Royal Arrangement

by Ember Casey

  His grin returns, and he pushes a few mussels around his plate, much the same as I’ve been doing. “Why does it bother you so, Princess? Being called by your title?”

  “It doesn’t, Your Highness.”

  William slides his hand across the table, lacing his fingers again through mine.

  I can’t ignore the bolt of electricity that races through my arm again at his touch this time. If this should continue, it’s going to be very difficult ignoring the things that are beginning to stir inside of me.

  But it’s only hand-holding. Certainly, I don’t have to ever let it be more than that.

  William

  Justine is very quiet during the rest of dinner. When our new dishes arrive, she pulls her hand out of mine and picks up her fork without a word. When the next dish is served to us—without any trace of seafood—she does the same. She doesn’t even look at me, instead keeping her eyes on the performers in front of us. There’s currently a small group of traditional Montovian dancers in the middle of the ballroom floor, spinning about to the music of the chamber orchestra.

  The evening unfolds in a flurry of sounds and colors and activity. As one course after another is placed in front of us, one set of performers after another graces the floor. Music and laughter and lively voices fill the air around us. I doubt anyone even notices that the bride and groom aren’t speaking to each other.

  I sip at my glass of wine, trying to surreptitiously watch Justine through the corner of my eye. I’m getting through to her, I think. When I touched her hand earlier, she didn’t cringe away from my touch, and I don’t think it was only because we’re in public.

  So how do I break down the rest of her walls? How do I convince her that I’m not the enemy?

  I swallow the rest of my drink. I knew marrying a noblewoman would be frustrating, and Justine, in spite of her charming qualities, is already proving to be everything I feared.

  At one point I accidentally catch Andrew’s eye—my brother and Victoria are seated not far from us at the head table—and the concern is still there in his face. Funny—not even a couple of months ago, my brother would have entered into an arranged marriage without a second thought. Love has changed him.

  I’ll never get to experience anything like that, I realize suddenly. And then it hits me—Andrew wasn’t worried about what I’d be forced to endure, marrying into the Rosvalian royal family. He was worried about what I’d be giving up. I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow Andrew became the romantic and I became the cynic.

  Someone has refilled my wine. I take another sip, turning my attention back to the performers—a children’s choir is now singing.

  So far, I’ve managed to get through the evening on good humor and optimism, but I’m finding both of those hard to maintain right now.

  Maybe there’s still a chance to sneak out to the gymnasium. Would anyone really notice if I disappeared from my chair for a little while?

  The rest of the reception drags on for what feels like an eternity. Performers come and go. The cake is served. Speeches are made. The dancing begins, only this time Justine and I don’t participate. I consider asking her, just to break up the monotony, but she’s already made her feelings on the matter quite clear. Whatever temporary connection I felt with her after our first dance has faded to almost nothing again. Neither of us has spoken a word to each other—or even looked at each other—in over an hour.

  And things are only about to get more awkward. As the dancing winds down, an attendant comes to tell me that our wedding suite is ready. I glance over at Justine.

  “I suppose we’re now free to go,” I say. I don’t wait for her response before rising.

  It’s a silent signal to the rest of the room. The chamber orchestra, without missing a beat, shifts into the Montovian national anthem, and everyone stops dancing and speaking to turn and look at us. Justine stands beside me.

  “Goodnight,” I say to the crowd with a wave. “Thank you for celebrating this occasion with us.”

  Justine curtsies to the crowd. “Thank you for being so welcoming to me.”

  I take her arm and turn toward the nearest door. The crowd parts for us, and another round of feathers and confetti falls from the ceiling as we make our way out into the corridor.

  There are some guests and attendants out here, and they bow and offer their congratulations as we pass. Justine waits until we turn into an empty corridor before pulling her arm away from mine. She rubs her hand against the fabric of her skirt, but I can’t decide whether it’s simply a nervous gesture or whether she finds my touch so distasteful.

  She must know where we’re going, but she doesn’t say a word or try to disappear back to her guest suite. While earlier today, I might have been naive enough to think we might actually have a true wedding night, I’ve cast such expectations aside.

  Still, I can’t help but let my mind wander, to imagine how the night might have unfolded if things were different between us. How I might have undone her hair, unbraiding it strand by strand until it fell freely over her shoulders. How I might have stood behind her and undone the hundred little buttons down the back of her dress. I would have had a hard time resisting the urge to lean forward and brush my lips against the back of her neck, to let my mouth follow the strip of skin I exposed as the buttons fell apart.

  I imagine she’s wearing quite the assortment of undergarments under that gown. I would have reveled in the chance to untie them piece by piece, to slowly unwrap my new bride until she was completely naked in front of me, exposed to my gaze for the first time.

  God, how many people in this day and age still wait until their wedding night to see each other for the first time? I’ll admit it never occurred to me that I’d find myself in this situation—I’m too impatient and like women too much to insist on such a tradition—but it makes the entire thing more erotic somehow.

  But I can’t let myself get too worked up—I already know how this night is going to unfold, and it’s not with Justine letting me undress her.

