“Oh? What about it?”
Inhaling deeply, she lifted her gaze to his. “I do not want to proceed with the betrothal. I do not wish to marry King Otto.”
There, she thought, I’ve said it.
Her brother remained impassive for a long moment, his expression not changing in the slightest. Then his eyes narrowed faintly and he leaned forward. “Why? What has brought on this change of heart?”
“No change. I have never been enthusiastic about the arrangement.”
“But you have had several weeks now to voice an opinion. You agreed to this betrothal.”
“No,” she corrected softly. “I did not agree. I just did not—disagree.”
He paused, his features inscrutable. Then his mouth curved in a rueful smile. “I suppose you are right. You were informed, not asked. An oversight on my part.”
Tentatively she smiled back, her heart pounding with sudden optimism and impossible hope.
Could it truly be this easy? Had she been foolish not to have come to Rupert sooner and told him how she felt? Think of all the unhappiness she might have prevented.
“So, now that you know my wishes,” she said, “we can end the engagement?”
Rupert frowned, lines marring the smooth skin of his brow. “No, Emmaline, I am sorry, but we cannot.”
“But you said—”
“I said that I ought to have asked if you would be willing to marry him. I never said you would really have any choice in the matter.”
Her lips parted, her extremities turning cold as all the blood rushed from them. Her breathing grew shallow and uneven, anger rising at his cruel game of semantics and his heartless lack of concern for her wishes. Any other young woman might have burst into tears, but she had more pride than to rely on such childish remedies.
“I see,” she said, her jaw as rigid as her tone. “So I am to be married off like a piece of chattel, then.”
“Not at all. You are of infinite worth and shall be treated with all the respect and care your birthright affords you. You will be a queen once you are wed.”
“Perhaps I do not care to be a queen.”
He brushed aside her objection with a hand. “Nonsense. You are only suffering from doubts, which is entirely natural under the circumstances. After you have a chance to meet and get to know Otto, I am sure you will be glad to be his bride.”
“I won’t,” she said defiantly.
Rupert arched a brow. “If you are concerned about his character, you need not be. The king is a fine man, energetic and intelligent, considerate of both his servants and his subjects. Your life in his court will be one of ease and comfort, luxuries that even I cannot provide.”
She didn’t care about luxuries. What did things matter when they had no heart, no soul? Things did not hold you close at night. They did not comfort you or ease the worry from your mind when you were troubled. They did not bring real, lasting happiness. “And what of love?” she murmured, unable to contain the question.
He gave a short laugh. “Is that what this is about? You want to be in love?” He sent her a wry smile. “Believe me, love will come in time. You will learn to care for him with practice and patience.”
She met her brother’s gaze, her own hard and relentless. “And if I do not?”
He looked away, reaching out for a silver letter opener on his desk. Idly, he turned its smooth weight over in his fingers. “Then you will still have a good life. I would not have you marry a man who would mistreat you; you may rest assured of that. As for love, we cannot always have what we wish. We are born to a life of duty and honor, of service to country, to family. It is both our privilege and our burden to bear. As for your betrothal, the continuation of our sovereignty as a nation rests on this union . Like or not, you are its key.”
Linking her icy fingers together, she swallowed against the bitter gall that churned in her stomach.
“You may imagine I don’t sympathize,” Rupert continued in a gentle tone, “but you would be mistaken. I too shall have to marry someday for duty and reasons of political and financial expediency. I have no expectations of falling in love with the woman I wed. I ask only that she be a person of integrity and strength, a princess of whom I may be proud, who will bear me brave sons and kind daughters. Anything more, such as genuine affection, seems too much to ask. Should such emotions come, then I shall feel truly and uniquely blessed.”
How sad we are, she thought. How like the menagerie lions in their cages. Regal but trapped. So very trapped.
A long silence fell before she was able to speak. “This is your final word, then, that I must marry him? This is your command as my prince?”