Page 7 of How Not to Marry a Prince

"Yes, Your Majesty. I am right in the middle of five children, the most… wandering, I suppose, of the lot."

"I met your eldest brother, the crown prince, some years ago. He was intense," Sohan replied.

A laugh escaped before Amador could restrain it, sharp and ugly. Well, may as well accept it. "That's the kindest synonym for 'domineering ass' that I've ever heard, Your Majesty."

Sohan stared at him a moment, then laughed himself. "You're refreshing, Your Highness."

Well, that was better than most 'compliments' he received. "You'll change your mind once I start rambling about tax law, don't worry."

That made Sohan frown ever so briefly, but before he could comment, Nazaire said, "Funny you should mention tax law, Your Highness—"

"Please, you may use my name, I see little sense in formality after falling face first into a pond and having the king himself fish me out." Amador drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, silently, wishing harder than ever for that hole to crawl into.

Silence hung over the table for a moment, and then it was Sohan who said, "Amador, correct? Amador Sanz."

"Yes," Amador said, feeling gutted and bereft for no good reason at all. He wanted, viscerally, desperately, to hear Sohan say his name softly, in the intimacy of a bedroom or a garden rendezvous. To feel those arms around him because Sohan had chosen to hold him close, not because Amador had barreled into him in a moment of panicked inattention.

People like Sohan, beautiful and charismatic, didn't waste their time on people Amador, plain and boring, though. Amador would have more luck seducing the prince already in love with the gardener.

Sohan smiled. "It is a pleasure to have you here, quite different from the usual sort who come to woo my brother."

Amador returned the smile. "The pleasure is all mine, to simply be in such pleasant company, and to have so many beautiful gardens to peruse. I chanced upon one of your gardeners last night, name of Léonce, and he was delighted to tell me all about them." There was no missing the happiness and longing that filled Nazaire's brown eyes then, but Amador didn't press. Patience was the key to this plot. Patience and slow, steady steps. "I apologize, though, you were saying something about taxes?"

"My favorite breakfast topic," Sohan drawled.

Nazaire laughed. "That's good, because it's all the council talks about anymore. They're in a tizzy about some new law or addendum or what have you."

"The Filandra Amendment," Amador said, excited and hating himself for it. "It's an anti-avoidance amendment to international tax law; scores of businesses and countries can no longer use some rather useful loopholes to dodge paying taxes. There's also a vote happening soon that will determine if the dodged taxes will have to be paid, or if the slate will simply be wiped clean. A handful of countries, including Partin of course, are unaffected by it, but individual businesses within basically all countries will be heavily impacted. There's great fear many will be forced into bankruptcy or otherwise compelled to close. I'd be surprised if Your Majesty's council wasn't alarmed; the economic ramifications are going to be…"

They stared at him, silent, and new cracks formed in Amador's heart. Why couldn't he ever keep his stupid mouth shut? He just… wanted to be useful…but he'd chosen all the most boring ways to do that. Nobody wanted a prince who rambled about tax law. They had tax clerks for that.

He dropped his gaze to his plate, no longer hungry. "Apologies, it really is a terrible topic for breakfast." For any meal, or not meal.

Sohan replied, "Actually—"

"Your Majesty."

Amador looked up just in time to see the barest hint of annoyance pass over Sohan's face before he replied to the man who'd interrupted them, "Yes, Lord Lipovsky? What is it?"

It was hard not to stare, given the man's shockingly familiar snow-pale skin and fiery orange hair. Amador focused on his tea before he got caught staring.

Lipovsky bowed slightly in apology and said, "I was wondering if you could spare a moment of your time, Your Majesty. There's an urgent matter I need to speak to you about."

"I'll speak with you at the end of the hour, in my office," Sohan replied. When Lipovsky had gone, he pushed away from the table. "Which means I must attend to a different matter now. I beg your pardon, Prince Amador. I'll see you at…lunch? No, more likely dinner. Have a good day." He winked. "Stay away from ponds." He strode off before Amador could reply, his bodyguards folding in around him.

"That was impressive, you know," Nazaire said.

Amador's gaze snapped to him. "What was? Falling into a pond? Anyone can do it. I'll be happy to teach you."

Nazaire laughed, happy and bright, not a trace of artifice in it. Eyes sparkling, he finally said, "No, not that, tempting though your offer is, Your Highness—pardon, Amador. I was speaking of all that tax stuff you rattled off. I fell asleep whenever the tutors started in on it. I don't think Sohan was any better. How did you manage to stay awake through it all?"

"I like knowing how things work," Amador said, staring at his plate again.

"Some people enjoy the painting," Nazaire said, and something about his tone of voice drew Amador's gaze up again, "and some enjoy the painting, as it were." He winked, very much like his brother, and yet not the same at all.

Amador smiled, something very much like cautious hope blooming in his chest. "Well said, Your Highness."

"A touch awkward, but I'm glad the point carried," Nazaire said, beaming. "Dare I hope you're not going to force me to reject you?"

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