“Welcome to ABNC’s Royal Wedding Watch. I’m Veronica Platt, reporting live. There’s more news from Valcourt Palace today. Giles Bigly joins us live from just outside the palace gates.”

“Good morning, Veronica.”

“It looks chilly out there today, Giles.” Veronica smiles.

“Yes. Quite.” A bitter expression crosses his face. “I think I’ll just get the reporting done so I can get back inside.”

“Excellent.”

“We’ve got a big report today on the upcoming wedding. Prince Arthur has broken his silence on Twitter today about speculation that he and his fiancée, Tessa Sharpe, are expecting. The tweet says, ‘No need to send baby gifts just yet. Absolutely no reason for Tessa and me to marry quickly other than being madly in love.’”

Veronica nods and gives a thoughtful look into the camera. “Interesting. What do you make of that, Giles?”

Giles freezes for a moment, then says, “She’s not pregnant.”

* * *

I hate to admit it, but I’ve done something rather foolish. I’ve let my sense of protectiveness overrule my sense of intelligence and have started my own secret Twitter account with the handle @WeLoveTessa and #TessaIsTops. I know it’s not terribly creative but I think it should get the point across. The problem is one can’t just start a Twitter account aimed at demolishing the #BrookeIsBetter movement and then leave it unattended.

No, once you engage in this form of online fighting you must be constantly vigilant, ever at the ready with a clever retort and irrefutable evidence to oppose one’s enemy. Unfortunately, in this particular case, my enemy seems to have nothing better to do with his—or, most likely, her—time. Oh, I know you’ll say, ‘That’s a little sexist, Arthur,’ but let’s be really honest. I’m Avonia’s most eligible bachelor, which means there are more than a few ladies in the kingdom whose wishful thinking may have gotten away from them. One of them was bound to overreact and believe that she can ‘be the difference’ between me tying the knot or remaining single long enough to find her standing alone in the spring rain and rushing to her to pledge my instant and undying love.

‘But, Arthur, why would she want to point out that Brooke Beddingfield is better?’

Because she knows I don’t have any interest in Brooke, so she can use Brooke as a pawn in her little game to get Tessa out of the way. Well, I have news for you @IHateTessa. It’s not going to work. I’m not going to change my mind even if you tweet every hour, which you seem to do.

So, now I’m stuck in a ridiculous battle of wits that takes up time I don’t have. And given the fact that I obviously must keep this endeavor a secret from absolutely everyone—so please keep it between us—I cannot enlist the help of Vincent or any of the other staff in this regard. So, I find myself sneaking off with my phone whenever I get a notification that the @IHateTessa person has tweeted something new. Most of the time, I end up using the excuse that I need to use the restroom which has set off certain alarm amongst my staff, who have more than once over the past three days suggested we call the doctor to examine me. This morning I found a pamphlet on my desk about prostate issues, which I can assure you I do not have. So, my idiotic plan is not only taking up massive quantities of time that I don’t have, but it is also quite likely to lead to me bending over and coughing if I’m not careful.

At the moment, I’m meant to be reading over the fourth draft of a rather contentious trade agreement between Avonia and Spain. However, instead, I’m in a three-way Twitter fight with some douche who calls himself @KingSlayer99 and @IHateTessa. I don’t know who will emerge victorious in this little battle, but I can say without hesitation that we’re all the losers here.

A knock at the door interrupts me while I’m thinking up the perfect retort. I quickly set my phone down and pick up my pen, pretending I’ve been working on the agreement this entire time. “Come in.”

When I look up I see my father standing in front of me, a bored look on his face. He’s just returned from two weeks in Singapore, so he’s sporting a tan.

“When did you get back?” I ask.

“This morning. Heard you got engaged while I was gone.”

“Yes, I did.” I turn my attention back to the paper—a little power play I learned from him.

He crosses the room to the drink cart under the window and pours himself a scotch. “You didn’t think you should clear that with me first?”

“If I had thought that, I would have done it.”

“I suppose there’s no way to talk you out of this, is there?”

“No more than I can talk you out of that glass of Oban in your hand.”

Tipping back the drink, my father has a big swig. “It’s a mistake, you know.”

“You mean like threatening to cut all ties with Spain and calling their Prime Minister a mealy-mouthed worm?” My phone starts vibrating and I know it’s one of those #IHateTessa twats. My fingers itch to respond.

“He’s a bell-end and you know it.”

“They’re one of our biggest trading partners, and you’ve really screwed the wool exporters on this one.” I consider bringing up his choice of bodyguard for Tessa, just to let him know I’m onto him, but that would be like admitting that I’m threatened by Xavier—which I am not in any way, shape, or form.

“You’re not smart enough to change the subject on me. We were talking about your completely unsuitable bride-to-be.”

“She’s in no way unsuitable and she is not a topic I’m willing to discuss with you, so if there’s nothing else I’ll get back to trying to sort out your latest faux pas.”

“She’ll never make it, Arthur. She’s not cut from the right cloth and you know it. You’re setting yourselves up to fail miserably.”

“You are not qualified to make that claim. You’ve spent all of one minute with her and you know nothing about her.”

“I know everything I need to—she’s cheap, common, and clumsy. Now, it’s time to stop thinking with your pecker and call this off already.”

I stand, my fists balled up, the blood coursing through my veins so hard it pounds in my ears. I cross the room in three steps and stand, towering over him, realizing for the first time how much smaller he is. “I have never wanted to punch someone the way I do you right now.”

“That’s because you know I’m right,” my father scoffs. “She’s not the one you marry. She’s the side action.”

A knock at the door saves me from what I was about to do. Vincent walks into my office, staring down at a folder he’s holding. “Your Highness, I’ve got those forms for you to sign.”

He looks up, sees my father with me, and stops. “Sorry, Your Majesty. I had no idea you were in here.”

“That’s fine. I was just leaving.” Father glares at me for a second, then says, “I trust you’ll do as I’ve asked.”

I lower my voice, and say, “Then you are mistaken. I think you’d do well to remember that I take on the lion’s share of the actual work of running this kingdom. If I stop, you won’t be able to spend most of the year globe-hopping and doing…whatever it is you do while you’re away.”

My father sneers. “Is that a threat?”

“Call it a reality-check.”

Shrugging, my father puts the glass down on the cart. “It’ll never work. The sooner you realize it, the less you’ll humiliate yourself.”

I turn on my heel and walk to my desk. “The draft of the trade agreement is one-hundred- and-twelve pages long. It’s taken me all morning to get to page seven.” I pick it up and offer it to him. “I’m sure Vincent will be happy to brief you on what you need to know in order to make the necessary changes.”

My father glances at the large bundle of pages but makes no move to take it from me.

Vincent chimes in just at the right moment. “I’d be more than happy to help, Your Majesty. You’ll need to clear your schedule for approximately ninety-two minutes in order for me to walk you through it.”

“Thank you, no,” he says to Vincent, his eyes staying trained on me. “I shall leave this in the prince’s capable hands.”

We stare each other down for a moment, then he breaks eye contact first and I know I’ve won. He gives me a slight nod then walks out of the office, leaving Vincent and me alone. I grin at my assistant. “How did you know?”

“I’d be no good at my job if I wasn’t able to anticipate likely events.”

“Have I told you lately that I’d be in serious trouble without you?”

“You don’t have to, Your Highness. It’s enough that you know it.”