A Courtyard of Roses

Chapter Twenty-Eight

HE WAS BORED out of his mind.

The clock that counted down the seconds seemed to tick by exceptionally slow today. In fact, there were times where it felt as though time wasn't moving at all and not in a good sense. The women that sat around the long rectangular table all chattered on about useless topics that neither intrigued nor agitated him to offer much care about. From what he could be bothered to hear, they talked about fashion, gossip, and riches, all the things he had heard about since the day he was born.

As the crown prince, Hartley hated nothing more than the mindless chatter of the high nobility. The topics that encircled their society were nothing more than either a pretense to gain attention or it was truly what their cotton-for-brains thought about twenty-four seven.

None of the women present cared much about Hartley so obviously what they chose to discuss was nothing that was or circumstances to him. What they — and their families — truly cared about was his position, his riches, his power. They eyed the position of being the next queen of Gladiolum.

Then again, that was nothing new. Humans had been that way for a long time.

It was his mother's idea. Six women from noble families were selected as the finalists in the selection of the next crown princess candidate. Today would be the first day they were gathered in a friendly tea party. After that, he'll select three women from the group who will be able to advance to the second round of the selection. These three women will then get a chance to dine with Hartley alone. Ultimately, one of these six was to become his wife in the future. However, if Hartley truly selected one of them, his future would no doubt be bleak and boring.

Besides, knowing his mother's intentions, she probably already had a choice in mind. These other girls were just invited to appease the noble social circle and make it seem like fair competition.

"Haven't you heard, Your Highness?" The daughter of a viscount, Petunia Devon, asked. Her bright fuschia pink lace fan fluttered in the breeze as she fanned herself, half-hiding behind the hand-held accessory. She sat furthest away from Hartley but the distance was no hindrance for her. She made sure to speak loud enough to be heard by all. "It seems like a rat has snuck into the famed Ragan household. Isn't your personal assistant the future Marquess Ragan?"

"Ah, Lord Wyatt's house?" Another questioned. If Hartley remembered correctly, she was Marquess De Clare's daughter, Azalea De Clare. Unlike Petunia, Azalea sat on Hartley's left, with him being at the head of the table. She sat closer to Hartley simply because her family was of higher standing. He had been specifically instructed by his mother to select her as one of the three finalists. "I heard that they adopted a distant relative into the main line. What was her name again? Anice? Alicia?"

Hartley's jaw clenched in irritation.

"Alice."

"Right." Lifting the teacup to her lips, Azalea was about to take a sip from it when she paused. Her eyes widened slightly when she finally registered who it was that had replied to her question. A faint blush crept up her cheeks. After all, the number of times the prince had spoken up ever since the tea party started could be counted on one hand. Out of everyone, he replied to her question. Her chest swelled with pride, suddenly brimming with confidence. "Well heard, Your Highness. The name must've slipped my mind for a second there."

'It didn't,' he silently thought to himself. 'You've simply never bothered yourself to find out her name. How would you have known?'

The conversation continued, words thrown about idly. None of it meant any more than the dirt beneath his shoe. In his head, Hartley began counting down the seconds before Wyatt would finally arrive and save him from this mess. He had requested Alice be brought with him to the palace. That meant that he could finally meet the famed peasant girl that had suddenly burst out to be the talk of the town.