Page 9 of How Not to Marry a Prince

Nazaire scoffed. "No. I attend as often as I can to keep properly apprised, but Sohan doesn't require I be down there, as I'm not his heir. Well, the law will dictate I am if he doesn't produce one within the next five years, but…" He shrugged. "That's not a problem yet."

What an interesting and oddly useful law. "Does that law apply only to the royal family?"

"No, it applies to all the noble houses, though the rules are a touch intricate," Marcellette replied, snapping her fan closed and leaning forward slightly, adding in a murmur, "Here we go…"

Down below, various nobles had filed in and were taking their seats, as servants brought them various drinks before moving to take their places against the wall.

Portan was a small kingdom, divided into ten provinces, and those provinces further broken down as needed. Each province had two representatives on the royal council. The two seats at the side nearest the door were occupied by the Minister of the Treasury and the Minister of State.

The remaining, and grandest, seat was positioned farthest from the door and with the clearest view of the room, his back to the only wall that had no gallery. Everyone rose as Sohan entered, flanked by his bodyguards as ever, and took his seat.

Once everyone was seated again, the bells rang a second time. A handsome woman stepped up to stand to the right and slightly behind Sohan, sliding reading glasses on her nose before she read from the papers on the board in her hands. In a brisk voice, she read off a summary of the last meeting's minutes, followed by the agenda for that day, which mostly sounded like minor matters. There was definitely stirring as the amendment matter was read off, and whispers as she ended with 'the succession of the Barony Pelletier'.

"Of course, they're putting them last," Marcellette muttered, folding her arms across her chest. "Jerks."

Nazaire snorted a laugh into his hand. "Behave."

"I'm far too beautiful to behave, darling."

That just made Nazaire struggle more than ever to contain his laugh. Marcellette grinned before turning her attention back to the meeting.

They moved swiftly through the minor orders of business, mostly allotment of funds, adjustments to local laws, and a change in how yearly taxes were to be collected to make things easier for provincial areas.

Everyone seemed to stir and buzz as that matter was finally closed, and the clerk called the next matter. She'd barely finished announcing it when the table launched into an argument they had clearly all been champing at the bit to begin.

Marcellette whistled. "Minister Royer is going to get fined for using that kind of language."

"Oh, no, stop, not his pocket change," Nazaire replied.

Down below, Sohan gave the barest glance up at the three of them before he put his attention back on the meeting. The ministers were practically shouting now, but Sohan only watched, quiet and pensive.

"Caught," Nazaire said with a sigh. "I swear he has ears like a cat."

"I think he's just well-attuned to his siblings causing even the slightest hint of trouble," Marcellette replied. "In his defense, you once bellowed that Minister St. Martin was…oh, how did you put it… an officious twat with brains more full of holes that Antour cheese."

Nazaire spread his hands. "He was just mad I was right."

Amador bit his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. "That could describe any number of Ministers, at least the ones I've met. Though honestly, many of them better deserve to be described as the thieving rats running off with the cheese."

"What an image," Marcellette said dryly. "Let's quit with the comparisons while we're ahead. Ooohhh…"

Below, Sohan had lifted a hand, causing silence to ripple down the length of the table. "Your bickering is accomplishing nothing. I hear a great deal of blame-placing and a lot of defensive reactions and excuses, but I've yet to hear anyone offer even the barest solution. The amendment will pass. The international council convenes in three days for the final vote, and it's closing an important loophole in international tax law. Pretending otherwise is a waste of time, and I'm not going to sit here and waste more of mine."

"But—" The woman who had started to speak snapped her mouth shut at the look Sohan gave her.

"His Majesty is good at that," Amador said, unable to tear his eyes away. "My parents can silence a room rather effectively, but not the way he does." No, his parents silenced through sheer terror. If Amador was not the boring middle child nobody really cared about, he'd have been subjected to much, much worse. His eldest siblings had been ruthlessly molded, and his younger siblings were little more than chess pieces, already locked into marriages advantageous to the throne and absolutely no one and nothing else.

Really, the only reason his parents had given him time to find a spouse of his own was because they knew it was a waste of time, and at the very least he'd build relationships as he traveled around before returning home to face the inevitable fate of Ottokar.

Running off to seduce a merchant with his bookkeeping skills was looking increasingly appealing.

Not as appealing as a handsome king holding sway over his ministers through skill and respect, who had marvelous warm, strong arms and a deep, soothing voice, but Amador preferred to keep his hopes and expectations realistic.

"He gets it from our mother," Nazaire replied. "She was an excellent queen, and Sohan looked up to her, even as a child. I was too little to remember her, but he was old enough, and works hard to be the kind of king she'd want him to be."

Amador stifled a sigh, not even certain why he wanted to sigh, and only said softly, "I would say he is succeeding."

Nazaire laughed. "Sohan will be delighted to hear you think so. All I've heard since yesterday is—"

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