“My father told me Verdanians were ugly, but he didn’t tell me just how foul they’d smell!” The blond boy snickers at his insult.

“She is a Princess,” I seethe. “You would do well to treat her with respect.”

The tall, thin boy’s eyes widen in mockery. “Treat a Verdanian with respect? Did you hear that, Niklaus?” He spits. “I’d sooner show respect to the rats.”

I hear Idalia’s breath hitch, and anger flows through my chest.

“Then you will respect your Prince. I command you to apologize to her. At once.”

The boys look at one another and laugh.

“I’ll never apologize to that bitch,” the skinny one jeers.

A wave of red washes over me, and then I see him on the ground, clutching his nose in agony. My fist uncurls, and my knuckles ache. The boy’s nose is bleeding.

“Marcel!” Niklaus cries, looking at his friend. He rounds on Idalia. “You’d have Baellileans turn against each other! Our fathers were right!”

He launches towards her, and I lunge to jump in front of her, but there’s no need.

The Princess winds back her fist and strikes him under the chin, hard and true. His head flies up, and a groan leaves him as he’s thrust to the ground.

The two scramble to their feet. “Our fathers will hear about this! How you chose a Verdanian over your own!”

I salute them with a cheeky smile. “Make sure you explain in great detail how the Verdanian took out the likes of you!”

The Princess smiles, but her eyes are heavy.

“Sparrow.” She faces me, and I smile. “Nice hit.”

“Prince Braizen!” Horrick shouts from the castle’s entry.

I moan and pivot to see him clenching Theodore and Lachlan by the ears.

“I don’t even want to dream of what your father would say if he saw you out here. I suggest all of you return to your chambers and get ready for tonight. Now.”

Head low, Idalia leads the way back inside. Before she follows the maidens to her room, she winks at me over her shoulder.

“You made his nose as crooked as he is.”

Finally, it’s time for the ceremony, the reason everyone was invited to our castle. I’ve been ready for more than an hour. My maidens bathed and even shaved me, though I’m not happy about that. I’ve just started growing soft fuzz around my chin, and now it’s gone.

Once I’m ready, I stand by her door. I hear the maidens brushing her hair, swooning over her dress, and her uncomfortable laugh. I pace the corridor, pretending I have a destination, hoping that she hears me and appears. I flush when the handmaidens exit and close the door behind them. They curtsy then giggle.

As they retreat, I overhear their whispers. “I don’t think the young Prince can wait five years! See how he stalks her room even now?”

How ridiculous. Of course, I can wait five years to get married. I’m in no rush for that. Eventually, I hang my head, accept defeat, and make my way to the Great Hall to join the crowd that awaits her entrance.