  We’ve reached the wedding suite. There’s a floral wreath hung on the door and ivory ribbon tied around the door handle. Justine still doesn’t say a word, so I grab the handle and open the door.

  They’ve gone above and beyond in their preparations of this room. White rose petals are scattered over the floor, leading from the door into the bedroom. There are fresh flowers everywhere, and a bottle of champagne sits in ice next to the fireplace, where a low fire burns.

  Justine is still silent. She’s making me nervous now.

  “Would you like some champagne?” I ask, striding over to the bottle. I need something to do with my hands—otherwise, I’m afraid I’d reach out and try to pull her into my arms.

  “No, thank you,” she tells me.

  “Suit yourself.” The bottle is already in my hands, and I still need something to occupy myself. I pop the cork and fill both crystal flutes, just in case she changes her mind.

  While I’m pouring, Justine wanders over to the window. She runs both of her hands over her skirt, fidgeting. I raise my glass and watch her as I take a sip. What am I supposed to do now? Anything I can think of to say will only put me in hot water. Finally, my champagne half empty, I wander over to the window and join her.

  “Beautiful view, isn’t it?” I say. From here, you can see down into the city, which is still celebrating. Above, the dark sky is bright with twinkling stars.

  Abruptly, Justine turns and walks away. “It’s been a long day, and I’m really tired. I think I’m just going to go to sleep.” She starts toward the bedroom, then pauses by the door. “I’ll sleep on the sofa out here.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” I tell her. “There’s no reason for you to sleep on the sofa.”

  “I’m not in the habit of sharing a bed with strange men,” she says. “Especially those who’ve shown that they have no interest in taking my wishes and desires into consideration.”

  My jaw tightens—is she really implying, once
again, that I might rape her? Anger builds in my chest, until I see her face—there’s a stubborn determination in her expression, but her eyes tell a different story. If I don’t know any better, I’d think she was genuinely nervous—even afraid.

  Fuck, how did we end up like this? I run a hand through my hair.

  “I’ll take the sofa,” I tell her. It’s what a gentleman would do.

  She hesitates, then nods. “Okay, then. I should probably go to bed.” She turns toward the bedroom.

  “Wait,” I say.

  She pauses, her hand on the door frame. “Yes?”

  “I…” I’m not sure what I meant to say. I clear my throat. “If you need any help with those buttons on the back of your gown, let me know. I promise I won’t try anything…improper.”

  Her face flushes, but I’m not sure whether it’s from embarrassment or anger.

  “I’ll manage on my own, thanks,” she says. She doesn’t wait for me to respond. Instead, she marches into the bedroom and pulls the door swiftly shut behind her.

  With a sigh, I head back over to the sofa. At least I have the bottle of champagne to keep me company—though I wish it was something stronger.

  I pour myself another glass. I’m not going to get any sleep, not tonight. In fact, I have a feeling this is going to be one of the longest nights of my life.

  Justine

  After closing the bedroom door, it only takes me a moment to realize there is no way I’m going to be able to get this dress off by myself. It took an attendant over an hour to button the stupid thing—it’s going to take me all night, if I can even figure out a way to get it off at all.

  I really have no choice in the matter. If I wait until morning and have one of the lady’s maids come in to help me, they’ll know my husband didn’t undress me tonight. It wouldn’t be fitting to have such a rumor going around the palace of Montovia.

  I only allow myself to sulk for a moment before I open the door of the suite and return to the sitting room.

  William is striding to the doorway leading to the corridor when I enter the room. He has his suit coat off, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled halfway up his arms.

  “Where are you going?”

  He freezes for a moment before turning to me. “Princess. I thought you had retired for the evening.”

  “Apologies, Your Highness.” I give him a fake half-curtsy. “But I thought I would take you up on the offer to unfasten the blasted buttons of my dress.”

  Something flashes in his eyes—I would be certain it was lust if I didn’t know better. Whatever it is, it makes my heart speed in my chest for a moment, and it makes something else pulse through me. Something I can’t quite name.

  Whatever it is, it also causes something I recognize as panic to begin coursing through me, as well. “Never mind. I can call an attendant in the morning. I’ll…I’ll be fine.”

  “Nonsense.” He walks over to me, motioning me into the bedroom. “It wouldn’t do for one of the staff to see that you hadn’t undressed tonight. We have enough to deal with without having the palace rumor mill churning about our first night together.” He motions for me to sit on the edge of the bed.

  I sit, turning my back to him as he sits beside me. I pull my hair around my shoulder to expose the top of my dress to him.

  He touches the skin of my upper back and I bite back my gasp. A thrill of electricity pulses through me as he unfastens the first of the tiny buttons.

  And he seems to sense it, whatever this is he’s doing to me. He traces the top of my dress, from my shoulder to the middle of my back before he unfastens the next one.

  I’m trembling, and I’ve no doubt he can feel it. “What are you doing?”

  He says nothing, mirroring his touch on the other side of my back, tracing along the top of my dress until he reaches the next button at the center of my back, unfastening it with a flick of his wrist.

