The Prince's Bride (Part 1) - J.J. McAvoy Page 0,17

is among them now.”

“Of course,” Arty said to him.

When our eyes met, I saw the sadness in his eyes and had a feeling mine had the same. But he swallowed and then almost instantly forced a smile onto his face. He dusted off my shoulders and said, “Have fun but not too much fun. Make the best out of it.”

“Arthur!”

“Coming.” Arty let me go and went back to the desk, standing beside it as my father took his seat and put on his glasses. He looked over the papers before him and frowned.

“What is this? Why does this have Eduard Pyry as the Master of Chambers? Your mother chose Vincent? Where is he?”

He died eight months ago.

“On vacation, but don’t mind the rest. I was just imagining who would be next in line for all current positions,” Arty lied with ease as he reached over and picked up the files Father was reading. “I was hoping to discuss what you thought of it.”

“Hmm.” Father lifted his chin, holding the paper closer to his face. “These are some good choices. But do not be in a rush to take over, son. Your time as king will come. Don’t push me out of my seat yet.”

“I would never dream of it!” Arty laughed.

“Everyone dreams of it—Gale, you are still here?” Father peered over his glasses to look at me. “Stop goofing around.”

“The spare is just leaving. Sorry for intruding where I am not wanted.” It hurt to joke like this when he was clearly not in his right mind. I looked once more to Arty before stepping out.

“Gale, you are always wanted. Spare or not. So, do not forget to see your mother and sister before you leave.”

The tightness in my chest returned, and I only nodded before finally closing the door. When I did, I leaned back against it. This was real.

My father was really ill.

I knew what was at stake. I truly did, but yesterday, the more I had thought about it, the more I could not imagine just marrying some random woman. Divorces were easy for other nobles, but for royals, it could only be done under the most extreme circumstances—like one of them committing treason. Even if a prince found his wife in the midst of an affair, he still had to get permission from the king and parliament...then there were the people.

But my father was ill.

Once again, I felt a familiar ache in my chest. I didn’t want to speak to or see anyone. I didn’t want to think. I just walked, paying no attention to the world around me until I got into my room. I hoped to lie down, but instead, I found my mother, putting something into the zipper pocket of black luggage that I hadn’t bothered to pack myself. Valets laid out suits, shirts, belts, and shoes onto my bed.

“He may need a coat as well. Bring the wools. The caramel one, as well as the dark gray, should be fine,” Mother directed.

“Can I not pack for myself?” I asked.

Though it seemed, I was not going to be given a choice throughout this whole process. Arty had just told me of his command to leave, but for her to already be here meant they had discussed it beforehand.

My mother glanced at me surprised, despite the fact that it was my room. “Weren’t you staying with your brother?”

Well, not all morning. Arthur must have covered for me again.

“Father came.”

Her face fell, but she held her composure, clasping her hands together and turning on her heels. “We shall have the room.”

They bowed once to her and then me before taking a single step back and turning.

“How was he?” she asked gently. “Your father.”

“He asked me what I was doing home and not at law school.”

She closed her eyes for a long time and just stood still.

Walking up to her, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders. The scent of lavender filled my nose.

“Enough. We do not have time to be despondent. There is too much to do. We need to carry on and fill any gaps. For both your father’s and brother’s sakes.” She sniffled and stepped out of my arms. “I’ve had them pack several of your favorites. Plus, jeans and other casual wear. I hear Americans prefer casual dress. Though the suits might be for any formal events—”

“Mom, are you breathing?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course, I’m breathing,” she answered, looking over my bags. She reached over and dusted off one of my shoes.