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His betrothed was not the least bit photogenic, he understood in a searing, unexpected flash of what he was appalled to understand was desire.
Electric and near overwhelming.
Every photograph he’d seen of his intended had led him to expect that she would be pretty. In that way that so many slender blonde women were pretty. Not quite interchangeable, but then again, the world was filled with them. One blended into the next.
But Calista Skyros was not the blandly pretty blonde she’d appeared in photographs.
There was something about her. Something about the way she held herself, maybe. Or the surprising, sparkling intelligence in her aquamarine gaze. She was blonde, yes. And pretty, inarguably.
But something in him pulled tight and seemed tohumas he gazed at her, and he had not been prepared for that.
For what seemed like an eternity, their eyes caught and held, out there on the windswept balcony.
And Orion was uncomfortably aware of himself as a man, not a king. Flesh and blood and need, to his horror.
“Your Majesty,” she said in quiet greeting, and he was sure some kind of shadow moved over her face.
It only made her prettier. And more interesting. She straightened from the rail as she faced him, then sank before him in the expected deep curtsy, exhibiting both an easy grace and the kind of excellent manners that would have told him of her years of comportment classes if he hadn’t already known.
He would have said such displays were fussy, old-fashioned window dressing he could do without, but the sight of Calista Skyros genuflecting before him made everything inside him tighten, then shift.
She rose with the same ease and he studied her, this woman who would be his queen. His wife. The mother of his heirs.
It seemed an odd thing indeed to stand on this familiar balcony while cool November air came in off the ocean, with an edge to it despite the sun, and think so dispassionately abouthis wife. About the sex he would have with this stranger to ensure his line of succession. About the relationship they would be forced to cobble together because of those things, one way or another. Toward the end of his mother’s life his parents had been separated by as many layers of staff and physical distance inside this palace as possible, but Orion had always hoped he could create some kind of harmony in something so cold-blooded.
And yet what he thought when he looked at her was...not harmonious.
Not precisely.
He forced himself to remember who she was.
“Lady Calista,” he said coolly by way of greeting, inclining his head.
He could not fault her appearance in any way, though he wanted to find nothing but faults in her. That would be easier, somehow, but unlike her father, she was flawless. She wore a long-sleeved dress in a soft dove-gray color that flattered her features and was both modest and modern at once. She wore pearls at her ears, and though the brisk sea air rushed around them, her hair stayed put in its sleek chignon.
He felt his jaw tighten, because, of course, she was auditioning for the role of queen. A role she knew she’d already won, perhaps. But that being the case, she could have rolled into this meeting like a publicity disaster waiting to happen—simply to show him how little control he had, as he suspected her father would have if he was her—and she hadn’t.
Orion would take his triumphs where he could.
“Perhaps we can step inside,” he said, because maybe it was the sea air and the view that was getting to him. Maybe the usual Idyllian sun was making her appear lovelier and less patently evil than she was. Inside the palace, surely, reality would reassert itself. “We have much to discuss.”
She smiled in a quick sort of way that made him imagine she felt awkward, though that was unlikely.
Beware the urge to consider her a pawn in this,he growled at himself.She is the vice president of her father’s company, not a sacrificial virgin he’s offered up in tribute.
Whatever she was, he ushered her indoors with exaggerated courtesy, then sat across from her on a set of antique sofas that dated from the fifteenth century.
And then instantly regretted it.
Because it was quieter in here. More intimate, and the last thing in the world he wanted was intimacy with a member of the Skyros family.
If his parents’ twisted relationship had been any indication, intimacy was not a prerequisite for the royal marriage. Or even particularly desirable, for that matter.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, studying her as if the force of his attention could render her as bland as he’d expected her to be. But when he realized they were sitting in silence, and would continue to do so because he was the king and should speak first, he cleared his throat.
“Thank you for coming today,” he said, sounding stiff and formal and pompous, which struck him as far more appropriate than standing about on balconies, confusing himself. “I thought it was best for the two of us to meet before our official engagement announcement.”
He paused, and she seemed to startle, as if she’d never heard of such a thing. “Of course. Yes. The official announcement.”
