Page 3 of How Not to Marry a Prince

"If he even thinks about touching my hydrangea, I will bury him beneath his maples!" Léonce said, and bolted from the garden, leaving Nazaire staring after him, Vladlena laughing loudly, and Amador struggling desperately to smother his own laughter.

As she finally calmed her laughter, Vladlena said, "If you will pardon me, Your Highness, I should probably go after him and avert capital murder."

"Please do."

Vladlena took off, and Nazaire sighed again. He turned away to head back the way he'd come, but stopped and bent, scooping up what looked to be a glove. He stroked his thumb across it, then clenched the glove tightly in his hand before tucking it away in his jacket and striding off.

Well, then. That certainly explained why Nazaire rejected every single suitor that showed up. He was in love with the charming gardener. If Amador wasn't mistaken, the gardener was equally besotted with Nazaire. Neither seemed aware of the other's affections, though. Hmm…

An interesting bit of information to file away, to be sure.

Out of hot toddy and people to shamelessly eavesdrop on, Amador returned to his room, where he was delighted to see that his staff had arrived, sodden and cranky, but with all his belongs more or less intact. "Go get warm and dry, take your time, please," Amador said. "I can handle the unpacking, at least of what I need immediately." When they tried to protest, he said, "I hardly need you dripping water and mud over everything, run along you three."

That defeated them, and the three—Soledad, his secretary; Bibiana, his chamber servant; and Edu, his runner slash general helper—slipped off to obey, leaving him alone with his piles and piles of luggage. Amador had always favored traveling in comfort over traveling light.

Throwing open the various chests, six of them in total, with smaller trunks and bags off to one side, he scrounged up sufficient clothes for the night and morning, along with his small jewelry case and a bag of necessaries. The rest he left, as Bibiana would murder him if he dared to try to put everything away, and he preferred to stay on her good side.

Dressed respectably again, and having already opted out of attending the dinner that would be starting in an hour or so, Amador opted to go exploring.

Where the palace he'd grown up in was an ostentatious nightmare, everything gleaming gold, glittering crystals, and shiny surfaces that showed every hint of smudge, Harridor Palace was warm and friendly, made of gray-brown stone with color everywhere: flowers and other greenery; tapestries and rug; colored and enameled glass; furniture that looked as though someone had remembered comfort mattered…

It felt like the kind of place that could be home, where his own home always felt the world's most uncomfortable hotel.

Sadly, to judge by that little scene in the garden, nobody here would be inviting him to stay. Well, what had he really expected? Success? Desperately hoped for, maybe, but not expected. He simply wasn't the kind of person who was swept up into the arms of his true love mere minutes upon arrival. He didn't get swept up at all. Or even noticed. He was the one in the background making certain there was enough food and wine, that the musicians were all right, that the staff wasn't being overworked, and that nobody had gotten so drunk they fell into the fountain.

He was, in short, the boring one. People expected him to provide the gardens for secret rendezvous, but nobody ever wanted to rendezvous him.

No, the only person who wanted to marry him was a bastard so selfish and cruel that the last time they'd met, he'd thrown a glass bottle so hard the shrapnel had sliced Amador's arm open. He hadn't even apologized, just blamed Amador for the whole mess.

Amador couldn't wait to be forced into that marriage. Maybe he'd just run away. Linger here as long as he could, be safe and warm for a bit, and then just hie off in a random direction. Maybe he'd find a handsome merchant who wouldn't mind a boring ex-prince who thought making lists was fun.

A worry for later. For now, he was going to enjoy this beautiful palace, and maybe find someone who wouldn't mind Amador asking a thousand questions. Maybe he could find Léonce and learn more about the intriguing tale of the maples, hydrangeas, and the dastardly Didier. Or perhaps he'd chance upon the guard in her beautiful armor, see how she fit—

Laughter, familiar and dreaded, hit him like a fist in the gut. Amador froze as he reached a spot where the hallway divided, one path right, one left. He had to be imagining…

No, there it came again. The familiar low, mean laugh of a gloating Ottokar.

Stomach roiling, Amador looked toward the sound. There he was, the stupid, evil bastard himself. In all his icy beauty, like a frozen lake just waiting to crack beneath the feet of the unwary. He was supposed to be far, far away, damn it.

Amador turned to go somewhere, anywhere, before he was spotted. By the way Ottokar's laughter abruptly cut off, though, he was too late.

"Amador! Fancy meeting you here."

Amador shot him a look of absolute loathing, then blindly fled, running down the hallway further away from Ottokar, only belatedly realizing that going back the way he'd come would have been smarter. Too late now.

He came to another divide and went left again, turning his head to see if he'd been caught up to yet—and registering an alarmed voice only right as he slammed into someone. Arms wrapped around him, large and warm, comforting in a way he'd never really felt.

Fear and panic fled momentarily as Amador reflexively looked up into a face filled with surprise and concern. The man was handsome, distractingly so, with warm, pale brown skin and eyes the soft green of moss, a faint spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He had a close cropped beard and mustache, barely there at all, and lips Amador dare not dwell on, cheekbones that ached to be stroked before some lucky bastard leaned in to steal a kiss.

Then Ottokar's voice came from a distance that was still far too close. "Sorry," Amador sputtered, and pushed out of the arms that felt far too safe and steady. "My apologies. I didn't mean— Excuse me, please, I must go." He bolted down the hall, barely hearing as the mystery man first cried for him to wait, then asked, "Who in the world was that?"

Amador kept going, desperate to get away from him, the boy who'd beat him up and the student who'd locked him out of his room while completely naked and the man who'd sliced his arm open and there'd been so much fucking blood.

He ran until he was safely behind a massive tree in a garden and didn't breathe properly until several minutes passed without the sound of Ottokar's horrid voice.

When it seemed like he had finally escaped torment, he sank to the ground and folded his arms across his knees and focused solely on his breathing. In one two three. Out one two three. He'd run away and be a prostitute before he'd marry Ottokar. It would certainly be a safer life, and wasn't that telling.

As his heartbeat finally slowed, and the soothing silence stretched on, Amador stretched his legs out, leaned his head against the tree, and folded his hands in his lap. Ottokar's stupid face faded to the background of his mind, and the beautiful stranger he'd crashed into surged to the front.

---