He Kept Me as a Spare, But I Married a Prince novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Car That Never Came
Morwen waits all day for the councilor's son, Brenna takes credit for ruining the match, Morwen slaps her in front of the pack and says she is leaving, and a reply from the Crown Prince arrives.
The councilor's car was supposed to reach the estate at noon.
I sat in the east sitting room from noon until the windows went dark.
The councilor's wife had picked me out at a charity dinner.
I had designed the gown that raised the most money at the auction, and I had given the speech when the scheduled speaker fell ill.
Afterward she took both my hands and said she wanted me to meet her younger son.
He was a handsome, well-mannered graduate of the academy, and the whole estate knew he was coming.
The other girls had pressed my good blue dress and asked the kitchen for a proper afternoon tea.
Last night Brenna had carried my tea up herself, the bitter one the kitchen sends me every evening for my weak constitution.
She told me to drink it all and sleep well, because tomorrow was a big day.
I drank it all.
By dusk the tea on the table was cold and the cakes had gone stiff.
A woman from the front desk finally came in and stood by the door with her hands clasped.
"The councilor's wife is visiting another girl today," she said. "Her assistant says there was a scheduling error."
"Another girl," I said.
"I'm sorry, Miss Ainsley."
Behind her, a door opened on the far side of the room.
Brenna Ardley strolled in, still in her cropped leather jacket, and clapped her hands together once.
"Good, you've heard," she said, smiling. "I got to her just in time."
I stared at her.
Brenna's father was the Alpha of Blackthorn, and she had spent three years on the border patrols.
Every pack on this side of the mountains took her word as law.
"I told her you're good for dresses and a few pretty speeches, and nothing else," she said warmly.
"I told her you can't support yourself without Graymoor, so how could you run a councilor's household?"
"Marrying you would have ruined her son's life. I did him a favor, and you too. You'd have been miserable."
This was the fifth time.
The first man had stopped writing to me after one dinner with her.
The second had told me, very kindly, that I spent money like water.
I had never owned anything I didn't sew myself.
Garrick came in behind her.
Garrick Holt was the son of Alpha Osric Holt, who had taken me in, and the boy who taught me to ride when I arrived here at eighteen with my parents three weeks in the ground.
"Morwen," he said, in his calm voice. "Brenna's always been blunt. She's loyal to her friends. She isn't doing this on purpose."
Aunt Margery had asked him about it more than once.
Each time he had shrugged and told her I'd had a crush on him since we were children, and that nobody else would have me anyway.
I looked at the two of them standing side by side, and my chest went cold.
I lifted my hand and slapped Brenna across the face.
The sound cracked through the room.
Nobody moved.
In seven years I had never raised my voice in this house.
Brenna's eyes flashed gold, and she drew her hand back to hit me.
Garrick caught her wrist before it came down.
"That's enough," he said. "Her wolf is weak. She couldn't take a hit from you."
Brenna wrenched her arm free.
"I was helping her," she said. "That's the thanks I get?"
"I know," Garrick said, and rubbed her back. "Come on."
He turned to me at the door.
"Nothing changes after Brenna and I are married, Morwen," he said gently. "You'll still have your room here. I'll always look after you."
Brenna laughed, and he led her out.
I stood there with my palm throbbing.
Then I did what I had never once done at Graymoor.
I said it out loud, to the empty room and the woman by the door.
"I'm leaving."
The woman from the front desk looked down at her shoes.
Then she looked up.
"Miss Ainsley," she said quietly. "A courier came this afternoon. He wouldn't leave it with anyone but you."
She held out an envelope.
The paper was thick and cream, and the seal on the back was a gold crown pressed into black wax.
A year ago I had hidden a bleeding stranger in our boathouse and stitched his side with my sewing thread.
He left before dawn, with a card on the pillow that said only: Whatever you ask.
Three weeks ago, with my hands shaking, I had written to the number on it.
I broke the seal.
"I have your letter. The answer is yes. I will come to the Graymoor gate at noon tomorrow. Be ready to leave. Lucan Hartsmere, Crown Prince."
I read the name three times.
The man I had stitched up in the boathouse was the prince of the realm.
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