Three consecutive days of rain had dampened the capital's streets but not Rosalind's determination. Seated in the vish drawing room of the Harrington mansion, she tapped her fingernails impatiently against the porcein teacup in her hand while her two closest confidantes—if such self-serving friendships could be called that—exchanged concerned gnces.

  "Truly, Rosalind, perhaps it's time to set your sights elsewhere," suggested Lady Beatrice, a plump blonde whose father's shipping fortune had earned her a pce in high society despite her family's retively recent nobility. "There are plenty of eligible lords who would be honored to court you."

  "Honored?" Rosalind scoffed. "I don't want someone 'honored' by my attention. I want the crown prince."

  Lady Eleanor, the third member of their trio and daughter of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, leaned forward conspiratorially. "But have you seen how he looks at Lady Sophia? At the Countess of Fairfield's garden party yesterday, they spent nearly an hour discussing botanical specimens, of all things." She rolled her eyes. "Botanical specimens! Can you imagine anything duller?"

  "It's a ruse," Rosalind insisted, setting her teacup down with enough force that tea sloshed over the rim, staining the immacute tablecloth. She didn't notice or care. "The prince is merely toying with her—or with me. Creating jealousy to make me pursue him more ardently."

  Beatrice and Eleanor exchanged another look, this one tinged with pity.

  "What?" Rosalind demanded.

  "Nothing," Beatrice replied quickly. After a pause, she ventured, "It's just that... well, they've been seen together nearly every day for two weeks now."

  "And?" Rosalind's voice had taken on a dangerous edge.

  "And," Eleanor continued where Beatrice had faltered, "there are rumors that the King has invited Earl Westmere to a private audience tomorrow."

  Rosalind froze. A private audience with the King could only mean one thing—discussion of a potential betrothal. No, this couldn't be happening. Not when she had pnned everything so carefully, not when she had already begun selecting fabrics for her wedding gown.

  "Where did you hear this?" she demanded.

  "My father mentioned it this morning," Eleanor replied, looking uncomfortable. "He was preparing documents about the Westmere estates for the King's review."

  Rosalind stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the marble floor. She paced the room, her mind racing faster than her feet. "This makes no sense. Lady Sophia has nothing to offer that I don't have tenfold. The Harrington duchy is three times the size of Westmere's earldom. Our bloodline is impeccable. I've been educated by the finest tutors in the empire."

  "She is very kind," Beatrice offered hesitantly.

  "Kind?" Rosalind spun to face her friend. "Kind is for nursemaids and charity workers. A future empress needs strength, ambition, social grace—all of which I possess in abundance."

  "Perhaps the prince values different qualities," Eleanor suggested, immediately regretting her words when Rosalind's eyes narrowed.

  "What exactly are you implying?"

  "Nothing at all," Eleanor backpedaled. "Only that men can be unpredictable in matters of the heart."

  Rosalind resumed her pacing, mind working furiously. There had to be a way to disrupt this unexpected romance, to remind Prince Adrian that she was the superior choice in every way.

  She stopped suddenly, a slow smile spreading across her face.

  "What is it?" Beatrice asked, recognizing the expression that typically preceded Rosalind's most daring—or disastrous—schemes.

  "I've just realized I've been approaching this all wrong," Rosalind said, returning to her seat with newfound calm. "I've been trying to win the prince's attention when I should have been removing the competition."

  Eleanor shifted uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

  "Lady Sophia has a reputation for being sweet and demure, does she not? The perfect dy in every respect?"

  "Yes," Beatrice agreed cautiously. "Everyone says so."

  "Then it's time the prince saw another side of her. Or," Rosalind's smile turned calcuting, "at least believes he has."

  "Rosalind..." Eleanor's voice held a note of warning. "Whatever you're thinking—"

  "Oh, don't look so concerned. I'm not suggesting anything truly malicious." Rosalind waved dismissively. "But perhaps a few well-pced rumors, a social misstep or two attributed to our dear Lady Sophia..."

  "That's dishonest," Beatrice protested weakly.

  "It's strategic," Rosalind corrected. "And entirely justified when the future of the empire is at stake. Can you imagine someone as meek as Sophia trying to manage court politics? She'd be eaten alive. I'm saving both her and the prince from a disastrous match."

  Eleanor and Beatrice didn't look convinced, but neither did they openly object. After all, crossing Rosalind Harrington was never wise, especially when she had that particur gleam in her eye.

  "Now," Rosalind continued, "here's what we're going to do..."

  Prince Adrian was not in a pleasant mood. The stack of diplomatic correspondence on his desk had grown rather than diminished despite three hours of dedicated work, and the persistent headache behind his eyes threatened to bloom into something truly debilitating.

