Words like virginity and auction and marriage. I fist my hands against my thighs, wishing I could roam the grounds with the birds and butterflies, but I don’t dare move from my designated spot on my dead mother’s prized rug.

Rowan is a strict enforcer, and I don’t want to experience the stinging bite of his leather belt like Faye did yesterday for disobeying an order. Faye is my age and a daughter of a servant, but she’s always been like a sister to me. We grew up together inside these walls, playing hide-and-seek in the countless rooms and halls. Before my parents’ plane went down last week, we had free rein of the mansion and the surrounding grounds.

Until Uncle Rowan arrived and changed everything.

My parents have only been gone a week, both graves heavy and fragrant with fresh soil and sorrowful bouquets, but my uncle leaped into taking charge of our lands before the sun sank below the horizon on the day of the wake. I’m the daughter of a king, and now that my parents are gone, I’m the queen of a nation. A powerless child queen, because as my guardian, Rowan holds all the power.

“Why in God’s name are you kneeling?” someone asks from behind me, his insolent male tone disturbing my misery. “You’re not in the presence of the chancellor, princess.”

I tilt my head and catch a hint of wild blond hair in my periphery. “My uncle told me to kneel.”

“Do you always do what you’re told?”

My brows pull together. “Don’t you?”

“Much to my father’s aggravation, no. But your obedience is admirable.”

“Obedience was important to my parents.”

“Then I suppose you’ll be a perfect little wife someday.”

The disdain in his voice piques my interest, and I pivot on my knees to face him. His gaze meets mine, shooting a strange flutter of awareness through my chest. He appears to be in his teens, and just as I suspected, his dark blond hair surrounds his face in chaos, flopping over his forehead and threatening to hide his eyes.

And those sea-blue eyes are the reason for the sudden lack of air in my lungs. There’s something about his stare that sends me into a trance. He circles me, footsteps slow and deliberate, and it reminds me of the way a lion preys on a prospective meal.

“Don’t you want to get married someday?” I ask him, still wondering about his odd tone when he mentioned marriage.

His full lips slope into a frown. “What do you know about marriage? You’re just a child.” He gestures at my chest. “You don’t even have a real set of tits yet.”

Mortification heats my cheeks. “What an inappropriate thing to say!”

“The truth is rarely appropriate, princess.”

“I’ll kindly remind you I’m a queen, and you’ll address me as such.”