The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(7)

Ellie set the spoon down as her stomach turned, but she kept a calm fa?ade. “Of course.”

Lady Irene frowned at Ellie’s quick compliance. But there was nothing left of Eleanor’s in the dusty room. Ellie had sold it all. Even some of the furniture.

Lady Irene’s remodeling of the upstairs bedrooms would increase the value of the manor. Value Ellie would have to pay for when she tried to buy the estate. She would go tonight and peruse her mother’s room to see if she’d missed anything of value, since she needed more money now.

“When will the guests arrive? And who, may I ask, is visiting?” She sipped her wine and mopped up the rest of her soup with a piece of crunchy bread.

“In a few days.” Lady Irene took another hesitant sip of soup. “We have much to do before our distinguished guests arrive. I will not settle for anything less than perfection. After all, it’s not every day one has the leader of Mothers Against Mixing for an extended stay.”

Ellie choked on her food.

***

“It’s wonderful of you to join us for dinner, son.” The queen signaled for the server to fill her glass of red wine. “I’d thought you’d forgotten us.”

Gerard refused to be cowed by his mother’s attempt at guilt. So what if he’d been distracted since his return home? Between planning his new outbuilding, checking astronomical charts for moon phases, reintroducing himself to the castle staff, and staying up half the night with a contingent of soldiers intent on learning his exotic fighting stances, it had been easy to avoid his family.

“Never, mother dear.” He pulled up a chair to his father’s right. The king nodded in greeting and gave his attention back to the ledgers sprawled over the table.

“Father, I thought we talked about working during meals. It’s not allowed.” He bumped his father’s shoulder with his own in light teasing.

“Someone’s got to make sure we don’t bankrupt the kingdom during your Bride Tournament.” The king winked.

“I am doing nothing of the sort.” The queen huffed and downed her wine. “The castle needed sprucing up.” She patted her husband’s hand from her seat on his left.

He grinned at her with crinkled hazel eyes. Gerard watched the exchange in befuddlement. His parents married in the usual tradition for kings and queens; his mother had won the Bride Tournament and they’d been strangers when they married. Yet, after thirty years together, his parents were still deeply in love.

As the future king of Galacia, Gerard knew he’d have to marry, settle down with one woman, co-rule. Fine. But he’d be damned if he left the selection of his bride up to an archaic tradition. If he was to marry, it would be to a woman of his choosing. A woman who appreciated him for more than his wealth. More than his title. More than his power.

“Must we carry on with this foppish tradition?” he asked his father.

The king ignored him.

“Gerard Phillipe! You will not call into question this tradition. You must have a bride,” his mother said, as shrill as a banshee.

“I’m not arguing the need for a wife, Mother. I am eager to have an heir for my throne. But must we go through with this tournament?” Gerard nodded in thanks to the server who set a plate stacked high with meat at his spot. He sipped the mead and dug into the food.

He was famished. Especially after working on his outbuilding with Edward. The valet had declined to join the royal family for a meal, instead opting to take a rare moment of privacy in his own quarters.

“Had you approached me years ago, I might have allowed you to come up with another bride-choosing fashion. But it’s too late now. I’ve already announced your Royal Homecoming. Everyone knows your bride will be chosen within the fortnight.”

“So little time, Mother.”

“So much to be done, son.” She smiled at him from across the king’s papers. “You’d best put on your big boy pants and help.”

“Yes, Mother.” He sighed and pushed away his plate, no longer hungry.

“Ah, so the crown prince is alive.” A male voice drifted into the private royal dining room.

“Good evening, brother,” Gerard tossed over his shoulder.

Pierce sauntered to his seat, sitting with an arm over the back of his chair, legs spread—the picture of nonchalance. Gerard raised a brow.

Pierce colored but kept his relaxed pose. “Excited for the tournament? So many women vying for your attention—you’ll finally understand what my daily life is like.” Pierce winked.

He ignored his brother’s taunt. Six years gone and his younger brother, not weighted by the responsibilities of being the heir, had developed a taste for blatant bawdiness. Gerard couldn’t judge much; he’d spent many a night between the thighs of a pretty woman.

But he didn’t stake his reputation on how many women he’d bedded.

Pierce had their mother’s black curls, their father’s devilish good looks, and a smattering of freckles that caused older women to swoon. Gerard sized up his brother, surprised to see the body of a slender youth, not a muscled soldier. At twenty-two, Pierce should have sported an athletic build from working with the King’s Guard.

“You should train more.” Gerard stood and kissed his mother good night on the cheek, bowed his head to his father, and ruffled his brother’s hair.