The Mad Princess and the Dying Prince novel Chapter 29

Prince Jareth arched an eyebrow.

"It is true I have no fondness for Seraphina, but if Father believed she was the right choice, I suppose I could simply marry her and leave her to rot in the Prince's Estate."

"We cannot have that!" the king countered instantly, laying on the brotherly concern. "I, too, wish for you to wed a woman who truly captures your heart."

"I do not possess a heart to be captured. What does it matter who wears the crown of my bride?" Prince Jareth replied.

The king felt a spike of genuine panic.

Was Jareth dead set on marrying Seraphina simply because of those half-spoken dying words?

The more Jareth seemed to want her, the more suspicious the king became, and the more vehemently he resolved to block the union.

"Were you not just begging me for a royal marriage decree?" the king pressed. "Did you not claim to have found a girl who caught your eye?"

"A passing fancy," Prince Jareth scoffed. "A little country girl I found amusing. Seeing our father's failing health, I merely thought to bring a bride home quickly to lift his spirits. It was never a matter of affection."

A cynical smirk played on his lips, as if mocking the very idea that he could ever fall in love.

His tone when speaking of this mysterious girl was flippant, entirely dismissive.

Yet, his reasoning struck a chord of perfect logic in the king's mind.

Rushing a wedding to bring a dying father joy before the end? That was entirely plausible!

The king swallowed the bait whole.

And the revelation that this girl was some insignificant country bumpkin—merely a passing novelty—set the king's mind racing with absolute delight.

His greatest fear had always been Jareth marrying into a powerful noble house!

He had been dreading the political pressure to find his brother a bride of equal standing, and now Jareth had miraculously chosen a nobody from the countryside?

It was a gift from the gods!

Forgetting all about the dead man lying in the bed, the king leaned in, his voice trembling with eager anticipation. "Which house does she belong to?"

"Father’s spirit may linger near the grave. If he sees you formally betrothed by then, he will cross into the light with a joyful heart," the king insisted, his tone dripping with fake sincerity. "If you remain alone in the Royal Capital, his soul will never find rest."

Prince Jareth seemed to waver.

But then his face contorted in deep disdain. "The girl I mentioned earlier... I merely plucked her from the street."

The king's small eyes practically sparkled. He leaned closer. "Tell me, whose daughter is she?"

"Not a commoner, technically. I was told she is the second daughter of Lord Alistair Beaumont. Apparently, he left her to rot in the countryside for the past ten years."

"Lord Beaumont?"

The king knew the man well. "Lord Beaumont? He has a daughter who was banished to the countryside for a decade? And she's the second-born?"

House Beaumont's standing was pitifully low compared to the majesty of the Prince's Estate!

The king nearly burst out laughing. Catching sight of the old king's corpse out of the corner of his eye, however, a chill ran down his spine, and he quickly swallowed his mirth.