The very next morning, a royal notice went up on every wall in the palace:
His Majesty grants the Heartbinder one month to choose his consort(s).
Until then, any prince may court him openly.
No blood may be spilled.
No marking without consent.
Failure to obey = immediate exile.
Underneath, in Aiden's handwriting, someone had added in big bold letters:
Touch him without permission and you deal with ALL of us.
I stared at the notice and felt my stomach flip.
Because right under that, in ten different handwritings, were the words:
Date #1 – Prince _____ – Day ____
And every single slot was already filled in.
They'd made a schedule.
A literal courting timetable.
Like I was a prize cow at the fair.
I marched straight to the dining hall where most of them were eating breakfast.
"You guys are ridiculous," I announced, slapping the paper on the table.
Nine heads snapped up. (Damon was missing; he's allergic to mornings.)
