Turning, she faced him, her expression guarded. "Of course, Your Highness."
Blythe was really good at remembering to use formal address in public, even if she called him Tor in private.
He led her out of the ballroom and toward a little used study he'd prepared for them.
"Where are we going?" Blythe asked, her heels clicking on the marble floors as she kept pace with him. "What did you need to talk to me about? Couldn't this be handled back at the reception?"
Tor opened the door the study and ushered Blythe inside. "No."
Though it was summer, he had a fire going in the grate.
Although the Gulf Stream made for a milder climate than the country his ancestors had come from, temperatures rarely rose above sixty in the summer. They almost never dropped below forty in the winter though.
There was a small table where he'd placed chocolate dipped strawberries and champagne.
"What is this?" Blythe demanded, stepping wide of him and what Else had assured him was a romantic repast. "Tor, what is going on?"
She wasn't usually slow on the uptake, so he had to wonder if the question was more for form than substance.
Either way, he answered it. "I thought we could spend some time together, getting to know each other."
"You said you needed to talk to me." She sounded accusing.
"I do." Couldn't she see that?
"No." Blythe took another step away from him. "Just no. This is not happening, Your Highness."
"My name is Tor." She was the one person he did not want seeing him as only a prince. Especially not the youngest prince.
Blythe grimaced, her kissable lips twisting. "Are you even old enough to drink that champagne?" she demanded of him.
"I am twenty-two." And she damn well knew it. Just as he knew she was twenty-nine.
A year younger than Janne. But what did their age matter? It wasn't as if she was old enough to be his mother, or something.
"I'm seven years older than you. We aren't dating."
"Why? What is seven years?"
"Life experience, for one. You've never even held a job."
"Are you kidding me?" he asked, offended. "I've had the job of being a Prince of the Royal House of Asgersen since my birth." All the time she'd spent with the royal family and she still didn't understand that?
"Yes, such a hardship," she said, her tone dry.
While Tor usually appreciated sarcasm, he did not appreciate her implication.
"Being a prince is a twenty-four hour a day, seven days a week job." He'd had that truth drilled into him since birth.
"On top of my studies for the past four years, I have had numerous diplomatic responsibilities as well as the job of maintaining our family's blog," he explained to her, wondering why he felt the need to do so.
Transparency to the masses had sounded great in theory, but since his father was too luddite and his brothers too busy, it had fallen to Tor to research and write the weekly family news since his junior year in high school.
All from America, where he had to get that news from the palace's press office, among other sources.
Blythe rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Yes, I'm sure it was hard rubber stamping whatever your PR team wrote for you each week."
"I wrote those articles," Tor said, disappointment in her reaction hidden, as he hid all his emotions.