She’s been tasked with finding the crown prince’s perfect match. Too bad he’s sworn off love.


"Your mother is worried about you."

Valentin, crown prince of Glorvaird, looked up from the newspaper headline that had captured his attention.

His father, Cody Austin, strode into the blue breakfast room with his usual loose-limbed cowboy swagger. Valentin had attempted to imitate it once. He'd been all of ten, and his mother had politely hinted that a future king couldn't walk like that.

Mother's hints were always polite. Until they weren't.

"I'm fine," Valentin told his father as the older man settled in the chair across the small, round table covered in white linen and fine china. He folded the newspaper and laid it on the table beside his place setting.

Father leveled a look on him.

"I had my annual physical a few weeks ago,” Valentin said. “I'm as healthy as a horse." He wasn't the one who spent his life drinking and carousing and doing who-knew-what. Let Mother worry about his brother. Not Valentin.

"She's worried about your emotional health." Father grimaced. "I can't believe I just said that."

Valentin could. Mother was demanding and to-the-point. She had to be as reigning queen. But Father... Father had a sun-hardened facade that hid a soul sensitive enough that he was often the emissary Mother sent when she needed someone tactful.

Which meant the eighteen month reprieve Valentin had received was over.

The bite of eggs Benedict he'd put in his mouth turned to ash. It would be impolite to spit it out, even though it felt like he would vomit if he swallowed.

He swallowed anyway. Everyone said his heart was made of stone. Maybe the lining of his stomach was, too.

"Max phoned you, too?"

Dad's head came up, his eyes sharp. "No. He called you?"

Oh. He should've just asked Dad what was going on with Mother, not revealed something he'd rather have kept quiet.

"A few times. He left voicemails." Which Valentin had deleted without listening to. As far as he was concerned, his brother no longer existed.

But the curiosity and disappointment his father couldn't quite hide cut.

Valentin couldn't help the hit of guilt before he buried it. Max deserved what he got. Valentin never wanted to see him again, and he'd said so right to his brother's face.

But despite the fact that Max was a screw-up, Mother and Father didn't feel the same way.

"He probably blew through his allowance for the month," Valentin said grimly.

Tiny lines fanned his father's eyes. He hummed noncommittally.

It was time for a subject change. If Father called Max later to find out what bind his younger brother had gotten into, Valentin didn't want to know about it.

"If it wasn't that, what exactly has Mother worried?"

Now it was Father who laid down his fork. "We can talk about it later."

Or never. Never would be Valentin's preference.

Unfortunately, his mother was used to the entire country bowing to her wishes. And even if Father delayed, it wouldn't be long before Valentin discovered whatever this was.

"Tell me," he said.

If he wasn't mistaken, Father winced.

Valentin braced himself, imagining an invisible joist and braces shoring up the crumbling brick wall that was inside him.

"Your mother thinks it might be time to start dating again."

"What?" His voice shook slightly. His insides too, as if a light earthquake had rumbled through the foundation Valentin's being.

"It's going on two years."

Eighteen months and two days. Only that long since the day his younger brother had betrayed him. Or at least since the day Valentin had discovered the betrayal. Valentin had been completed blindsided, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that Max and Annika had been together behind his back for far longer.

Valentin had been devoted to Annika. Besotted with her. Blind to her faults. Or maybe that had been willful on his part.

His first duty was to his country. He'd told her that on their second date, insulated in a tiny, private booth at a coffee shop in Paris, where they'd met. He'd been in France on business, a meeting with the prime minister.

Annika had claimed to understand, to admire his dedication to his people. But all his trips overseas, the endless parliament meetings, the late nights spent reading the newest proposed bill or trade agreement instead of being out on the town...

Annika had strayed, right into his brother's arms.

And stayed there, apparently, even though Max's longest relationship before her had had a shelf life of two weeks.

Thinking about dating again, about allowing someone into his life, made Valentin think he might yet see the return of his eggs Benedict.

Stone stomach. He attempted a smile at his father, even as his mind raced for the right answer. He folded the linen napkin in his lap, took his time placing the perfect square that emerged under his fingers onto the table beside his plate.

"I am much too busy with matters of importance to this country." That sounded too stiff, formal. Father was going to see right through him. "Dating would be too much of a distraction."

Father's pointed gaze missed nothing. "You've always felt the responsibility of the crown. But lately you've been burying yourself in your duties. Even before—you know."

Valentin's smile grew thin. "Is that Mother's opinion or yours?"

Father didn't show any sign he felt the blow, though Valentin had meant the words as a strike. His father’s gaze was intent, and maybe a little sad.

"How long has it been since you took some time for yourself? Thought about something other than tariffs and treaties?"

Every night. Every night when he wondered what he might've done differently to make Annika happy. Where he'd gone wrong in his relationship with Max. How could his brother have betrayed him like he had?

But that wasn't what Father meant.

