Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth

Still grieving the death of my beloved elder brother, but needing to fortify my newfound position, I'm forced to participate in a matchmaking event.

No matter that I have no desire, or any of the required skills, to hold one of the intersection points on my own, I am now the heir to the United European Nation.

My chosen bond mates will be selected from the elite of society. Titled, wealthy, practiced in politics — and accomplished in all the essence-wielding skills I lack.

Chosen bond mates. Not soul bound, not fated. A love connection isn't even a fever dream or a fleeting thought.

A glam rock star, my childhood best friend, a staid earl, a bareknuckle fighter turned archduke, or a horse breeder … I don't get to choose any or all of them.

Because despite the purple eyes marking me as one of the powerful awry, I am in fact an ineffectual dud. The time to find and fortify any such predestined-by-the-universe connections — if such connections even exist for me — ran out when my brother died.