Chapter 4 #2
“You’re my wife.” The words felt strange on my tongue. “These are now your chambers. I’ll make alternative arrangements.”
There were other bedrooms available.
“That seems unnecessary,” she said, but she was already drifting toward the open doors leading to the balcony, drawn to the moonlight. “We could share the space. You take the bedroom, I’ll take the sitting room. Or vice versa. I don’t sleep much anyway when I’m working on a theory.”
Share the space. With her. In these chambers where I’d maintained perfect solitude for years.
My dragon side purred approval. My rational mind screamed warnings.
“You’ll take the bedroom,” I said firmly. “I have other—”
“Oh my.” She’d reached the balcony and was pressing her face against the rail like a child at a sweet shop. “This is perfect. I can see three different climate zones from here. And the elevation is stunning. Raoul, do you realize what kind of data I could collect from this vantage point?”
She’d used my name. Not Your Majesty or even husband. Just Raoul, as natural as breathing, as though we’d known each other for years instead of hours.
My chest pulled tight.
Perhaps I could sleep in the sitting room. I’d barely know she was around.
“I’m glad it suits your purposes.” I moved to stand beside her on the balcony, careful to maintain proper distance. “There’s something we should discuss.”
She glanced at me, then back at the view. “Hmm?”
“This marriage.” I kept my voice even, professional.
“I want to be clear about expectations. This is a political alliance, nothing more. I won’t expect intimacy from you.
You’ll have your freedom to pursue your research.
I’ll provide protection and resources. We’ll maintain a cordial public partnership, but privately, we won’t need to—”
“Oh, good,” she said cheerfully. “That’s very practical of you.”
I stopped mid-sentence, the rest of my carefully prepared speech evaporating.
“Good?” I stumbled through the word, blinking down at her.
“Well, yes.” She turned back to the view, her fingers tracing patterns in the air as though calculating trajectories.
“I was hoping you’d be reasonable about this.
Some men get terribly emotional about marriage expectations.
But if we can maintain a professional arrangement, that’s ideal.
I really do prefer to focus on my work.”
Professional. Ideal. She was agreeing with everything I’d said, confirming exactly what I wanted.
So why did I feel as though I’d been slapped?
“I see,” I managed to say. “Then we understand each other.”
“We do.” She stared at the view, shaking her head.
“Tell me, how stable are the thermal patterns at this elevation? Do you experience significant variations between seasons? I’d need at least a year of data to establish reliable baseline measurements, naturally, but if the patterns are consistent, I might be able to extrapolate… ”
She’d already dismissed the conversation, moving on to what actually interested her. Our marriage, or lack thereof, was simply a settled matter requiring no further discussion.
Every other person I’d met had wanted something from me. My title, my wealth, my attention, my body. They’d wept or snarled at the suggestion of distance, or pretended to, playing elaborate games of seduction or manipulation.
Adele wanted my mountain views and my cooperation in not bothering her.
My pride stung. My dragon side growled with displeasure. My rational mind insisted this was perfect, exactly as I’d planned.
I watched her trace another pattern in the air, her mind clearly far away, lost in calculations and theories. Moonlight caught the golden strands of her disheveled hair, painting her skin silver. The dragonfire ring I’d given her flamed on her finger, responding to my presence.
She was brilliant, distracted, and completely indifferent to me, and somehow, impossibly, our magic harmonized as though we’d been created to complement each other.
Despite her beauty, I was not interested in her romantically. I would not become attached. This magnetic pull I felt for her was simply novelty, dragon instinct recognizing compatible magic. It would fade once familiarity set in.
It had to.
“I’ll have your belongings sent up when they arrive tomorrow,” I said, retreating toward the sitting room. “If you need anything during the night, there’s a bell pull by the bed that will summon a servant.”
“Wonderful, thank you.” She didn’t turn around. “Raoul? Do you keep any meteorological records? Historical data about storm patterns, precipitation levels, temperature variations? Even anecdotal observations would be helpful.”
“I…yes. The royal archives contain logs dating back three centuries. They were kept for agricultural planning purposes, but most include daily weather conditions and reports.”
Now, she turned, her face lighting up with the first genuine smile I’d seen from her. It transformed her entire appearance, making her eyes sparkle in a way I found much too appealing.
“Three centuries? That’s incredible. Could I access them? The longitudinal data alone would be invaluable for—” She seemed to notice my expression for the first time. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude. You must be exhausted. I’m keeping you from sleep with my rambling.”