"The crown does not sleep." It was one of Mother's favorite sayings. When he'd been a young boy and asked why Mother and Father got to stay up late when he had to be tucked in early, she'd used it frequently. Later, when he'd asked why they didn't vacation abroad like some of his friends did, his Mother had answered, "The crown doesn't vacation."

"Your mother sleeps," Father said. "She relies on her staff when she needs to and she understands that if she works twenty-four hours a day, she's going to burn out. She was close to it when we met, you know. Burying all of herself in her duties because her father was dying and she didn't know how to handle it."

What was left of Valentin's smile was scraps. No doubt his bared teeth would've terrified a lesser mortal than his father. "Then it is a good thing you're in excellent health."

Father opened his mouth, no doubt to explain that hadn’t been what he'd meant.

Valentin pushed back from the table, though he didn't stand. "I am not burning out. I have always loved my country, our people. I do my best to serve them diligently. Mother should recognize that." He nearly choked on his next words. "I'm only twenty-five. There is plenty of time for dating. Later. There's no royal decree that says I have to be married by thirty."

He knew, because he'd once looked. He'd been ten and Max nine when his younger brother had convinced him there was a marriage agreement that had required he marry the daughter of a visiting German dignitary, a horrid little girl who treated the servants nastily and stuck out her tongue at him whenever no adults were looking.

"You're going to have to let someone in eventually," Father said.

Valentin pictured his wall again, and his heart, which he imagined as a crumbling castle behind it. It had been bombed to the foundations. Valentin had built walls to protect it, but there was nothing there to protect anymore. He had no heart to give.

"Does she have someone in mind?" Until Annika, he'd expected to make a political match. Marry to unite two counties and all of that. He couldn't imagine trusting anyone else with the deepest parts of himself, but if it was for his country, maybe he could bear it.

But Father shook his head and wore an expression of faint... chagrin?

"What?" Valentin's tone became sharper as his temper got shorter. He stood, straightening his shirt cuffs. He had a meeting in an hour and needed to prepare.

"She's got this idea that..." Father shook his head. He stood too, his height a reminder of how much Valentin admired the man.

"Tell me," Valentin repeated, temper dissipating like sand in a windstorm. Father didn't deserve that from him. It wasn't Father who'd betrayed him. It wasn't Father's fault his heart didn't exist.

"She heard about this high profile matchmaker lady."

"Absolutely not." The words were out before Valentin had time to think them through. It was a ludicrous idea. Out of the question.

Was that what Mother thought of his skill at attracting the opposite sex? That he needed someone to pick a match for him?

"I'll tell her myself," Valentin said grimly. "There will be no matchmaker for me."


Crystal Ramos drove her compact car away from the gatehouse and parked where she'd been directed, beside the royal garage. Was there a different name for it if the garage was so massive it could've fit her apartment inside at least ten times?

She'd been invited to the castle to visit Glorvaird's royal family. Well, part of it.

She was still mired in disbelief as she got out of the car. She stood on the pavers, craning her neck up to admire the castle that rose above her on two sides.

She couldn't believe she was here. Or that Queen Eloise had even heard of her.

Her! A nobody from a family of nobodies. She hadn't even finished college. And the queen had called her directly. Not some assistant. Not an email.

She was here to meet with the crown prince because he needed her services.

If she could find the prince a perfect match, she'd have her choice of future clients. She'd never have to work with sniveling, spoiled men like Ronald Frothingham again.

And maybe—this dream was so far out there that she hadn't really let it coalesce as a thought until this very moment—maybe she wouldn't have to worry about every single penny. She could pay Michael and Reid's college tuition and be able to eat more than ramen with a side of ramen. She could buy lobster.

She was shaken out of her daydream at a polite cough from nearby.

"Oh, hi!" She pushed away from the car, where she'd leaned as her happy daydreams had spun around her.

A man—not the prince—in a dove gray sweater over a starched collared shirt and pressed slacks was waiting near the corner of the garage, where a footpath led around the side.

"Sorry, I was woolgathering." Could he really blame her? She'd jumped at the chance to meet with the prince, but the only time available in his calendar had been early in the day. She'd always considered anything before seven a.m. ridiculous, but she couldn't exactly say that to her newest client, not with everything that was riding on this.

The well-dressed man was still waiting on her as she dragged her leather laptop bag out of the backseat of her car.

When she joined him, he said, "This way, miss."

She'd hoped there was a second door, maybe a servant's entrance or something, around the corner—she'd seen the main entrance at the front of the garage—but that hope was dashed as she followed the guy down the footpath around the base of the stone castle.

She'd worn a knee-length skirt and a button-up blouse with her best pair of black heels. They weren't Louboutins, or even knockoffs, but she was hoping the ensemble made her look professional and conservative. As it was, the humidity was creeping in beneath her skirt and making her underarms damp. Or maybe that was her nerves.

She tried to unobtrusively wipe her palms on her skirt.

