Phillip tugged at his collar. “I don’t know why we don’t just hold interviews for this position like we do for any other,” he grumbled. At least that way the process of choosing a queen would be over quickly.

He coughed as a cloud of hair spray enveloped him. In the mirror above him the royal hairdresser paused, and Phillip sighed, rearranging his irritable expression into one of approval. It wasn’t the man’s fault that Phillip had to get married. Well, it was, but only in a roundabout way. His people needed a queen. They needed one for stability, for the continuity of the royal line, and for the vast amount of good that she could do with the power of her influence. And damn it, he would give them the best one he could find.

He just wished he didn’t have to suffer through a multi-week party to do it.

At his side, Eric laughed. “Don’t worry, brother, I’ll be happy to console all the girls you don’t choose.”

Of course he would. Usually Phillip didn’t begrudge his little brother’s playboy lifestyle, but hell—right now, Phillip would give anything to be able to skip the welcome dinner, find that girl from the driveway, and do whatever it took to convince her to take that ride with him after all. That heady combination of smoking-hot body and total guilelessness had just about done him in. She’d stuttered while trying to flirt with him, which was the cutest thing he’d ever seen, but she’d also put that gorgeous ass firmly within perfect grabbing distance which had to mean she felt the spark between them as much as he did.

The tailor fiddled with Phillip’s cufflinks. Phillip peered past the man in the mirror, toward where his head of security, Drake, stood by the door. “Did you ever find out who that girl was, the one in the driveway?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Eric glanced up from his own cufflinks. “Aw, did she do something wrong? Break one of your precious traditions, Your Highness?”

Phillip tightened his lips. “No.”

Drake shook his head. “Sorry, sire, we’ve been overloaded with security concerns with all the new arrivals this evening. But if you’d like us to prioritize that, we can.”

“Please do.”

Eric’s eyebrows went up. He leaned forward, scanned Phillip up and down, and then laughed out loud. “No,” he drawled, grinning in delight. “She didn’t do something wrong. You just thought she was hot, didn’t you? Who was she, one of the inland girls? Have I met her?”

Phillip sighed. His brother would find out eventually anyway. “She was a maid,” he said grudgingly.

Eric sat back in his chair, smile vanishing. “Damn,” he said, which pretty much summed it up—but before either of them could say more, the door opened and the tailor, head of security, and hairdresser all snapped to attention.

The Queen Mother swept in and eyed her sons. “With how often I catch you two chattering when you have official duties to attend, you’d think you were still in nursery,” she said archly, and Phillip found an excuse to straighten his cufflink and avoid eye contact.

“Mother dearest!” Eric exclaimed, but she thumped him lightly on the head with her fan as she passed, and he fell silent with a hmph.

“You,” she said to her youngest, “should be getting prepared in your own quarters. And you,” she turned to Phillip, who was forced to meet her eyes in the mirror, “should know better. If the maids are distracting you, I can always send them away so you can concentrate long enough to choose an eligible wife.”

Phillip let out a long breath. She was right, of course. Hair and cufflinks in place, he stood and gave her a slight bow in acknowledgement of the point scored. “That won’t be necessary.”

But she wasn’t done. “It’s time to cut the immaturity out of your life, Phillip. In fact, I think the most mature thing to do would be to give yourself some extra margin time. Pick a wife by the end of the month. That way you can have an engagement of decent length.” It wasn’t a request.

Phillip opened his mouth to protest. He had three months before his birthday, and that was already making things hard enough—but to cut his timeline down to a single month? It was unbearable.

But his mother wasn’t finished. “Because if you don’t get yourself together soon, Eric will inherit the throne.”

The room went still. Phillip ground his teeth. Everyone, his little brother included, knew Eric would make a terrible king. If his mother was threatening to disrupt the line of inheritance, she was deadly serious about him picking a bride this month. And that meant he had no choice but to acquiesce to her demands, because he was committed to doing whatever was best for Danovar, and that sure as hell wasn’t letting his irresponsible little brother take the throne.

But what aggravated him most was that his mother thought the threat was necessary—that he wasn’t already thoroughly aware of what was required of him as king, and prepared to do it even though it meant personal sacrifices. He’d thought she knew him better than that.

Somewhere downstairs, a bell rang, summoning the royal family to greet their guests.

She took his silence for agreement. “Good,” she said, opening the door again. “I expect you to be downstairs in five minutes. And speaking of things that should be cut out of your life, you really should let your hairdresser take some shears to that mane.” And with that, she was gone.

Eric huffed. “Always quick with a parting shot, that woman. Not that she’s wrong. You’re starting to look like my sheepdog.”

Phillip tugged on his jacket and didn’t deign to answer. His hair was the only part of him that didn’t have to fit his perfect traditional image, and he liked it. Plus, he hadn’t missed the maid’s appreciation of it earlier. Not that that could come to anything. His chances of having a fling with her now were about as nonexistent as his chances of marrying for love.

Eric frowned and stepped closer. “Listen,” he said in a low voice. The hairdresser, tailor, and Drake all caught the tone and made themselves scarce, finding things to do on the other side of the room as Eric put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I know you want to do this right, but I have to tell you, I’m not convinced picking one of the women Mom dug up on the basis of who checks off the most queen-like qualities is the way to go. A political marriage might’ve been okay for our parents, but you and I both know you’re a hopeless romantic. It would sap the life out of you. If you really want to marry—although I maintain that’s always a terrible idea in general—then you should marry for love. Go after that maid, if you like her so much. Give your heart a chance at calling the shots for once. You’d be happier for it, and the country probably would be too.”

Philip shrugged his brother’s hand off. “I appreciate the concern, but this is what’s best. My wife has to be a queen and as such her primary function will be to serve the country, same as me. Love would’ve been a nice addition, but if it’s not possible, I’ll just have to learn to live without it.” He allowed himself a sigh as he turned toward the door. “Besides, if I go after the maid now, it’ll just get her fired.”

Eric spread his hands, obviously uncomfortable with all the talk of love and duty. “Okay, Phil. Whatever you say.”

“Don’t call me Phil.”

Eric assumed a look of total innocence, which meant he was already plotting how to call him the hated nickname as often as possible tonight.

The tailor strode up behind them. “Sire?” he said, hand on the doorknob. The Queen Mother’s five minutes were almost up.

Phillip squared his shoulders and faced the door. Time to go find his future wife.