Page 11 of How Not to Marry a Prince

Marcellette looked briefly sad before saying, "Her mother was a prostitute. High-end, well-respected in the city where she worked, but a prostitute all the same. That snotty bastard Lipovsky won't tolerate it, though he's no happier with the situation he's in. Rumors are that he's been trying to cut deals of his own, but what can he offer that they can get by bypassing him entirely? Ah, looks like we're finished for the day. Would you like to join me for refreshments?"

"That sounds delightful." Amador rose and cast his eyes down to the table—and froze, face going hot as he saw that Sohan was staring at them. "Did we do something wrong?"

"Wrong?" Marcellette stared blankly, then followed his gaze and laughed. "I don't think that's the look of a man who sees something wrong."

Amador tore his gaze from Sohan. "What?"

Marcellette just smirked and laughed some more, then took his arm. "Come along, it's long past time for something fruity and alcoholic."

"I do rather like the sound of that." Out in the hallway, Marcellette chatted with and introduced Amador to many of the milling councilors and other figures, making their way slowly down the hall. Near the end, they ran into Lord Lipovsky, who bowed upon seeing them. "Your Highness, my lady, I hope the day finds you well."

Acknowledging the bow with a nod, Marcellette replied, "Very well, indeed. I'm sorry your day is not the same, but I hope you have some suitable options for an heir, now?"

"Many options, my lady, thank you," Lipovsky said with a smile that didn't quite hide the bite in each word.

Marcellette's smile was even sharper, but she only said pleasantly, "Have you met His Highness?"

"I have not had the honor."

"Prince Amador Sanz of Tesh, I make you known to Lord Ignatiy Lipovsky, the Baron Pelletier. Lord Lipovsky, His Highness Prince Amador Sanz."

"A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. I've heard much of your homeland, and of you and your extensive travels."

"I'm flattered," Amador replied. "I hope your current troubles find a solution that brings you joy."

"Thank you."

"Good luck with choosing a candidate," Marcellette replied. "If you will excuse us, my lord, we must be off."

"Of course. Good day, Your Highness, my lady."

They walked off, and as they turned onto a hallway empty, save for a couple of bustling servants, Marcellette said, "I want to punch that blowhard in his stupid, stubborn face. All he has to do is adopt Vladlena as his heir, and all his problems would go away! All Vladlena has to do is agree to marry me, and he'd adopt her faster than he could sign the papers. They certainly have their hard heads in common."

Amador laughed. "Well, I have every faith you shall come out the victor. I know that much about you, despite the briefness of our acquaintance."

She grinned, fierce and determined. "I do like you, Amador. I like you very much. I think you will do nicely here, especially given the eyes you've already captured."

"The eyes…? What are you—" Amador stopped, the words fleeing his head, as Ottokar stepped into their path.

From around and behind them, the bodyguards Sohan had assigned moved forward and closer, forming a protective circle.

Ottokar's brows rose, the cold, haughty look that Amador despised falling over his face. "What is this nonsense? I am permitted to speak with my betrothed, you blustering thugs."

Fury filled Amador, even as he quailed against being anywhere near Ottokar and the painful, spiteful things he would do just for the fun of it. "I am not your betrothed."

"Say what you like," Ottokar replied, sounding ominously annoyed. "You can run around the world all you please, but you know where you will end up. It's been decided for years."

Amador's face burned to be so brazenly humiliated in public, in front of his new friend, Sohan's bodyguards. Over and over, all he did was come out looking like a pathetic fool. "I've agreed to nothing, and I've certainly signed no papers. I'll surrender everything I own and live on the streets before I marry you, Ottokar."

"It's inevitable and you know it." Ottokar smiled, cold and mean. "Keep struggling, though, if it pleases you." We both know I enjoy it.

"You will leave, or you will be made to leave," one of the bodyguards said. "By order of His Majesty the King. Do not forget you are a guest here, Your Highness, and His Majesty bid you keep in mind that your permission to be here is tenuous at best. Approach Prince Amador again, for any reason, and you will be removed."

"You do not get to talk to me that way, I don't care whose words you're parroting, you mongrel guard dog. This is personal business, and you'll stay out of it."

The guard who'd spoken, a tall, fierce and imposing woman, stepped forward, right into Ottokar's space, looming over him like he was a child. "Last warning, Your Highness."

Ottokar scoffed—and then stepped back and turned away, leaving Amador reeling and almost faint. "We'll speak later, Amador."

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