“You’re not rambling,” I said, though she absolutely was. “And I’m not tired.”
A lie. I was exhausted. The two-hour wait at the wedding, the stress of the ceremony, and the long flight had drained me. But the thought of leaving her alone in my chambers, of putting distance between us, felt wrong in a way I couldn’t articulate.
“Well, I am keeping you,” she said with a pert nod. “You should rest. I’ll just…” She gestured vaguely at the view. “I’ll make some preliminary observations. Get a feel for the air patterns. I promise I’ll try not to accidentally create a thunderstorm.”
“Has that happened before?”
“Once,” she said with a rueful smile. “But it was a very small thunderstorm. More of a rain shower, really. With minimal lightning.”
Despite everything, I felt my lips twitch upward and hastily smoothed them.
“Minimal lightning,” I said.
“Barely worth mentioning.” Her smile turned impish. “Though my sister Sasha might disagree. Her favorite slippers never quite recovered.”
I should leave. Walk into the sitting room, close the door, and establish the boundaries that would keep this arrangement safely distant.
Instead, I heard myself say, “The archives are in the western wing, three levels down. I could show you tomorrow, after you’ve rested.”
“Really? That would be wonderful. I promise I’ll try to be less scattered then. Make a good impression on your people. I know I was terribly late to the wedding, and I must seem like a complete disaster—”
“You don’t seem like a disaster.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I was two hours late to our wedding and spent most of the ceremony thinking about thermal patterns instead of paying attention to the vows.”
“Yes, but you were also completely honest about it. You didn’t pretend or make excuses. You simply are who you are.”
Her pause ended with a small smile. “Most people find that more irritating than charming.”
“I’m not most people.”
She studied me with those sharp eyes, and for a moment, I had the unsettling sensation that she was seeing past my carefully maintained defenses to the person I kept hidden.
Then Fletcher groaned from where he sat in the middle of the room, and the moment broke.
“Poor love,” Adele said, crossing to her companion. “He hates flying. Don’t you, Fletcher?”
The basset hound whined, though I noticed he’d recovered enough to sniff hopefully toward my sitting area, probably seeking the most comfortable sleeping spot.
“There’s a sofa by the fireplace in the sitting area,” I told him, then felt ridiculous for speaking to a dog.
Fletcher’s tail wagged, and he ambled toward the open doorway.
“He’ll take over the furniture,” Adele said, gazing after him fondly. “He thinks he’s lap-sized despite being large for a hound.”
“The sofa can accommodate him.” I moved toward the sitting room as well, acutely aware of how domestic it felt to discuss sleeping arrangements for her companion in my chambers as though we’d done this a thousand times before.
This was meant to be temporary. Just for tonight, until proper arrangements could be made. Except I knew that I wouldn’t move her to the guest quarters tomorrow. Or the next day. Or any day, for that matter.
She belonged here, in these chambers, with her weather magic gliding along the air currents and her distracted brilliance filling the space I’d kept empty for so long.
“Raoul?” Adele gazed at me with what might be concern. “Are you certain you don’t want the bedroom? I truly don’t mind the sofa. I’ve fallen asleep in much worse places. There was this one time in my research tower when I woke up draped over a weather vane—”
“The bed is yours. I insist.”
“Very well. Thank you for being so accommodating. I know this isn’t what you expected when you agreed to marry a weather witch.”
No, it wasn’t what I expected at all.
I’d expected a marriage of convenience with a stranger who would want nothing from me. I’d expected distance and formality and the comfortable emptiness I’d grown accustomed to.
Instead, I’d gotten Adele Thornwick, who turned my flight paths into experiments, thanked me cheerfully for offering her a loveless marriage, and somehow made my carefully ordered chambers feel like a home.
She walked across the room, and I watched her rather than leave. I could not make myself look away.
Finally, I shook off my unwelcome fascination and strode into the sitting area, settling on the sofa, listening to her moving around in my bedroom.
Fletcher had claimed a full cushion and was already snoring.
Tomorrow, I would be sensible. I would maintain proper distance. I would remember all the reasons why attachment was dangerous, why I’d built these walls around myself in the first place.
Tomorrow.
Tonight, I simply closed my eyes and let myself listen to the sound of someone else breathing in my chambers, filling the silence I’d grown tired of pretending I preferred.