Prince Griffin was tall. His shoulder was broad and remarkably firm to the touch. Much as his mouth had been when he’d kissed her, swift and perfunctory, as the wedding ceremony had ended. The hand that grasped hers was large, and dwarfed her fingers in a manner both powerful and gentle. Its mate was splayed across her back, pressing heat into her with every step of the dance.
Years ago, when she and her sister were still teenagers, Calista had spent untold hours describing various members of the royal and aristocratic circles their family moved in. Painting each and every character for Melody, who had her own impressions of them based on how they took up space, how they breathed, how they fidgeted and smelled. But even if Calista had not exhaustively detailed Prince Griffin’s wicked gaze and shockingly sensual mouth long ago, these things were apparent in the way he carried himself. The way he spoke, his voice rich and deep. And more curious, capable of stirring up something...electrical.
Deep within her.
Melody didn’t know what to make of that.
“You could never embarrass me,” Prince Griffin said gallantly. “I have spent far too many years embarrassing myself.”
And while part of Melody wanted to laugh at that, there was another part of her that... shuddered. Deep inside, where that electricity seemed to hum louder than before.
It was almost alarming.
The orchestra was still playing. And as was tradition and ancient royal protocol, the newlyweds were required to dance to the bitter end. On display, so all of Idylla could form its own conclusions about the new couple before the tabloids took them apart come morning.
Given that Melody was the daughter of a media king who had long trafficked in tabloids as a matter of course and a means to shame his enemies and rivals, she expected there would be quite the tabloid commotion tomorrow. On Boxing Day, when the whole of the island would be tucked up at home opening gifts, stuffing themselves with food, and perfectly situated to read, watch, and judge.
Judgment being the foremost occupation of most of the island’s citizens, as far as Melody had ever been able to tell.
The dance finally ended. Mercifully.
But Prince Griffin did not release Melody’s hand.
Instead, he placed it in the crook of his elbow, a courtly sort of gesture that Melody, by rights, should have found annoying. She did find it annoying, she assured herself. She did not need to be ushered about like an invalid. She only used a cane sparingly—and usually for effect—having spent so many years working to hone her other senses and her spatial awareness through martial arts. Because she loved the notion that she could be as graceful as any other Idyllian lady, when and if she wished.
She reminded herself that tonight’s show of weakness wasn’t about her. It was about the man beside her, who needed the King to intercede on his behalf. Who needed his brother to not only arrange his marriage, but make his new wife complicit in pulling one over on him. For his own good.
Something in Melody twisted a bit at that. She knew the particular, crushing weight of her own good better than most. It had threatened to flatten her for most of her life.
But she reminded herself that Prince Griffin was a stranger. That she had done what was asked of her, that was all. He was the King’s brother—but she was nothing but the King’s lowly subject.
That didn’t make the twist in her belly go away. But it helped.
The night wore on. Griffin stayed at her side, which meant Melody had no choice but to smile. To simper. To pretend to be overwrought by her remarkable elevation in status.
When instead, what she really was, she found, was...entertained.
Not just by this stranger, this husband foisted upon her, who acted as if she needed him to dote on her in this way. But by all the women who contrived reasons to swan up and congratulate Prince Griffin on his nuptials.
And it was him they were congratulating, Melody was well aware. Not her. They all seemed to suffer from the same common ailment—the notion that because Melody couldn’t see them, she also couldn’t hear them.
They came to him in clouds of scent, their voices dripping with greed. Malicious intent. And when aimed at Melody, nothing short of pure disdain.
“I’m so deeply happy for you, Your Royal Highness,” they would flutter at him. “But how hard it is to imagine one such as you truly off the market.”
“Do you mean the local farmers’ markets?” Melody would ask, disingenuously. And tried to beam just slightly angled away from the direction of whatever woman stood before her. “I am told they’ve made such a difference in the city center. So festive, particularly at this time of year.”
Perhaps her favorite part of the whole thing was standing there in the aftermath of such fatuous statements, feeling the reaction all around her.
Oh, yes, she was enjoying herself.
She would never have chosen to marry of her own volition. But having been forced into it, and having received an order from King Orion to play a part, Melody found the whole thing far more amusing than she’d expected.
Until the trumpets blared and it was her turn to be swept out of the ballroom by her royal husband.
Melody wanted to complain at length to her sister, because no one else knew her well enough to listen to her without simultaneously pitying her in some way she would likely find deeply tiresome. But the Queen was not available for sisterly grousing, leaving Melody to surrender herself to this last part of the royal marriage ritual while keeping her feelings to herself.
She thought this particular part of the traditional Idyllian royal wedding was cringeworthy. Everyone stood about as if they were in some medieval keep, cheering on the bridegroom as he ushered his new wife off to what they claimed was happy-after-ever.
What they meant was the marital bed.
Melody
