Page 13 of How Not to Marry a Prince

Turning away, Amador retreated to the comforting familiarity of his books and papers, writing out a rough draft of the contract he wanted drawn up, pausing here and there to double check one detail or another.

He'd just managed to start on the third paragraph of what would likely be twelve when he heard footsteps, his bodyguards saying, "Your Majesty."

Amador's head snapped up, and then he pushed to his feet to bow over the mess scattered across his table. "Good…um, evening? Your Majesty."

Sohan chuckled as he came around the table. "Good evening, indeed. Have you really spent the last three days in here? I am told you arrive in the morning and leave in the evening."

"Yes?" Amador blinked, looked at the table, then back at Sohan, desperately trying not to stare. He really was so ridiculously beautiful, with the same flawless skin as his brother save for a thin scar that ran along the right side of his face from his temple to the back of his jaw, cutting a line through his close-cropped beard. His hair was curly, or tried to be, pulled back ruthlessly to stay out of his way but threatening to spring free at any moment.

If Amador were a glutton for punishment, he might wonder what that beard would feel like against his skin, or imagine those full, soft looking lips against his. He preferred not to torment himself though, especially not with someone so out of reach, so he didn't contemplate any such thing.

Sohan clucked. "Have you had anything to eat today?"

"Breakfast, I think?" Why in the world did the king care if he'd eaten?

That got him a faintly reprimanding look. "I see. What are you working on so avidly?" He smiled faintly as he looked over the table. "Somehow I'm not surprised taxes are involved."

Amador's cheeks burned, but there was no point in pretending the obvious wasn't true. "I was curious about Lord Lipovsky's holdings."

"Oh? What provoked your curiosity?"

Amador would rather throw himself back into that stupid pond than admit he was attempting to play matchmaker for people he barely knew. He could only imagine how hard Sohan would laugh, dismiss his efforts, wonder why he wasn't doing something worthy of his time and skill. Or any of the hundred other things people said to him. "His reticence, all the upheaval with the Filandra Amendment, that sort of thing. Nothing special. I am sorry if I'm causing trouble for anyone or—"

Sohan held up a hand, stopping the apology, and then offered the hand palm up.

Heart thudding in his ears, Amador placed his own it, and his heart stopped completely when Sohan covered it with his other hand.

"No need to apologize, please. I wanted to make certain only that you were not being troubled, especially since I thought you'd join us for drinks after the council meeting, and instead you vanished entirely. Lady Marcellette said only that you were abruptly unable to come."

"Yes, I apologize," Amador said, painfully aware of Sohan's touch, struggling not to stare at their hands, into his beautiful eyes like a nitwit. "I seem to do nothing but cause you trouble and bother."

Sohan frowned. "Not at all. I am the one who is sorry that your time in my home so far has been so fraught. I promise once that little cretin has finished his business here, he will be sent on his way and not allowed back."

All the pleasure Amador had been taking in Sohan's presence withered. He hadn't thought anything could be worse than Ottokar's cruel disdain, his delight in Amador's misery, but Sohan's pity was infinitely worse. He didn't want Sohan pitying him, feeling sorry for him, he wanted Sohan to see him.

Withdrawing his hand, immediately missing Sohan's warm touch, Amador said, "You do not need to worry about me, Your Majesty. I'm used to dealing with him, and he is my problem. There are far more important things that require your attention. I am sorry that I have pulled you away from them."

Sohan stared at him, mouth pressed together, brows drawn down. In the end, though, he only sighed and said, "All that happens within my home is my concern, but I can see that bringing the matter up distresses you, so I shall not continue to do so. Please do take care of yourself, Your Highness. I would not have you come to any sort of harm, big or small. Good evening, and sleep well when you find your bed."

Then he was gone, leaving only the winter-forest scent of his cologne behind, and an ache in Amador's heart.

He returned stiffly to his table, but it took several minutes of staring blankly before he was able to get his mind working again, to restore his focus to books and papers, taxes and contracts. Helping other people, because he had never been very good at helping himself.

Picking up his pen in a hand that still felt warm from Sohan's touch, he resumed drafting the contract.

Somewhere in the middle of paragraph five, a polite cough drew his attention. Amador looked up and stared blankly at the servant standing in front of him holding a silver tray near to overladen with food. "Prince Amador?"

"Yes, that's me."

The servant smiled. "I've brought a late repast for you as requested by His Majesty. Where should I set it? I would hate to accidentally ruin something you're working on."

"Oh, um, I'll clear off—"

Before he could even stand, though, one of the bodyguards surged forward to clear off one half of the table, neatly and carefully stacking Amador's work on either the other half of the table or unused chairs.

"Thank you," Amador told her, and then thanked the servant as well as he set the tray down and bowed before slipping away.

Sohan had sent him food? Why? More pity? Did he think Amador that helpless?

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