he was under the relative safety of the canopy that had been erected over the entrance. Removing his glasses, he tucked them away in the front pocket of his soaked jacket. "Is this rain typical for this time of year?"

One of the nearby guards snorted, and the servants all bit back laughs and smiles. "Typical for every time of year, I'm afraid, Your Highness. Between the mountains to the north and the lakes everywhere, we get a great deal of rain and snow, with some hail and sleet to keep it interesting."

"Intriguing," Amador replied. "Where I'm from, we're lucky to see rain twice a year. Thank you," he added as one of them offered him a large, toasty warm towel. "I've a carriage and luggage cart coming behind me, but I've no idea when it will arrive, given the weather."

"We'll be on the lookout, Your Highness," another servant said.

Still a third approached with a steaming mug on a silver tray. "Hot toddy, Your Highness?"

"I've no idea what that is, but I like the sound of 'hot' very much, thank you." Amador took a generous swallow and then wheezed. "Alcohol. Marvelous. If there is someone who can show me to my room, I will gladly take this with me and ask for another when I arrive."

The servants laughed, which improved Amador's mood immensely. He very much doubted he was actually funny, but he was very much certain these poor people dealt with jerks all day, especially in harsh weather, and were grateful simply for someone who wasn't an ass.

One of them, about ten in all, broke away from the others, swept a beautiful bow, and escorted Amador into the palace.

Its official name was Harridor Palace. Detractors like to call it Harridan Palace. Mostly, though, it was called the Palace of a Thousand Roses, for it boasted a collection unrivaled anywhere in the world. If there was a rose that existed, and even many that were only thoughts and dreams, they could be found there, either in the public gardens, the private gardens, or the fiercely guarded greenhouses.

Thankfully, the rainy weather seemed to be keeping people shut up in their rooms, or their lovers' rooms, and Amador did not have to stop and chat a hundred times while doing his best impression of a damp cat. Unfortunately, the palace was enormous, even larger than his parents' nigh-garish home, and that meant he tracked wet footprints through the whole thing, ruining the day of at least half a dozen servants.

"Here you are, Your Highness, and dinner is served at nine, if you'd like to attend. If you prefer to remain in your rooms tonight, simply leave the appropriate card in the door slot."

"Of course, thank you so much," Amador replied, having no idea whatsoever what the woman was talking about.

Alone at last, at least until his personal staff arrived, Amador went in search of something warm and dry to wear. It took him only moments to find the dressing room, and in it were three dressing robes, all of them in his size, each a drastically different style, along with matching slippers and even hair wraps, though his was too short to need such a thing.

At the far end of the room, directly opposite the door, was yet another door. Curious. Amador opened it, and immediately gasped in delight. A private bathing chamber. After so much traveling in places where public bathing was the rule, and even royal suites tended to share, this was a positive delight.

Stripping off his clothes and leaving them in a hamper, more than happy to let someone else deal with that problem, he ran a bath that filled the whole room with steam. Once he'd scrubbed thoroughly clean, he sank into the hot water, scented with jasmine oil, and groaned as the heat soaked into his travel-weary bones.

Of course, now that he was holding still, all his worries came crashing back to the forefront of his mind, eager to be the center of attention once more. Amador sighed.

The Palace of a Thousand Roses was his last chance. If he couldn't convince Prince Nazaire that he was the ideal spouse, that was it for him. He'd be dragged home to marry Prince Ottokar and forced to spend the rest of his life subject to Ottakar's every vicious whim. He'd been nasty as a child, mean when they were students, and was now positively cruel as an adult. Amador had the scars to prove it, not that anybody ever bothered to ask.

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. The last time he'd seen Ottokar was across the ocean in Werth. There was nothing to worry about where he was concerned, except that he had to make this marriage work.

If only he wasn't facing a prince who had rejected each and every suitor that had shown up. Rumor had it he was an entitled brat who was impossible to please, spoiled rotten his whole life by his doting eldest brother, King Sohan. Their parents had died when Sohan was only ten, and Nazaire little more than a babe. They had two sisters between them, one who had gone off to marry Queen Penelope of Tarath, and the other was a scholar of no small acclaim. Amador had hoped to encounter her on his travels, but no such luck.

Climbing out of the bath, he dried off and looked over the tray of lotions, settling on one that had the same jasmine scent as the bath oil he'd used. He started at the bottom and worked his way up, paying special care to the still-tender scar on his arm where a piece of glass had sliced it open, and the twin surgical scars on his chest that were years old but which he was meticulous with all the same. Redolent in jasmine, he grabbed one of the dressing robes on his way back to the bedroom proper—where he was delighted to see that a fresh hot toddy was waiting for him, along with a small meal to tide him over until dinner.

Which reminded him, he needed to figure out what that servant had meant by leaving the appropriate card in the door.

Returning to the door, he examined the gold-stained console table beside it, which contained a dish to hold odds and ends, a bouquet of white roses… and, indeed, a stack of large, rectangular cards, made of good cardstock, each one an assorted color, with embossed symbols painted in white.

There were six in all: green, yellow, red, blue, purple, and black.

The black one bore a symbol of a snake wrapped around a heart, the international symbol for healers—and in this case, a sign of illness. What a fascinating, brilliant system. He shuffled through the rest. Green seemed to indicate he would be out, red indicated staying in, yellow seemed to mean 'leave me alone', and blue and purple he could not puzzle out. Surely they could include a guide or something?

Even as he had the thought, though, he spied a piece of paper on the floor. Setting the cards aside he scooped the paper up, and sure enough, there was the guide he'd wanted. Wind or something must have knocked it off the table.

There was an explanation for the cards, which he'd already correctly figured out, and then it listed each color and what it indicated. His guesses were all correct, and blue proved to mean 'not currently in the palace,' and purple meant 'bring additional food for guest'. The cards were to be placed either by certain times for various meals or left indefinitely where applicable.

As he was currently without clothes and didn't see the point in bothering someone to get his one outfit clean in time for dinner, Amador opened his door and slid the card into the slot just below the peephole.

He should write his family about this charming system; it would make life so much easier for the entire palace.

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