  A knock at his study door offered welcome interruption.

  "Enter," he called, setting aside a particurly tedious report on grain tariffs.

  His secretary, Lord Holloway, stepped into the room with a bow. "Your Highness, Lady Sophia of Westmere requests a brief audience, if you're avaible."

  Adrian's mood immediately lightened. "Of course. Show her in at once."

  Moments ter, Lady Sophia entered, carrying a small leather-bound book. She cursed gracefully, her pale blue dress rustling softly against the carpet.

  "Your Highness, I hope I'm not disturbing your work."

  "Not at all," Adrian assured her, coming around his desk to greet her properly. "In fact, you've rescued me from the deadly clutches of agricultural policy."

  She smiled at that, the genuine warmth in her expression a refreshing change from the calcuted simpers he typically received from court dies. "I've brought the botanical text I mentioned yesterday. The illustrations of rare mountain flowers are quite remarkable."

  "Wonderful. Would you care to show me over tea? I think we both deserve a respite."

  As they settled in the adjoining sitting room, Adrian found himself studying Sophia's profile while she carefully turned the pages of her book. She wasn't conventionally beautiful like many court dies, cking the dramatic features and practiced allure that someone like Lady Rosalind wielded like a weapon. But there was something undeniably appealing about her quiet confidence and genuine interest in the world beyond social climbing.

  "You're staring, Your Highness," Sophia observed without looking up, a blush coloring her cheeks.

  Adrian ughed. "Caught in the act. I was just thinking how different you are."

  "Different?"

  "From the typical court dy," he expined. "It's... refreshing."

  Now she did look up, curiosity in her gentle brown eyes. "I'm not certain that's a compliment. I've been told numerous times that I'm not accomplished enough in the art of courtly intrigue."

  "By whom?"

  "Oh, various well-meaning retives," she replied with a small smile. "Most recently by Lady Rosalind Harrington, though I don't believe she meant it kindly."

  Adrian couldn't stop himself from grimacing at the mention of Rosalind. "Ah, Lady Harrington. She has... made her interest in a royal match quite clear."

  "Quite clear indeed," Sophia agreed, a hint of rare mischief in her expression. "I believe everyone within three kingdoms is aware of her ambitions concerning you."

  They shared a ugh, and Adrian felt another knot of tension leave his shoulders. This was why he enjoyed Sophia's company—the ease of their conversation, the absence of constant status calcutions that characterized most of his interactions.

  "May I be frank with you, Lady Sophia?"

  "I would hope you always are, Your Highness."

  "Lady Rosalind's attentions have become increasingly difficult to deflect politely. I've tried every subtle method of communicating my ck of interest, but she seems to interpret basic courtesy as encouragement."

  Sophia regarded him thoughtfully. "And you wish for my advice?"

  "If you would be so kind."

  She closed her book, giving him her full attention. "Well, in my limited experience, someone as determined as Lady Rosalind will only be deterred by a direct obstacle. Something unmistakable."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as your obvious interest in someone else," Sophia suggested, then immediately looked down at her hands. "Forgive me if that's too presumptuous."

  Adrian leaned forward, an idea taking shape. "No, it's brilliant actually. Lady Rosalind would finally cease her pursuit if she believed I had already given my heart to another." He paused, considering the implications. "But it would require the cooperation of the dy in question. She would need to py the role convincingly, knowing it was merely a stratagem."

  Their eyes met, and Adrian saw understanding dawn in Sophia's gaze.

  "Are you suggesting what I think you are, Your Highness?"

  "A pretend courtship? Yes, I believe I am." He grinned, warming to the idea. "It would solve my immediate problem, and..." he hesitated, then decided honesty was warranted, "I genuinely enjoy your company, Lady Sophia. The arrangement needn't be entirely unpleasant for either of us."

  Sophia's lips twitched with suppressed amusement. "How galntly put."

  "I'm making a hash of this, aren't I?" Adrian ran a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of uncertainty for the normally composed prince.

  "Perhaps a little," she admitted. "But I understand your predicament. And as it happens, a courtship—even a pretend one—with the crown prince would solve certain difficulties in my own situation."

  "What difficulties?"

  "My father has been entertaining suit offers from Lord Bckwood," she expined with visible distaste. "A man three times my age with a reputation for being particurly harsh to his previous wives."

  "Ah," Adrian nodded. "Then we might help each other. Shall we form an alliance, Lady Sophia? Against both Lady Rosalind's unwanted attentions and Lord Bckwood's unsavory suit?"

  Sophia considered for a moment, then extended her hand in a decidedly undylike gesture. "An alliance it is, Your Highness."

  Adrian took her hand and shook it, feeling for the first time in months that he had regained some control over his own life.

