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“Your fiancée, my liege,” Griffin drawled, stretching out his legs. He was dressed for appointments, though he preferred a rather more carefree and rumpled approach to his sartorial choices. Then again, no one expected any different from a man not expected to ever take the throne. “Or are you unaware that she has refused to submit herself to the tender ministrations of your fleet of private secretaries?”
“What do they want from Calista?” Orion asked, and couldn’t help but think that it was an excellent question. One he asked himself nightly, come to that.
He kept waiting for familiarity to breed contempt, as it was meant to do. But instead, the more time he spent with the woman he was to marry, the more feverish his nights became. Because the more he saw her, the more he wanted her.
It hadn’t helped that he’d seen beneath that sharp, edgy surface she wore so comfortably. He could have done without the vulnerability she’d shown before their first ball. Just like he could have happily stayed ignorant of the way she tasted.
It would have made things easier, surely.
During the long nights when all he did was ache for her, he reminded himself that finding himself sexually attracted to a woman he was forced to marry anyway was a gift. That he should celebrate it, no matter how the marriage itself came to be. Because that attraction could only make what lay ahead of the pair of them easier. More pleasant, certainly.
During the day, however, he reminded himself whose daughter she was. And he was horrified that he was allowing the chemistry between them to poison him, when he knew better.
Of course he knew better.
Every week, he collected her from the same salon. She wore a series of exquisite ensembles, all of which were gushed over and picked apart the following day in all the papers, much the way their engagement kiss had been. And not only in the ones her family owned.
There had been no more kissing. No more fraught conversations laced with need. And no more flashes of vulnerability, for that matter.
Instead, they danced.
And it did not help Orion in the slightest to discover that Calista Skyros—blackmailer’s daughter, insolent and disrespectful by nature and inclination alike—fit him like all those steamy dreams he had. Graceful. Lithe. Something like ethereal.
As if she had been specifically created to fit right there in his arms.
When that could not possibly be true. He knew it wasn’t true.
And in case he thought he was imagining such things, no. He’d seen the pictures of the two of them. He could hardly have avoided them if he’d wanted to. And worse, the videos that made it clear their chemistry was not only in his head.
God help him.
“They want Calista to act the way the king’s betrothed ought to act,” Griffin was saying. He shook his head at his older brother, and Orion opted not to let himself notice the speculative gleam in Griffin’s gaze. “It is all so irregular, after all. She has refused to present herself for the proper... How shall I put it? Molding.”
“She dances as a girl of noble blood ought to have learned as a child. She wears appropriate clothing and has yet to embarrass the palace. What else should she be doing?”
“Come now, brother.” Griffin laughed. “Surely you have not already forgotten the greatest joy of our formative years? Day after day after day of royal etiquette pounded into our heads by battalions of grandfather’s private secretaries?”
Orion opted not to mention that he had enjoyed those sessions rather more than Griffin had. “Again, Lady Calista is of noble blood, born and raised right here in Idylla. I have it on the greatest authority that she has already suffered through comportment classes. At length.”
Griffin only shrugged. “I’m not the one who needs convincing. I don’t much care. It’s your staff, Orion. They believe your chosen bride is...” He paused, then, in a manner that Orion might have calleddelicatehad he not been able to see the smirk on his brother’s face. “...too well versed in playing to the press. While ignorant of the duties that await her once she marries you.”
Orion accepted the fact that he did not particularly want to deal with the endlessly thorny problem that was Calista. But when he glanced down at the sheaves upon sheaves of papers on his desk, it seemed less overwhelming a task than it might have otherwise.
Liar, something in him whispered.Youwantto deal with her. You want to see her when you know you shouldn’t.
He stood, inclining his head grandly at Griffin—who only grinned back, sprawled out with every appearance of idleness. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I am forced to wonder why I employ a staff at all when they are more comfortable gossiping to my younger brother than bringing their concerns straight to me.”
“It is more that I like to gossip, as I think you know,” Griffin said mildly. “What else is Idylla’s favorite playboy to do with his fortune and time?”
Orion smoothed a hand down the pristine front of the suit he wore. “About that.”
“Yes, yes,” Griffin said, rolling his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten what I promised you.”
“If you do not choose a bride for yourself, brother,” Orion said quietly, “you may force me into a position where I must choose for you. Is that what you want?”
Griffin didn’t look remotely concerned. “Father chose your bride. You seem to be holding up well.”
“If by that you mean I am acquitting myself with all magnificence of my station, yes. That is my job.”
