Clarence House was far too quiet for Nicholas's liking.
That was never a good sign.
He adjusted his cuffs as he strolled toward his grandmother's study, his usual cocky smirk firmly in place. Behind the heavy oak doors, Queen Eleanor was no doubt waiting, probably sitting with her hands neatly folded, looking as though she'd rather be anywhere else than dealing with her grandson's latest scandal.
Nicholas, on the other hand, was terribly excited to see how much he'd annoyed her this time.
The palace staff had been whispering all morning. Something about Her Majesty summoning him with an edge in her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
Brilliant.
With a casual knock, he pushed open the grand doors without waiting for permission.
"Your Majesty," he greeted, grinning.
Queen Eleanor did not look up.
She sat at her ornate desk, perfectly poised, a stack of neatly arranged papers in front of her.
Across the room, Duchess Rosalind Williams stood like a vulture waiting for something to die, her expression pinched.
And beside her, seated with frustrating grace, was Lady Penelope Fitzwilliam.
Ah. That explained the severity of the situation.
Nicholas let the door click shut behind him. "Well, this is a rather formal welcome. Is it my birthday?"
No one laughed.
He sighed, stepping forward. "Alright, Gran, let's have it, then. What's today's lecture about? The tea incident? Or have I done something else appalling I don't know about yet?"
Queen Eleanor finally lifted her gaze, expression unreadable.
Nicholas had been on the receiving end of many glares from his grandmother. The disappointed ones. The exasperated ones. The ones where she clearly questioned whether she should have just skipped his generation and handed the crown straight to his brother, Teddy.
This was none of those.
This was calculating. Decided.
That was worrying.
"Nicholas," she said smoothly, "sit down."
He hesitated.
He hated when she used that voice—the one that told him whatever was coming next was going to be a monumental pain in the arse.
Still, he flopped onto the chair across from her, draping an arm lazily over the side. "Go on, then."
The Queen folded her hands.
"As you are well aware," she began, "your recent behaviour has once again drawn unwanted attention to the Crown."
Nicholas resisted the urge to smirk. "You mean the tea incident? Not my fault. The poor girl tripped."
Duchess Rosalind sniffed disapprovingly. "A poor girl who should have known better than to be so careless around His Highness."
Nicholas's jaw ticked slightly. "It was an accident, Duchess. Not a political coup."
Queen Eleanor ignored his remark.
"This pattern of behaviour is no longer acceptable," she continued. "For years, I have indulged your—" she searched for the right word, "antics. I have allowed the public to see you as the charming rebel prince. But enough is enough."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's disappointing. I was rather enjoying my brand."
His grandmother's stare hardened.
"Your reputation is an embarrassment, Nicholas."
He barely resisted rolling his eyes. "Oh, come on, Gran—"
"You are twenty-six years old," she cut him off. "An heir to the British throne. And you continue to behave like an overgrown schoolboy."
Rosalind nodded approvingly.
Nicholas tapped his fingers against the armrest. "Right. And what exactly do you propose I do? Take up knitting? Adopt a corgi? Join a monastery?"
The Queen didn't blink.
"You will find a suitable wife."
Nicholas stilled.
Then he barked out a laugh. "Oh, is that all? And here I thought you were going to suggest something drastic."
"This is not a joke."
"Of course it's a joke," he said easily. "Because surely—surely—you don't expect me to marry just to appease the press."
His grandmother's stare didn't waver.
And that's when it hit him.
She was serious.
The air in the room shifted.
Nicholas's smirk faltered, just slightly. "You can't be serious."
"You have two choices," the Queen said, her voice cool and measured. "Either you settle down and find a respectable woman on your own terms—"
She turned her head slightly.
"—or you will accept an arranged engagement to Lady Penelope."
Nicholas swore he felt the temperature in the room drop.
His gaze snapped to Penelope, who sat primly, completely unfazed.
Of course she wasn't surprised. She'd known.
The pinched, smug expression on Rosalind's face confirmed it.
Nicholas turned back to his grandmother.
"You're joking," he said flatly.
"I am not."
"You cannot be serious—"
"You are the future king, Nicholas. This has always been expected of you."
He let out a disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Christ. I always knew you had it out for me, but this is next-level cruelty, Gran."
The Queen's expression did not change.
"This is not about you," she said. "This is about the monarchy. About stability. About ensuring that when you eventually take the throne, you do so with a suitable partner at your side."
Nicholas exhaled sharply. "And I suppose Penelope is what you consider 'suitable'?"
At this, Penelope finally spoke.
"I am the logical choice," she said smoothly. "The press already adores me. I am accustomed to royal life. And unlike you, I take my duties seriously."
Nicholas clenched his jaw.
Penelope smiled pleasantly. "Besides, it's not as if you have any other offers, do you?"
That did it.
Nicholas shot up from his seat.
"This is absurd," he snapped. "I'm not marrying someone just because you think she looks good in photographs."
The Queen's gaze hardened.
"If you do not take control of your public image, Nicholas, I will take control of it for you."
He stared at her, hands braced against the desk.
For the first time in years, he saw it.
She was done waiting for him to grow up.
This wasn't a suggestion. This wasn't a warning.
This was a final decision.
Either he found a suitable partner on his own…
Or he would be trapped in a marriage of duty for the rest of his life.
He forced a tight smile.
"Well," he said lightly, "this has been a delightful chat. Shall we reconvene next week for the part where you arrange my funeral?"
Queen Eleanor simply tilted her head.
"Next week would be rather quick, don't you think?"
Nicholas let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "You're ruthless, Gran. Truly."
"I do what must be done."
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
"Fine," he said. "You want me to sort my image out? To settle down? I'll handle it."
"Good," the Queen said, satisfied. "Then we are in agreement."
Nicholas's eyes flashed.
"Oh no, Your Majesty," he said smoothly, grinning despite the weight in his chest.
"We are not in agreement at all."
And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out.
Because if his grandmother wanted him to find a suitable, respectable woman…
Well.
He'd just have to find the least suitable one he could.
And he knew exactly where to start.