She sounded plaintive. Uncertain and overwhelmed. By contrast, Griffin felt himself relax. He felt on solid ground again.
This, he could do. He was not a monster like his father. King Max had been a dark man, bent and determined to demean and degrade, use and discard. He had been venal and greedy.
Griffin was none of those things. He indulged in his sins, yes. But he didn’t wield them as weapons.
Looking at this lovely, infinitely breakable creature who had become his wife, he reminded himself that this was his chance. At last he, too, could be virtuous.
Without actually having to dedicate himself to all those tiresome years of self-control and abstinent moral rectitude that defined his brother.
All he needed to do was be kind.
Surely even he could manage that.
“You can do or say whatever you like,” he assured her, almost indulgently. “This is your home now. And to make it more appealing for you, your sister made certain that I engaged your favorite aide to ease the transition. I hope that, in time, you will be happy here.” He reminded himself that he was not taking in a delicate boarder. He was talking about a marriage. “With me.”
Melody cleared her throat delicately. “My aide?”
“I’m told she was responsible for privately tutoring you in all the tedious rules of Idyllian comportment. And then stayed on afterward as you enjoyed her companionship.”
His bride’s face glowed. Again, Griffin felt filled with a new sort of joy.
He could do this. He could be the man he’d never been.
“I enjoy her companionship very much,” Melody said, emotion clear in her voice.
When she sat up straight again, Griffin felt as if he’d won something.
“Inside the walls of this house, you can do as you please,” he told her. “Think of it as yours. You will have your own apartments. All the independence you might crave. All I ask is that outside these walls, you never let anyone know the truth about our relationship.”
The glow on her face faded a bit, and he disliked it. Intensely.
“But everyone will know the truth as soon as you return to your usual...pursuits.” She did not quite shrug. “People like to gossip in general, I think, but gossiping about you is a national pastime.”
It was said so innocently. He couldn’t possibly object.
And still, his grip on his tumbler was so tight that he was briefly concerned that he would shatter the glass.
Because no one seemed to think he would keep his word. Not Orion. Not his lovely new wife.
Not you? asked a voice inside him. Mocking him.
Reminding him who he really was.
“I will not be returning to any ‘pursuits,’” he gritted out.
Quite apart from having made vows to Melody, he had made a promise to his brother. His King.
Griffin released his grip on the glass, his gaze on his bride. “Idylla has seen more than its share of scandals. There will be no more. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
And his new bride bent her head as if to curtsy before him, small and meek, and why was he having trouble with that? Why was he looking for more?
“Then it is as good as done,” she said softly. As if she was in danger of being carried off by the next breeze. “I am sure of it.”
Griffin told himself he was, too.
CHAPTER THREE
MELODY AND HER brand-new, confusing stranger of a husband were summoned—invited, she kept reminding herself, though did it count as an invitation when it couldn’t be refused?—to a “cozy” Boxing Day morning with Their Royal Majesties, King Orion and Queen Calista of Idylla.
In the palace proper, which was unlikely to be cozy in any way. By definition.
Then again, it wasn’t as if the holiday had ever been filled with anything resembling cheer in her parents’ house, either. Or coziness. Or much in the way of goodwill toward men—or anyone.
“I trust you find everything in your rooms acceptable,” Griffin said when he came to collect her outside said rooms. “You must let the staff know if anything does not suit you.”
Even his voice sounded stiff and gruffly awkward. Melody wasn’t the least surprised to find that when he once again guided her hand to grip his elbow, his entire body could have been confused for a column of granite.
As if he was the one who was out of place here, in this own home, instead of her.
Oddly, this made her feel more comfortable.
“I’m overcome by your generosity, Your Royal Highness,” she said in as decent an impression of his wooden formality as she could muster up.
And then tried to remind herself that she was supposed to be awash in all her fraudulent cringing as he led her back toward the palace.
Half of her attention was on the route Griffin took, different from the night before. He went out the side of his house—their house, she corrected herself—and led her back into the courtyard that separated his residence from the palace. Melody breathed in deep, enjoying the faint, salt sting of the ocean breeze tinged with hints of far-off storms. And reveled in the chill in the air, in case she’d forgotten that it was December. She noticed the blasts of heat again, placed at clever intervals, just when she thought the winter chill might penetrate her skin.
She was keenly aware that Griffin was walking at a deeply sedate pace that was almost certainly for her benefit, as he was far too tall. With, presumably, the long legs to match. He couldn’t possibly consider this procession a reasonable pace. Melody tried to tell herself that it was kind of him to slow down in a misguided attempt to cater to her needs, whether she actually needed him to do it or not. It was something she ought to appreciate, surely.
It wasn’t as if she’d had a lot of kindness, particularly from men. She ought
