Tales of the Princess of Douburg’s beauty reached far and wide, spanning entire kingdoms. She was the kind of woman that inspired poets and painters alike, with her golden skin and matching eyes which marked her as touched by the divine. Such magic was uncommon in Crismond, but if the rumors were to be believed, even half-blooded children in Douburg could be blessed by Aed. Perhaps in her kingdom where black hair and golden features were common, Princess Saoirse’s coloring was not unusual, but she still epitomized the peak of Douburg beauty standards, heralded by all races as a sort of unachievable ideal.

Of course, what the stories did not say about Princess Saoirse was that she was a total bitch, if my brother, the crown prince, was to be believed.

Before Princess Saoirse became Crown Princess Saoirse of Douburg, she was unofficially engaged to Ballinamore, my brother. Although I’ve never left Crismond myself and the princess has never visited, according to my brother, who has met her on several occasions, she is a cold woman who showed no affection or interest in his advances. This might not have been so offensive to Bal, who has never been one to let his ego dictate that every woman should be infatuated with him, if only she was also not such a poor conversationalist and distinctly rude.

Indeed, my brother seemed convinced the princess was purposefully trying to scare him away every time they met and was more than a little relieved when she became Queen Apparent and he was no longer expected to marry that hag. Unfortunately for me, I do not have a throne tying me up.

So an arrangement was made by our parents, irrespective of our wishes, for the good of the kingdoms. And arranged marriage that is. In just three days.

As my caravan of carriages approaches my new home with all my worldly possessions, I formulate my plan to ensure marital bliss, or some approximation of such. My approach is three pronged, and based on the assumption that Princess Saoirse is about as pleased with our impending nuptials as I am.

Firstly, I will be completely honest at all times and communicate my expectation that she do the same. I do not believe we should pretend to get along or subject ourselves to engaging in conversation more than is strictly necessary if neither one of us enjoys the other’s company.

Secondly, I will reassure the princess I have no expectations of warming her bed beyond the requirement to produce an heir and will not impose myself upon her in any way. I have little interest in romance and suspect, based on her treatment of my brother, neither does she.

Finally, I shall give my future queen the benefit of the doubt, suspending my judgments of her until such time I find my brother’s assessment accurate. No one deserves to be thought ill of by a complete stranger, and despite my skepticism that we will ever be friends, let alone real lovers, I do not wish to be estranged from my wife completely. Therefore, I shall give her at least seven strikes, far more than I would give any other stranger, before formulating my final opinion.

My entourage slows as we pull into the unnecessarily large courtyard, cast completely in shadows by the even more ridiculously austintatious castle. Honestly, just how many towers did a king really need? Stone bullworks and bastions gut out from the building at imposing angles while the purple and gold flag of Douburg hangs from every window. What a horrid color combination. I will be expected to wear the royal colors for my wedding in three days and perhaps to every formal event for the rest of my life. I suppose I best get used to the idea.

When an attendant opens my carriage door, I take a deep breath and step out. Alec, my youngest brother and the only friendly face I will see for some time, is already waiting for me. None of my other family could be bothered to attend the ceremony, as the journey from Crismond to Douburg took almost two weeks and traveling with the entire royal family through bandit infested forests was ill-advised at best and hazardous to the continuation of the Crismond dynasty at worst.

My immediate thought upon seeing our reception to the palace is that there is none. Strike one, and I haven’t even met the girl yet. Besides a few curious glances from workers who appear to be milling about the courtyard, no one pays much mind to my six royal carriages, now being carefully unloaded by the sparse set of servants I brought from home. No one, that is, except a spindly young man dressed in fine purple linen who stands, straight backed and poised, at the top of the shallow stone steps leading to the front entrance of the castle.

He looks down upon me from his perch with what I, at first, thought might be contempt. However, whatever hatred I saw in his golden eyes must have been a trick of the light, as he now appears perfectly flat in his expression. Colored like so many Douburg nobility, with golden skin and curly black hair, the man’s well tailored clothing obviously matches his noble birth and showcases his defined body quite well. While tall and well trimmed, the youth’s delicate features give him a somewhat girlish appearance which I’m quite sure is very popular with some of the younger ladies, but does not bode well for his future prospects. Unless of course, he is wealthy or of particularly high blood. I suppose then it does not matter what he looks like.

Only a moment passes in which we study each other, before the man drops into a low bow, oddly not conveying much respect as he is still above me at the top of the steps. I decide immediately I do not like this fellow, whoever he is, as I am under no obligation to give him any number of second chances.

When he straightens, he calls out to me in a loud voice, “Prince Fionn of Crismond, Duke of Crissomid! Welcome to Douburg.” He drops into another bow, apparently waiting for me to ascend.

I begin to climb the steps just as several servants come scrambling out of side entrances to begin guiding my attendants into the castle proper, helping unload my belongings.

“I apologize for the poor reception, Your Grace,” he says once I reach his level. “We did not expect you until five. Her Highness, Princess Saoirse, is indisposed at the moment, but the King will receive you now in the throne room.”

Of course, the princess is making me wait upon her whims, no doubt failing to schedule herself plenty of time to prepare for my arrival. Strike two. “And you are?” I ask the boy coldly.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I am Princess Saoirse's Royal Advisor, Gilroy Ailin,” he says, bowing again. Even his voice is girly. Did this youth really hold such a high position in my betrothed court? What imbecile would select a man barely out of his twentieth year to advise them on ruling a kingdom? Strike three.

“Very well,” I intone indifferently. “Lead the way, Lord Ailin.”

“Forgive my correction, Your Grace,” he says as he leads me and my brother, who is trailing behind me, through the open stone doors into the castle. “But it is just Advisor Ailin, or Gilroy if you prefer. It is what most people call me.”

I stop dead in my tracks at his words. A commoner? Would it be unfair to give this princess another strike for the same offense? I suppose I will just need to remember that strike three—namely her choice of Royal Advisor—is an extra big one.