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Griffin was becoming increasingly tired of the way she did that. Ripping the ground out from beneath him when he was used to being in control of his surroundings. Spinning the world around and around on its axis until he was dizzy. He studied her as he lounged there opposite her on an uncomfortably spindly piece of furniture that he suspected had been deliberately chosen to make the parade of overtly curious society ladies ache a bit as they flung their daggers at the new Princess.
What he didn’t know was whether Melody herself was responsible for that sort of thing. Or if she was simply being guided, lamb to the slaughter, straight into the heart of the schemes and scandals of Idyllian society.
More than that, he couldn’t tell which he wanted it to be. Did he want a fragile innocent who he truly believed would bring out the heretofore unknown decency in him? Or did he want what the fire in him wanted—a far more complicated creature, capable of defending herself from the onslaught of would-be rivals and all manner of wickedness with what looked like carefree ease?
He knew what heshouldwant.
But that seemed to do absolutely nothing to cure the way his blood pumped hot. Or the erotic images that poured through his head the way they had last night, with the same results.
Griffin was burning alive.
“I’m afraid that your long day of torture will extend into the evening,” he told her when he could speak. “We have an intimate dinner party to attend. And by intimate, I’m speaking in terms of the standards of the palace. Twenty people, or so. Thirty at the most.”
“Just a few friends, then.”
Was he smiling—a real smile? Extraordinary. “Never make the mistake of thinking that any of these people are your friends. Especially if it feels like they are.”
He meant that as a throwaway remark. To go along with this surprisingly uncomfortable discussion. Because that’s what it was, he admitted. That feeling clanging around inside him. It was pure, undiluted discomfort. He didn’t like the idea of vipers like Lady Breanna—who he’d had the misfortune of seeing as she exited—sitting here and sniping at his bride.
Across from him, Melody tilted her head toward him in that way that made him feel more examined, morevisible, than the regard of any other person he’d ever met.
“I had no idea,” she said. As if she pitied him.
Griffin wanted to run from the room, and that was so uncharacteristic it rooted him to the spot.
“About what?”
And he was not pleased that he sounded gruff. Bothered.
“I take loneliness for granted,” Melody said quietly, and again, something...shifted.
They were sitting in the formal reception room of his residence. It was among the prettiest rooms in the whole of his house, which was not a mistake. It had been designed to let in the light and the sea, so anyone who entered felt instantly steeped in the glory of Idylla.
He certainly did. It was as if the sea and the sky surrounded her like a halo and lifted her up, making her something celestial.
Griffin had taken advantage of this room himself, upon occasion, but Melody somehow made it look natural. As if the room had been built specifically to showcase her glory.
And he did not think that it was a trick of the light that made the staff waiting against the wall seem to disappear. It was the huskiness of Melody’s voice.
She sounded as if she was telling him a deep truth rarely spoken.
Griffin found he was very nearly holding his breath. His heart pounded. He did not know what todowith himself.
“I don’t mean to suggest that I didn’t enjoy my childhood, because I did.” Melody toyed with the delicate teacup in its saucer, held neatly in her lap. “Yes, my father was unpleasant, but as we’ve already established, life is not meant to be a parade of pleasantries. Still, I did not make friends the way my sister did. It was not encouraged. I grew used to my own company at an early age. But this cannot be a surprise. You know how I was raised.”
“An insult that will be addressed,” Griffin found himself saying, low and dark. “I promise you that.”
He had the impression she was studying him, in her way. She sat so still. She seemed to be listening so intently he was sure she could hear that wild heartbeat of his.
“I imagine it’s as easy to feel alone when your public life is relentless as it is when you are confined to solitude,” she said after a moment. “It’s just that no one thinks of it that way.”
Griffin wanted to laugh that off. The way he would have at any other time.
But there was something about the way the air felt tight between them. There was the memory of her fingers moving over his face, making him feel naked. Still. The way she saw him, here and now, in a way that had nothing to do with the masks he wore for the world. The roles he played. The Prince Griffin he’d made into a performance.
“I grew accustomed to the contours and duties of my life long ago,” he said. Stiffly. “I do not require sympathy for that. I’m well aware that my life is made up of great privilege. It should come as no surprise there are prices to pay for an accident of birth.”
“You have gone to such lengths to pretend otherwise.”
