Still Holly’s P.O.V.
He has a diamond ring, and a bedroom, just for me. Single bed, thank Frond. But he comes in to visit me anyway.
“How are you, Polly?”
“It’s Holly,” I muttered through my teeth.
“I know. That’s what I said. Polly.”
I decide that since he has guards with guns, I won’t punch him.
“So. Do you like it here? Comfy bed? Warm clothes?”
“I guess.” Oh dear Frond. Please don’t.
“Good. The wedding is next Sunday.”
“A week? I’m engaged to some loser I’ve never met, a freaking Prince, who’s probably wanting some dumb heir, and I have one week before I’m married!”
“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”
I stuff my head under my pillow and mutter “Go away.” Thankfully he didn’t hear what I called him.
Great. He has a sentimental side. He puts his arm around me, pulling me up. “Please don’t cry, Polly. It’s on Sunday, so that’s actually 8 days, not a week.”
Despite my fury, I laugh. “You are possibly the worst person ever at comforting others.”
“No, I’m not. You laughed, therefore it was a success.”
“Go away, Fowl.”
“No. It’s my palace.”
“Mine too, technically, since I’m an almost Princess.”
“Yes, I suppose. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave.”
“Go, or I will punch you into next week.”
“That’s good. We get married then.”
So I punched him.