  Little did he know that across the city, Lady Rosalind was setting in motion pns that would turn his simple solution into a far more complicated problem.

  On the third evening after forming their scheme, Rosalind stood near a marble column in the grand gallery of the Imperial Pace, watching with narrowed eyes as Prince Adrian escorted Lady Sophia through an exhibition of Northern Province ndscapes. They made a striking pair—the tall, golden-haired prince leaning down attentively to hear the soft-spoken dy's observations about the artwork.

  "It's positively sickening," she muttered to Eleanor, who stood beside her feigning interest in a particurly gloomy painting of a winter forest.

  "They do seem genuinely fond of each other," Eleanor observed.

  Rosalind shot her a withering look. "Whose side are you on?"

  "Yours, of course," Eleanor replied quickly. "I'm merely commenting on the challenge before us."

  "Is everything prepared for tomorrow night's opera?" Rosalind asked, changing the subject.

  "Yes. Lady Sophia's dy's maid has been adequately compensated. She'll ensure that the left sleeve of Sophia's gown has an... unfortunate weakness."

  "And Beatrice?"

  "She'll be positioned to spill her wine at precisely the right moment, creating maximum visibility."

  Rosalind nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. A public dispy of temper from our sweet Lady Sophia should make the prince reconsider his choice."

  "But will she actually lose her temper?" Eleanor wondered. "She's known for her equanimity."

  "Everyone has a breaking point," Rosalind replied confidently. "We just need to find hers. If this doesn't work, we move to phase two."

  As they spoke, Prince Adrian noticed their presence and, after a brief word to Lady Sophia, began leading her in their direction. Rosalind straightened, arranging her features into a mask of pleasant surprise.

  "Lady Rosalind, Lady Eleanor," the prince greeted them with a polite nod. "Are you enjoying the exhibition?"

  "Immensely, Your Highness," Rosalind replied, dropping into a perfect curtsy that dispyed both her excellent posture and the advantageous cut of her emerald gown. "Though I confess I've always preferred the more vibrant palette of Southern Province artists."

  "An interesting preference," he commented neutrally before turning to include Lady Sophia. "We were just discussing the technical skill evident in Baron Northcott's use of light. Lady Sophia has quite an educated eye for artistic technique."

  "How fortunate," Rosalind commented with a sweetness that didn't reach her eyes. "I imagine there's little else to do in the remote Westmere estates but study paintings."

  Sophia's smile never faltered. "Actually, I divide my time between many interests. Botany, literature, charitable works. But I'm sure your days are filled with far more exciting pursuits, Lady Rosalind."

  Before Rosalind could respond to what she perceived as a veiled insult, the prince spoke again. "Lady Sophia has been kind enough to help organize the children's wing at the Imperial Hospital. Her program bringing musicians to py for the young patients has been remarkably successful."

  "How charming," Rosalind replied, inwardly seething at this evidence of Sophia's apparent perfection. "I wasn't aware you had such... maternal instincts, Lady Sophia."

  "It's less about maternal instincts and more about basic compassion," Sophia replied mildly, though Rosalind detected a hint of steel beneath the gentle tone.

  An uncomfortable silence fell, which Eleanor hastily filled. "The new Eastern Gallery is opening next week, is it not, Your Highness? I've heard the imperial collection of jade sculptures will finally be dispyed."

  "Yes, it promises to be a significant cultural event," the prince replied, seeming grateful for the change of subject. "Lady Sophia has been assisting the curator with the arrangement of the exhibition."

  Of course she has, Rosalind thought bitterly.

  "We should continue our tour," Prince Adrian said. "There are several pieces in the west wing we haven't yet seen. Ladies, enjoy your evening."

  With polite nods, he and Sophia moved away, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of her back in a gesture of familiarity that made Rosalind's blood boil.

  "Did you see that?" she hissed once they were out of earshot. "He's completely enchanted by her. This is worse than I thought."

  "Perhaps your father could speak to the king," Eleanor suggested. "Remind him of the advantages of a Harrington alliance."

  "My father refuses to involve himself. He says I should win the prince's affections on my own merits or accept defeat gracefully." She practically spat the st words. "As if a Harrington ever accepted defeat."

  Eleanor looked uncomfortable. "Rosalind, if the prince truly prefers Lady Sophia..."

  "He doesn't know what he prefers," Rosalind cut her off sharply. "Men never do. They need guidance to recognize what's best for them."

  She watched the retreating figures of the prince and his companion, calcution repcing the momentary despair in her green eyes.

  "Tomorrow night, we'll help Prince Adrian see the truth about his precious Lady Sophia. And when her false facade crumbles, I'll be there to console him."