  “William.” The trembling in my voice is the same as the trembling in my body. I’m not certain where it even came from—only a few moments ago, I couldn’t stand the thought of this man touching me. Now it seems it’s all I want.

  “Ah, I see we’re finally on first name terms.” He flicks open another button. “One step at a time, I suppose.”

  “I…I suppose.”

  He tortures me for several long moments, taking his time with each of the buttons and causing me to nearly gasp each time he touches me.

  “You…you don’t have to…” I gasp again as he flicks open another button, hesitating for a moment too long.

  “I don’t have to…what?” He seems to be enjoying teasing me, though I’m certain he only means to torture me.

  “Pretend. You don’t have to…” I can barely get my words out, the thrill of his touch is almost too much. “You don’t have to pretend you…you…like me.”

  “I wasn’t pretending any such thing.” Something in his voice has changed. He flicks open another of the buttons, this time much less sensually. He pauses for a moment, then begins popping them open one by one. It’s almost as though he had a momentary lapse in judgment, and he’s now just doing his duty.

  He finishes opening the buttons a few minutes later without another word. He stands as soon as he’s done and strides to the door. “Good night, Princess.”

  I stand, holding the dress to my chest to keep it from falling to the floor. “Where are you going?”

  He shrugs. “I thought I might take a walk.”

  I’m not certain what has come over me, but the last thing I want is for him to leave me alone in this suite. “Might I join you?”

  “In your current state of undress?” He grins. “You certainly could join me, but I cannot promise what rumors might start if the staff were to see you like…this.”

  It’s not until that moment I realize there is nothing else for me to wear. The attendants will bring clothing for us to change into in the morning—I suppose it is expected that we won’t need any other clothing until then.

  “Then don’t go.” I pause for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction, but nothing about his expression changes. “Please?”

  “You’re asking for my company, Princess?” He cocks his head slightly. “Truly?”

  I nod. “Truly.”

  “Is this some sort of game, Princess? Because I cannot say that I am in the mood for any more of your torture.”

  “My torture?” My cheeks seem to grow instantly hot. “How am I torturing you?”

  “I think you know exactly how you are torturing me.” He sighs. “Look. The little game you played there…” He motions toward the bed. “That was cute. I almost bought it for a second. But I’m not one to be toyed with, Princess.”

  “I wasn’t…toying. I…I wasn’t.” My gaze narrows. “I needed assistance with my dress. It was you who was toying with me. Caressing my back—”

  “You thought I was caressing your back?” He grins. “And did you enjoy it?”

  “I…did.” I nod, clutching my dress a little tighter to my chest. “I did.”

  “You…did.” His brows draw together. “You did?”

  I nod again. “Yes. I did. I’m not certain why you think I wouldn’t. I don’t find you wholly unappealing.”

  He chuckles and his grin widens. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve said about me. Ever.” He laughs. “I’m not wholly unappealing. I sort of like the sound of that.”

  “I’m glad you find me so amusing, Your Highness.”

  He stops laughing, and his smile falls the slightest bit. “I must say, I did like the sound of you calling me by my given name.”

  I gaze at him for a long moment. “I’m not certain I can trust you, William.”

  “I’m not certain I can trust you, Justine.”

  “But I was not the one who entered into a secret agreement. You…you were the one—”

  “We started out on the wrong foot, I can agree with that. And I apologize for it. I assure you, I meant you no disrespect. Not in t
he slightest. If I have one regret, it is that you were not given the chance to offer me your own hand.”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  “You’re thanking me?”

  I nod again. “Yes. I’m thanking you for what I hope is your honesty.”

  “If we’re going to be husband and wife, we’re going to have to learn to trust each other.”

  My breath has hitched in my chest again. I’m not sure when it happened, but there’s something electric in the air now. Something I can feel between us that wasn’t there before. “And how do we do that, William?”

  He grins. “There might be one way.”

  “And what is that?” I tighten my grasp on my dress, still clutched to my chest. “How can I learn to trust you?”

  Something flickers in his gaze—some cross between mischief and lust. “Close your eyes.”

  William

  For a moment, I think she might refuse. But then, her eyes fall slowly shut, her long lashes resting against her pale cheeks. She still clutches her dress tightly to her chest, but not so tightly that I can’t see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. She looks, for lack of a better word, intoxicating.

  But what sort of game is she playing?

  She’s spent the better part of our time together making her distaste for me quite clear—cringing away from my touch, refusing to speak to me, making her anger and resentment for me quite plain. I’ve already acknowledged to myself, deep down, that her anger isn’t entirely misplaced, that her father and I treated her poorly by planning this little arrangement without her. But that’s what makes this sudden change in attitude so suspicious—we might have shared a moment of connection when we danced together at the reception, but otherwise she’s given no sign that she has any interest in my company until now. Quite the opposite, actually.

  And I haven’t forgotten her accusations from earlier that I would presume to take her without her consent tonight. I’m not a man to take such accusations lightly. And I’m not a man to fall for a noblewoman’s tricks. Growing up in that life provides a woman with a certain set of skills—it makes them masters at masking their true feelings, and most noble ladies I’ve met haven’t hesitated to use those skills to get exactly what they want.