So it turns out a week is not nearly long enough to get to know dozens of men well enough to decide who can be trusted.

As in, it's the night before my birthday ball and instead of celebrating or sleeping, I'm sitting in my room staring at headshots of what my father likes to call 'potential suitors', though he continues to make his preference for Sir Spencer, Duke of Gross known.

Erica, bless her, is stretched out on the floor, staring at her detailed notes on every man still under consideration.

Including Enzo.

"Have you been convinced to take your lover off the list yet?" I ask Erica as she highlights the notes for each of our remaining candidates. "I notice you've been spending a lot of time together this week."

"No," she says without looking up. "I've left all eligible suitors in the pool. We need the best chance of success here."

"Have you talked to him about this at all?" I muse, pulling myself to the edge of the bed and watching down over her kneeling on my floor with her full-length gown, hair and tiara from tonight's formal dinner still adorning her head.

"Yes," she answers.

"And?" I press.

She stills, sighs, and then resumes her work. "And I don't think he knows I exist."

"You don't think he knows who one of the two princesses of his nation is? Maybe we should take him off the list."

She shoots me a glare that has me surprised she didn't hit me in the head with her writing implements. "He knows I exist," she admits. "But I'm trying not to get my hopes up."

I mentally take him off my list, but stop the argument there. She's not ready to hear it, no matter how true it is.

I scroll through my phone, virtually following the group of gentlemen around on their adventures this evening. A few of the ones we've already knocked off the list are out on the town tonight doing things that would have father rejecting any advance they made.

But I find one particularly interesting picture.

"Look at this," I say, sliding my phone across the floor.

"I'm busy."

"I'll take over. You look at the phone." I hop off the bed and push her out of the way.

I really do take over, scanning through Erica's meticulously crafted lists about each candidate.

No one strikes my fancy at all.

Erica has made her way to my bed so I wander over, watching her scroll through the pictures of Enzo playing chess with Prince Antonio of Manarola. There's a sketchbook open on the table with a stunning image of Prince Antonio standing next to my sister. Which is what I wanted her to see.

"Doesn't know you exist, huh?" I nudge her shoulder.

Her blush answers, though her words focus on the task at hand. "So, who are we narrowing it down to?"

I scrunch up my face.

"No, Gemma! We need to pick someone. We only have a day to find the guy and then less than a week to convince him to offer you marriage."

"Which is outrageous and archaic," I groan, tossing my own hair pins onto the table. "I don't want a husband."

"I know. But there must be someone who will make an acceptable suitor, at least. Someone we trust to call it off."

"Not a single gentleman is suitable," I whine, flopping down onto my bed and covering my face with the nearest decorative pillow.

I'm just doing a service to the pillow, making it useful after all these years being supposedly beautiful.

It has a purpose now.

"All of the gentlemen are suitable," Erica counters, sliding closer to me on the bed. "Literally every single one. I'll give Father credit there."

I can't help but glare at her. "Whose side are you on?"

"The one where we need to figure this out and lying to ourselves won't help us get anywhere. I'm already exhausted from the two dinner parties we had to attend today before we even got to dinner. Not to mention the commotion of the wrong dessert being prepared. I don't want to stay up six extra hours because you insist upon whining when we have work to do."

"Who died and made you so assertive."

"Unfortunately no one," she replies. "I just don't want to talk about it. I want to fix it."

If there's one thing Erica is good at, it's fixing things.

"And I want to wallow in the fact that I'm being asked to do the impossible. Okay?" I counter.

"Can you wallow after we compare notes? I haven't had a spare minute to myself all day and I want to go have a nap."

"It's nine in the evening."

"Exactly."

"Fine. Fine. I'll keep my whining to a minimum if you promise to keep chatter to your top five and let me make two Enzo jokes."

"Top fifteen and one joke."

"I'd have taken less." I shrug and pull out my notebook. "So let's talk 'allies' and 'big fat nopes', because I have both."

I settle into the headboard and Erica pulls out her binder to take notes. "Okay, let's start with people you like, because I suspect that list is shorter."

I shoot her a glare.

"Am I wrong?" She bites at her pen and pulls some of the pins out of her hair.

"No," I admit. Which is part of what's so annoying. She knows me too well. "Are you sure you don't just want to pick for me?"

"One hundred and fifty percent, sister."

"I tried." I shrug and then we launch into the discussion of the men Erica hasn't yet removed from our pool of eligible suitors.

We've whittled it down to about a dozen men, unfortunately still including Enzo, when Santino knocks on the door and announces we are required in father's study. Immediately.

There's absolutely no way this is good news. There's no way.

Erica and I both stare back at Santino standing in the doorway. We both have hair that looks like birds have been nesting in it and I'm half out of my dress, the bodice still clinging to me even after I removed the skirt in favour of pyjama pants.

I glance down at my attire and Santino just shrugs. "He said immediately," he says with a smirk.

I like the way he thinks.

"All right, then," I declare. "I guess we are ready. Lead the way, Santino."

