Chapter 1
There was a heavy knock at his bedroom door as his last arrow sunk into the wall. Marcus sighed and casted an exhausted look over to his bodyguard. His long time friend shrugged before standing by his side.
"Come in," the prince called out.
His father and King of Prelle walked in dressed in formal wear. The black cape was clipped over his left shoulder by a gilded crest similar to his own. His boots were shined and the clothes were crisp. The only thing missing from the royal ensemble was his crown, no doubt down stairs and awaiting him.
"Marcus, good heavens, they will be here any minuet and you are nowhere near presentable," his father scorned.
Marcus sat up straight to address his father, "Why do I need to be presentable to Princess Gwen? It's not like she didn't see me last summer or the summer before that."
For as long as he could remember, the King and Princess of Octavia had visited ever summer since he was a child. The kings used the three months to discuss trades and catch up while their children used the time to pick fights and pulls pranks on one another.
Princess Gwendolyn had been an ugly duckling with her messy hair and freckles. At first, she had met him stride for stride in the games they played. As they got older, it was easy to tell that Gwen was changing. She would spend hours trying to keep up with him and Brennan, but would eventually give up and pout the rest of the time. Lately, she spent most of her time reading or walking the grounds completely avoiding him until it was time for supper.
The last he had saw her she was hiding in the Fairchild's carriage. Her brown hair was still short and her hazel eyes were glossed over with unshed tears. He had tried numerous times to apologize for the dead snakes in her bed sheets, but she spent more time telling jokes with the guards and hadn't even bothered to look at him.
He was the one she was supposed to marry.
His small hatred to her obvious flirting had prompted Brennan to tease him for months later.
"That is because you two had decided that pulling childish pranks was more important than getting to know each other," the king answered.
"He knows she hates snakes," Brennan chuckled from the corner.
Marcus tossed a pillow at him before turning to his father, "Fine, I'll get dressed for the princess that hates me, but remember that this isn't my idea."
"Gwendolyn, did you hear me?"
She sighed and nodded, "Yes, father, I will try to acknowledge the hard headed prince that you are so determined to marry me off to."
The carriage pulled away from the ship that brought them over the small straight separating Octavia from Prelle. She had spent the last two days being sea sick and wanted nothing better than to take a hot bath and sleep till September. It was beyond her as to why her father insisted they visit the horrid prince.
"William and myself had fully intended for you two to wed long before that first summer," her father responded, "You might discover that he is a wonderful young man if you weren't so busy trying to find reasons to hate him."
"I don't have to look far. Prince Marcus makes hating him far too easy. The boy is conceited and immature."
Her father took a deep breath.
The first memory she had of the prince was one that haunted her more as the years passed. At 6 years old, she hadn't grasped the idea of marriage and he was just another boy to her. His father had forced him to kiss her head, but then he wiped his mouth and spat. Her father had shoved her closer and the two were forced to greet each other that would later become a custom for them and no doubt be repeated when they saw each other once again.
She was haunted by his airy, light brown hair and crystal blue eyes. The teen body he had for years slowly became thicker and stronger and it was easy to image the expanse of muscle under his shirt and cape.
"Can you try to like him?"
"I'd like him more is he was good at cards."
Her father covered his eyes at her stubbornness and remained silent, finally realizing just how inflexible his daughter was. Gwen leaned against the side of the carriage with a heavy groan, "This is not my idea."
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