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“I would take it as a personal favorif you would allow my brother to imagine that he can, in fact, protect you.Not because you need protection, but because I believe it would do him good to indulge that feeling.” Orion sighed. “I ask you this, not as your King,butas hisbrother.”
What could Melody do with that but acquiesce?
She had not knifedPrince Griffin at the altar, though it had caused her pain to refrain. She had even smiled—if tremulously, the way the person the Prince thought she was would smile, surely—though that was something she usually avoided doing in public. Her fatheralways raged at her thatshe should smile more, so, naturally, she had taken it upon herself to smile as seldomly as possible.When Prince Griffin had finally led herinto the ballroom, it was as his supposedly submissive and overwhelmed wife. His charity case.
It had been the longest, strangest Christmas of Melody’s life.
So long and so strange that she found herself almost nostalgicfor the usual Skyros family Christmases past. Idyllians tended to reserve the gift-giving for Boxing Day and then again in January on Epiphany, the feast of the three wise men. Christmas was for the traditionalbreads, walnuts, and pork or lamb, depending on the family. In her own family, Christmas was one of the few occasions Melody’s mother insisted her father acknowledge that Melody existed, which made for a long, fraught, unpleasant meal that likely gave everyone indigestion, reliably left at least one member of the family in tears, and inevitably ended with smashed china and threats.
That sounded like a lovely Christmas carol in comparison to this, she thought as she was introduced to the King, the palace, and then the watching nation as the kingdom’s newest Princess.
Then came the interminable dancing.
“You are remarkably good at this,” the Prince told her, as he waltzed them both around and around and around.
Melody was entirely too aware of the pressure of so many pairs of eyes on them.Theweightof it all.And the murmuring and whispering and muffled laughter, snaking about beneath the music,as all thegatheredIdylliannobles attempted to come to termswith what shouldn’t have been possible.
Everybody’s favorite prince, married to the damaged, discarded,scandalous-by-virtue-of-her-notable-imperfections daughter of the alreadyhighlyquestionable Skyros family.Yes, Calista had done well for herself. But Aristotle was a stain on the kingdom. Everyone agreed—until they wanted to do business with him.
Well. Not any longer, perhaps. There was that silver lining to hold on to.
Melodyfound dancingsilly. It was so much more pleasurable—and effective—to fight.But the simpering creature, fragileand overwhelmed, that she was playingtonightwould never think such a thing.
Nor have the tools to fight in the first place, she reminded herself.
She shivered dramatically, hoping Prince Griffin would imagine it was fear.
“I hope I don’t embarrass you,”she said, in a quavering sort of voice.The kind of voice she liked to use around her father, mostly because it always made her sister laugh. And usually also made her father choke with rage that such a daughter had been inflicted upon him.“I couldn’t bear itif I embarrassed you.”
Prince Griffin was tall. His shoulder was broadand 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 herswaslarge,anddwarfed her fingers in a manner bothpowerful 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 sisterwere still teenagers, Calistahad 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 notexhaustively detailedPrince Griffin’swicked 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 upsomething...electrical.
Deep within her.
Melody didn’t know what to make of that.
“You could neverembarrassme,” Prince Griffin said gallantly.“I have spent far too many years embarrassing myself.”
And while part ofMelodywanted 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, soall ofIdyllacould form its own conclusions about the new couple before the tabloids took them apart come morning.
Giventhat Melodywas 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 commotiontomorrow. On Boxing Day, when the whole of the island would be tucked up at home opening gifts, stuffing themselves with food, and perfectly situatedto read, watch, and judge.
Judgment beingthe foremost occupation of mostof 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 gesturethat Melody, by rights, should have found annoying. She did find it annoying, she assured herself. She did not needto be ushered about like aninvalid. 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 aboutthe 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 ofher own goodbetter than most. It had threatened to flatten her for most of her life.