And then the stone footpath gave way to sand as the castle wall ended and the ocean opened up in front of them, a panorama that spanned the horizon.

Her escort kept going.

"Uh, excuse me."

She stalled out on the last stone paver.

Her guide turned back and raised one imperious eyebrow.

She wondered what she'd gotten into. This was someone who worked for the prince. Did her client have that same superior attitude? Or worse?

Was he going to be another Ronald?

She made herself focus. "Let's start over, shall we? I'm Crystal."

She extended her hand and, after a prolonged moment, he shook it. "Conrad, the crown prince's personal assistant."

Ah. Gatekeeper, schedule keeper. The prince's man.

Not someone she wanted to offend.

"Conrad. It's nice to meet you. Where are we going?"

"Your meeting with his highness."

"On the beach?"

Her skepticism must've been audible because Conrad sighed with a good dose of long-suffering. She'd heard sighs like that often from her younger brothers.

"If you would...?" He gestured for her to follow him.

And even though a small part of her wondered if this was some elaborate joke Michael had cooked up—did her brother have the connections to pull this off?—she reached down and took off her shoes and followed Conrad onto the sand.

The sun was coming up over the edge of the water. The sky was all orange hues. Even the sand was gilded gold.

She blamed the romantic lighting for what happened next.

It felt like a lightning bolt. A current that zapped straight down her spine to her toes when she caught sight of the prince.

He was shirtless, his skin slicked with sweat and gleaming bronze as he jogged down the beach at the water's edge.

No, jogging wasn't the right term. There was someone a few paces behind the prince—a bodyguard?—who was puffing for air and straining for each step as he fought to keep up.

Sprinting. That was the word.

The crown prince was sprinting closer and closer, each step churning up sand behind him.

She'd known he was handsome. Yesterday, she'd pored over her computer for hours, surfing the internet and reading article after article about him. Of course there had been pictures. She was acquainted with the planes of his face, the patrician nose, the startling ice-blue of his eyes.

But this was not the polished, handsome man in a designer suit, posing for photos. Even in the occasional candid she'd seen, he was all elegant haughtiness.

This was the prince like she'd never seen him before. And she guessed not many people had.

And then he raised a hand and did a slow lope right toward them.

Lightning bolt. Prince with a hot bod. Crystal blinked as she felt a blush scalding her cheeks. She had one-point-five seconds to find her composure, but it had deserted her completely.

Think about Michael and Reid. Her brothers needed her. She needed this job.

She breathed in deeply the scent of salt water, and when she exhaled, she was back to herself.

A few yards away, the prince slowed to a walk. It didn't seem fair that he was only slightly winded. He glanced at her, his eyes wary, as he approached Conrad first.

His assistant held out a T-shirt, which the prince slipped over his head, the material quickly covering his powerful chest and the six-pack she hadn't imagined beneath his tailored suits.

Conrad handed him a small towel that he used to wipe first his face and then his hands.

And then the prince turned from Conrad to her.

"So you're the matchmaker."

"So I am." She stepped forward to meet his handshake and only belatedly remembered she had her shoes in hand. She juggled them, along with her satchel, her face heating again at her own awkwardness, before she got everything into her left hand.

She couldn't help the lift of her chin. Meeting on the beach had been his idea, not hers. "I'm Crystal Ramos. It's an honor to meet you, your highness."

He handed the towel to Conrad, who faded back, presumably heading off the beach. Which left only the two of them and the bodyguard, who stood several feet away, scanning the view back toward the castle.

The prince’s grip was warm and sure. "Valentin, if you please."

If she pleased. To be on a first name basis with the prince.

But as he squeezed her hand once and then released her, she saw that the wariness in his expression hadn't disappeared. It'd been joined by curiosity, maybe. But it was still there.

It had been his mother who'd called her, not the prince himself. Of course he was wary.

He nodded back the direction she and Conrad had come from, and she fell into step beside him.

"Your highness. I mean… Valentin." That was going to take some getting used to.

His strides were so long that she had to scramble in the sand to keep up with him. She grasped for professionalism.

"Thank you for meeting with me," she said.

"I'm afraid I don't have long." And his gaze was distant. As if he'd already dismissed her. "Frankly, hiring you was my mother's idea."

She knew that, but she hadn't expected his curt dismissal.

All the dreams she'd been spinning began to shimmer like a mirage. She felt a tremble start deep inside but masked it with a polite smile.

"And you're going along with it?" Am I wasting my time?

They'd reached the edge of the castle wall, where the sand met the stone pavers.

He turned to her.

And she realized she was standing with her only empty hand cocked on her hip. Probably it wasn't appropriate to speak to the prince with an attitude, but she didn't like feeling misled. The queen had insinuated that the job was Crystal's.

"I'll give you four dates. With different women or the same one, I don't care. Wow me."

What arrogance!

She opened her mouth to tell him exactly where he could put his wow me, but what emerged was, "What are you looking for in a match?"


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