The Prince's Royal Dilemma

“Married?” Rowan stared at Henri Marchand, certain the information he’d just been given couldn’t possibly be true. “You must be joking.”

“I’m afraid not,” his political advisor and longtime friend said solemnly. “If you don’t marry within six months of your thirty-fifth birthday, you risk losing the throne.”

“Can I challenge the law? Change it?”

“You could try, but it would be a difficult and time-consuming process and your birthday isn’t far away.”

Rowan scanned the highlighted portion of the text again, shaking his head. “Which means that I have little more than six months to find a suitable bride.”

The corners of Henri’s mouth curved just a little, and Rowan knew he was amused by the thought of his avowed bachelor friend finally sticking his head in the marriage noose.

“That’s right, Your Highness.”

“And if I refuse? Would the throne then pass to Eric?”

It was a hypothetical question, really, because he wouldn’t ever ask his brother to give up the career he loved in the navy just to help him avoid a pesky little matter like marriage. And if the throne passed further down the line to Marcus—no, he couldn’t even imagine it. His youngest brother was barely old enough to be responsible for himself, never mind an entire country.

“It’s not that simple,” Henri warned. “Because Tesoro del Mar is a cross between a hereditary and an elective monarchy, the appointment of your successor would need to be approved by the royal council.”

“As mine was approved.”

“Yes. Much to the annoyance of the princess royal.”

Rowan frowned. “My aunt Elena objected to my appointment as prince regent?”

“When a ruler dies without an heir of legal age, his successor is to be chosen from all eligible members of the royal family, and your aunt thought her eldest son, Prince Michael, should have at least been considered for the position.”

“And Michael is already married.”

Henri nodded. “I don’t know that your cousin is even interested in the position, but there’s no doubt his mother wants it for him, and if you choose to ignore this legislation, she will find a way to use it against you.”

Rowan folded his hands on top of his desk, not wanting to give any further indication of the frustration churning inside. He understood that it was his duty to fill the role of prince regent until his eldest nephew was of an age to take his rightful place on the throne, but he sure hadn’t been thinking about marriage when he’d accepted the position. Now he was being pressured not just to find a wife but to do so within a specified time frame—or put the future of the monarchy in jeopardy.

“Okay,” he said to his friend. “You’re supposed to be my advisor. Advise me. How exactly am I going to pull this off?”

“With all due respect, while marriage seems to be a political necessity, the choosing of a bride should be a personal decision.”

Rowan just scowled.

“You’ve escorted any number of beautiful women to various social events,” Henri reminded him. “Surely it wouldn’t take much persuasion for one of them to accept a permanent position at your side.”

“Choosing a suitable companion for a state dinner or a few pleasurable hours behind closed doors is entirely different from deciding who will be not just the next princess of Tesoro del Mar but the person with whom I share the rest of my life.”

“There must be someone who made an impression,” Henri said. “At least one woman you couldn’t stop thinking about after you’d said good-night.”

Rowan tried to summon memories of the women he’d gone out with in the past year but found his efforts diverted by the image of Lara that hovered in his mind. He couldn’t remember any other woman’s eyes, only her vibrant green ones—the way they softened to the shade of moss when she talked about the children or sparked like emerald fire when she was angry. He’d kissed more women than he could remember, but it was somehow the lips he hadn’t had the pleasure of tasting that beckoned him—Lara’s lips, soft and full and so tempting. He’d dated women with long hair—some with flowing blond tresses, others with spiraling dark curls, but all he could remember now was the way the copper of Lara’s hair glinted in the sun and the way the short choppy layers emphasized her delicate bone structure and creamy ivory skin.

“Obviously, there is.” Henri’s comment broke through his reverie.

Rowan pushed aside the haunting image and forced himself to ignore the almost painful yearning that stirred deep in his belly. “No,” he lied. “There’s no one.”

His friend responded by arching his brows but didn’t challenge his statement. “Well, then, you better start looking. Though I’ll warn that you will likely be inundated with bridal candidates as soon as the media gets wind of this, as you know they will.”

He nodded, having long ago accepted the fact that every aspect of his life was subject to public scrutiny, even—or maybe especially—his choice of female companions. “You’re sure there’s no way around this?”

“I’m not a lawyer,” Henri reminded him. “But I’d assume that the law has stood as long as it has because it is supported by the people.”

Rowan nodded again. “Thank you, Henri.”

He bowed and retreated to the outer office.

His friend’s comment about not being a lawyer reminded Rowan that Marcus soon would be. He picked up the phone to call his brother.

Marcus Santiago was jolted from a dead sleep to wide awake on the first ring. A quick glance at the clock had his heart leaping into his throat as he grabbed for the receiver. The last time he’d received a call from home in the middle of the night, it was because his eldest brother and sister-in-law had been killed.

“What’s happened now?” he demanded in a gravelly voice.

“Everyone’s okay.”

Marcus let out a sigh and sank back into his bed. “Then why couldn’t you have waited until morning to call?”

“It is morning,” Rowan told him.

“Barely.”

“And I wanted to be sure to catch you before you headed off to class.”

“I don’t have any classes that start earlier than 10:00 a.m. local time,” he reminded his brother.

“I’m going to fax you some pages,” Rowan said, ignoring the complaint and pushing ahead with his own agenda.

“What pages?”

“A copy of an archaic piece of legislation that somehow still happens to be in effect. I need your interpretation of it and, more importantly, I need you to figure out how I can get around it.”

Now this was unexpected…and interesting. “Tell me you haven’t violated Tesorian law.”

“Not yet,” Rowan said, then proceeded to fill his brother in on the details of his recent conversation with Henri. By the time he was finished, Marcus was hooting with laughter.

“I don’t care that you find this amusing,” Rowan said to him. “So long as you find me a loophole.”

“Maybe instead of fighting this, you should look at it as an opportunity,” his brother suggested.

“How is this anything but a disaster waiting to happen?”

“You’ve been thrown into the roles of prince regent and guardian of our niece and nephews, which hardly leaves you any time for a social life.”

“You have enough social life for both of us,” Rowan interrupted.