Page 17 of How Not to Marry a Prince

He stopped, hands dropping, blood going cold, as he realized it wasn't Bibiana by the fireplace.

It was Ottokar.

"What in the hells are you doing here?" Amador asked. "Get out."

"I've only come to talk, darling," Ottokar said. "Without those stupid thugs looming over me like they could actually lay a hand on me."

Amador's mind railed at him to leave, to call for help, but he was tired of running, of making everyone else fix his problems. Of appearing so fucking weak and pathetic. Ottokar was his problem, and he would handle it.

Stepping away from the door, he said, "There's nothing to talk about."

Ottokar made a derisive noise. "You are going to be mine, Amador, and it's time you accepted that. You've had your fun, traipsing around pretending like anyone else would ever marry you. It's long past time you ceased with all this nonsense and conceded defeat."

"I have no interest in a marriage that is described as conceding defeat."

Ottokar laughed in that way of his that cut to the bone, like a freezing wind or a stinging word from someone he'd thought a friend. "I mean, concede defeat that nobody else wants you. At all. You're the laughingstock of royalty, and it's time you admitted that and came home with me."

That struck closer to home that Amador liked admitting. How could he deny it, though? He'd traveled the world, seventeen kingdoms in all, and two empires, and the best he'd gained was a great many connections, several strong acquaintances, and maybe three people he would consider friends, though not close friends.

Nineteen places in all, and Portan made twenty. Nothing. Not a single relationship that could be described as serious, let alone strong enough to bring up marriage. One person and one person only had remained stubborn about marrying him this whole time.

Ottokar.

The only person who wanted him was cruel, malicious, and would probably leave him dead within a year after their marriage. Or would shunt him off somewhere to stay out of the way while Ottokar and their families benefited from sacrificing him like a lamb.

"I. Will. Not. Marry. You," he said, hating the tremble in his voice.

Ottokar laughed again and strode across the room toward like a snake about to strike.

Amador stayed right where he was, though it took everything he had not to bolt.

Standing close enough to touch, the sour-sweet stench of his cologne stinging Amador's nose, Ottokar said, "Do you think here is going to be any different? Everywhere you go, nobody wants you." He smiled, sharp and mean. "The few stupid enough to consider it were easily put in their place."

"W-what? You. You didn't."

Ottokar laughed.

Amador wanted to cry. He was stupid. He was so fucking stupid. Ottokar had always shown up wherever he went, but it had never occurred to him that he'd been actively sabotaging Amador's efforts.

Despair turned to anger. "Get out."

"Not until—"

"I said get out!" Amador bellowed so loudly he hurt his throat. He shoved, sending Ottokar to the floor. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

Ottokar surged to his feet, but Amador fled across the room to the fireplace, snatching up a vase on the mantel and lobbing it blindly.

It hit Ottokar square in the chest, shattering on impact and sending shards of porcelain flying, cutting.

"You little shit," Ottokar hissed as he wiped blood from his cheek. "I'm going to thrash you—"

The door slammed open, and the bodyguards surged inside, swearing as they took in the scene. Before Ottokar could draw breath to tell him off, they were on him, pinning him to the floor, arms behind his back.

"I am a royal prince!" Ottokar snarled. "You will unhand me at once."

They bound his arms behind him with special rope they must carry on them and hauled him to his feet. As the broader of the two held him, the tall, imperious woman who'd told Ottokar off the last time they'd crossed paths said, "You were warned, Your Highness. You are a guest in this palace and remain solely at His Majesty's pleasure. You were warned that if you even dared to approach Prince Amador again that you would be removed. Given the severity of the current circumstances, you had best pray that His Majesty is in a forgiving mood."

Ottokar continued to snarl and threaten as the stockier guard dragged him away. Amador stared, bewildered and abruptly exhausted, until they were out of sight.

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