The halls are entirely clear except for the guards and a variety of other staff who are probably also guards.

Even in flats, our steps echo through the grand hall when we traverse the center of the palace to get to Father's wing.

Eventually, we stand outside Father's study staring at the doors.

The whole palace is eerily quiet, given the circumstances. The fact that there are almost a hundred men wandering around and not one of them crossed our path had to have been on purpose.

But what purpose?

"I'm afraid I cannot wait any longer, your royal highnesses," Santino says. "I must announce your arrival."

"Of course," I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Even Erica looks nervous, which isn't a great sign, honestly. She's been quieter than usual all day.

"We're ready."

When the doors open, Father is not alone. He's surrounded by three members of his advisory council and the terrible man he's hand selected to be my suitor and husband.

Spencer. Wearing yet another truly hideous suit.

Fabulous. This is going to be great.

Erica fiddles with her hair and smooths her dress down with her hands. I'm beyond caring. If Father wants to marry me off, I'm not at all concerned about making that harder for him than it was before.

"You aren't dressed," Father booms across the room.

"Would you like me to go get changed?" I challenge, struggling immeasurably against the pull of my cheek. I will not smirk. I will not smirk.

It comes out as a sort of half grimace, but what can you do?

"No," he says, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Everyone out, except my daughters."

"Your Majesty?" my perfectly adorable and amazing and not at all awful suitor asks, as though he would be the exception to the rule.

"Everyone," Father repeats. At least he's paid me that courtesy. Though, whether he's done it for me or to spare himself the embarrassment of having others stare down at his less-than-pristine daughters I know not.

Either way it's a small win and I have no choice but to accept those at this point.

The room clears in record time, the heavy wooden doors closing with a resounding, echoing thud when the last man has passed through.

Father doesn't move. He just stares at me. Erica grips herself across her abdomen, hand holding her other elbow, as she always does when she feels like she needs protection.

"What is this about?" I ask, breaking the silence.

Father doesn't answer. He doesn't move. He just darts his eyes back and forth between me and Erica, purses his lips, and pulls his arms across his chest. "I've made a decision," he says finally. "And I've made it with all interested parties, so there is no argument to be had."

"All interested parties?" I cannot believe he would say that. "Do you not consider me an interested party, as the heir to this throne and the one you'll be marrying off."

"I've said nothing about marrying you off," he answers. "But I consider you to be my daughter. That means I do what's best for you. And I consider you to be a future queen. Which means you will do what's best for this country above all else. What more is there to discuss?"

"What more is there to discuss?" What more... How?

"Father," Erica cuts in, voice demure and eyes on her feet. "What is it you have decided?"

She swallows hard, probably trying to keep her panic away. Even the idea of having to rule is too much for her.

Which is exactly why my father is right. No matter what he says next, I'm going to have to do it. I can't ruin her happiness for my own.

"Gemma is to be married," he says with finality, sitting down at his desk and flipping open a file.

"I am to be married?" I ask, certain that I heard him wrong. "I thought we had established that ages ago."

"Oh, yes. You will be wed within the month. If you do not announce your engagement by the end of your birthday ball tomorrow, I will."

He's still refusing to meet my eyes. Something is going on. Something he's not telling me.

Something bad.

But my mind latches on to my worst nightmare. Marriage.

"And your choice would be Spencer? The Duke of Caledon?" I point at the door as though the man himself still stands in view. "That man?"

"That is correct," Father confirms without looking up. "The people have decided it is time for me to step down. They will accept your ascension with a fiancé, but not without one. It is non-negotiable. You decide, or I will."

"You cannot make me wed." I'm trying to keep myself under control, for Erica's sake, but my voice grows louder and higher in pitch as the argument continues. "You cannot. The law does not allow it."

"But I can force you to get engaged. You don't need to understand it or accept it, Gemma. But that is what's going to happen. I just thought you should know."

He also wants to remind me that if I don't do it, Erica will. Well played.

"Don't you think she should also know about the external pressures?" Erica pipes up, still staring down at her feet. "If she is to rule, don't you think she ought to know?"

"How?" Father looks up from his work for the first time, dropping his pen onto his desk and standing to full height, heavy wooden chair scraping along the floor as he does so. "How do you know about that?"

"So, it's true?" she whispers beside me. "He said—"

"Who said?" Father challenges, rounding the desk to stand right in front of Erica. "Look at me when I speak to you."

Her eyes grow wide and her hand grazes across her chin, hiding her lips from view.

Enzo.

I don't know what comes over me, but I slide between my father and my sister. "She was talking about my dear suitor, Father. Who do you think?"

I shall accept the award for my quick thinking at a later date, I'm certain. But I'm awfully proud of it. Maybe, with Enzo's help, we can kill two birds with one stone.

"Now if you'll excuse me," I continue, grabbing Erica's arm and marching for the door. "I have to go select a husband. Apparently I only have until tomorrow evening. See you at my ball."

The doors miraculously open as I approach them, leading me to believe Santino is aware of more than he should be.

But I don't care. I just need to know what Enzo knows.