The question of the rightful succession had its roots in a sixteenth-century civil war, when a Chartier had first assumed the throne. Felix’s ancestors, the Oberons, had lost that war and retreated to Wesloria, propping up Weslorian kings and nobles along the way. They’d long held that the Chartier claim to rule Alucia was not as legitimate as theirs, and military skirmishes along the border had been plaguing the countries for years.
Felix and Karl were the result of Leo’s grandfather attempting to bring unity to the two countries after his first wife died. His second wife, a distant cousin and an Oberon, had been a bit of a schemer. She’d thought to insert herself into the mix for the throne with the birth of her son. That had not worked out for any of them, quite obviously.
Uncle Felix made a lot of noise in Wesloria. It was well known that he kept the Weslorian king under his thumb. Felix had promised to unite Wesloria and Alucia under one rule if he was successful in gaining the Alucian throne, and with the many loyalists dedicated to the Oberon cause, the threat of war hung over the heads of the two nations. The Chartiers sought to suppress anyone who was rumored to be sympathetic to Wesloria, which had caused a lot of strife and stymied economic growth in both nations. There were myriad rumors every week of this noble or that wealthy merchant plotting to overthrow King Karl.
Sebastian had wanted to unite Wesloria and Alucia, too. But his idea had been to strike a trade agreement with England. He’d wanted the Chartiers and Oberons and their fellow countrymen to unite in the strength of industrialization and shared prosperity—not by the ravages of war.
Unfortunately, not everyone shared his desire for peace. A plot had unfolded while Sebastian was in England that had involved treachery at the highest reaches of Alucian government and had resulted in the murder of Sebastian’s personal secretary. But in the way tragedy had of revealing a silver lining, his brother had met and fallen in love with Eliza.
Today was the happiest of occasions, but the threat of war and attempts at a coup still surrounded the royal family outside the ivy-covered walls of the palace. No one had forgotten it. Least of all, the king.
“We can make greater progress with Alucia if we align ourselves with the right Weslorians,” his father said, glancing over his shoulder.
“The right Weslorians?”
“Those who have no desire to unify,” his father said, glancing around. “There are many advantages to keeping our borders and our sovereignty.”
Leo didn’t know what those advantages were and really didn’t care to learn them. He liked not knowing the advantages of sovereignty. It all seemed unduly complicated.
“A highly placed minister in the Weslorian cabinet is very keen to foster better trade and economic arrangements with Wesloria. He is the minister of labor, and there is every reason to believe he will be the next Weslorian prime minister.” His father waggled his brows. “A marriage with his daughter would serve us well, indeed.”
Us. His father said the word without hesitation or hint of irony, as if his parents and even Bas and Eliza would walk down the aisle with him. “I understand,” Leo said as he tried to quickly think of a way out of this corner. “But I’m not—”
“You will make her acquaintance tonight, at the ball. You’ll want to be certain to do it publicly, where everyone will see. Dance with her.”
Leo could feel what little blood was left in him after last night’s festivities draining from his limbs. So it really had been all arranged.
It was, in some ways, quite galling to him. When Leo was a young man, he’d wanted this sort of responsibility. He’d wanted to be a prince with a cause and had begged to be useful. But his father had given all real responsibility to Bas. Leo still recalled being denied the opportunity to join the cavalry because Bas was to join. He was still bitter about begging his father for something with purpose and being proclaimed the royal patron of the town criers. The bloody town criers.
There had been other things, and somewhere along the way, Leo had ceased to care about purpose. Purpose, he’d learned, was for Bas.
“Do you not want to know who she is, then?” his father asked jovially.
The king was proud of himself for this arrangement, and it clearly didn’t matter how Leo felt about it. He shrugged.
“Lady Eulalie Gaspar.”
Leo didn’t know any Gaspars, much less any Eulalies.
His father smiled coolly at Leo’s lack of enthusiasm and put his hand on his shoulder. He squeezed as if Leo was being a precocious child. “It’s already been arranged, Leopold. We mean to make the formal announcement when you’ve returned from England with your things well before the summer ends. You will court her properly for a few weeks and a formal announcement will be made by end of summer. But for all intents and purposes, you may consider yourself affianced.”
“I’m to consider myself affianced before I’ve even met her? Before I’ve even kissed her?” Leo asked coldly.
His father sighed and dropped his hand. “You know very well how these arrangements are made. Your mother and I ask very little of you, and this is something I need you to do.”
That they asked very little of him was at the heart of his discontent. “It’s not as if you are asking me to walk your dog,” Leo said.
“Son,” his father said sternly. “You always knew this day would come. You needn’t look as if I’ve commanded your head to be lopped off. It’s just a woman, for God’s sake.”
Just a woman. Not a wife, not a companion. Just a woman.
“Now go and speak kindly to the ambassador from Wesloria.” He nodded in the direction of the ambassador. “Ask after his horse—he claims to have a gelding who has clocked a faster speed than any horse known in this part of the world.” His father winked in a manner that was completely uncharacteristic and walked on, sipping his champagne before being swallowed up by people seeking his attention.
Leo stood in the same spot where his father had left him, stung and inwardly outraged. His father was right—he had known this day would come. But he’d thought there would at least be some discussion, that his desires would be taken into consideration.
He needed a drink and looked around for a footman. Not wine, thank you. Something heartier. Gin. Whisky.
He turned to see where the Weslorian ambassador was standing and spotted him in lively conversation with Hawke’s sister. Or rather, she was holding audience, her slender hands animating whatever tale she was imparting to the circle of gentlemen around her. Always attracting a crowd, that one. She suddenly tossed back her head and laughed loudly.
The ambassador seemed taken aback by it.
That woman. Gregarious and loud. She laughed carelessly; she told tales that apparently required the expansive use of her hands. She touched an arm here, a back there. She was in a royal palace at a royal reception, having the time of her life with not a single care for how she appeared. Meanwhile, he was an impotent prince, where the rules of society and royal protocol dictated what he said, what he ate, who he bloody well would marry. He was the one commanded to make small talk about a bloody horse with someone he hardly knew and didn’t want to know, while she breezily chattered on about God knew what.