“I thought princes were born with the ability to dance and make idle conversation.” He chuckles again, quickening our pace with the movement. “Not me. If I had my way, I’d be in the garage or the barracks, building and training. Not like Maven. He’s twice the prince I’ll ever be.” I think of Maven, of his kind words, perfect manners, impeccable knowledge of court—all the things he pretends to be to hide his true heart. Twice the prince indeed. “But he’ll only ever be a prince,” I mutter, almost lamenting at the thought. “And you’ll be king.”
