Prince Elliot de Chanberg shook off his valet and sighed. After three years of not fending off his father's attempts to marry him to some dimwitted princess, the King had finally his foot down.
Literally. He'd stomped so hard his knee had given out under the pressure of so much weight coming down on it, keeping the king of France in his bed. Not that that put off the royal wedding of his second son, oh no. The Heir Apparent had promptly set his wife to organizing the wedding. Elliot's sister-in-law, one of the few members of his family he didn't hate (he felt indifferent towards her) had cheerfully invited any and all royalty she could find, found a Cardinal to marry them, and spent as much of his money as she could.
Giving the lace at his throat one last fluff, he exited his chambers and went to the Hall of Mirrors to wait for his betrothed. Giving his platoon of servants a glare that sent them scurrying away, he seated himself in an overstuffed red velvet chair to wait.
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