Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

B EAU SAT THROUGH a tasty if uncomfortable post-ceremony dinner. Her father had gotten uncharacteristically drunk in public, and Mother had been forced to pretend he'd fallen ill and get help to usher him away.

His angry gaze had been focused directly on her, and she supposed she would have to count herself lucky that Lyon had wanted this ceremony and dinner to be small and private before they announced their marriage to his people tomorrow morning.

Once the king was out of the room, her entire body relaxed involuntarily. Father was gone. It was unlikely he'd stay around after his behavior this evening. He'd likely be totally gone by sunup.

She was free now. Of the king and everything he'd threatened her with for so long. She wanted to simply sag and cry in relief, but that feeling was tempered by a kernel of worry.

Because the idea of freedom begged the question she'd been avoiding. If Lyon knew about her shortcomings, would he have his own threats against her?

Well, it didn't do to dwell on it. The only thing she could think about was having children. That seemed to be Lyon's only concern really, and that would protect her.

She hoped. She'd make certain it did. Maybe she had no great examples of what good mothering should look like, but as she'd told Zia only a few days ago, they had an example of what it shouldn't look like, so that should be enough.

Besides, Zia was only weeks away from becoming a mother herself. She would learn the ropes and help Beau when it was her turn. They would be partners in this voyage into motherhood, as they'd been in everything else growing up.

Once Zia forgave her for stepping in and marrying Lyon, taking over as heir.

The dinner wrapped up. They were given congratulations by the staff and Lyon's mother. The countess said very little, but Beau didn't miss the way the woman studied her with suspicion.

Then Lyon was leading Beau out of the ballroom, his large hand on the small of her back, while her white skirts swished around. Feeling a bit like shackles at the moment. The idea made her want to laugh out loud, but she swallowed it down.

Up staircases, down hallways. Lyon said nothing, just led her, and she had no choice but to go along. Because he was her husband now. Because she thought she knew what she was doing.

More hysterical laughter wanted to break free. Who did she think she was, charging in to rescue Zia? To one-up her father? She should have stayed locked in a room, huddled in a corner. Maybe she belonged in one of those asylums her father always threatened her with.

Eventually, Lyon stopped at a grand door and opened it. He gestured her inside. Into what was clearly his suite. From this grand sitting room, she could see into a bedroom. Everything very elegant and well-appointed. But very... masculine . Not a floral or pastel in sight.

She hadn't let herself think too much about this. A wedding night. Maybe she'd been in denial enough to think he'd show her to her own room. With her own bed. With a staff to help her out of this dress. That the idea of making heirs might be introduced...later.

Instead, it was just the two of them. They were alone here and she did not know what he expected of her. She stood in the middle of the sitting room in this rather cumbersome wedding gown and wondered just what she thought she'd been doing.

"I realize immediately sharing a room might not be the easiest or most comfortable thing," Lyon offered. He looked perfectly at ease. Perfectly...in control. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. While her heart clattered around in her chest, thinking about the way he'd kissed her in the chapel.

Breathe, tesoruccia .

She needed to look up what tesoruccia meant.

"Unfortunately, for the optics of everything I'm trying to sell, it's important to act out the facade that we are...more traditionally married," he continued. "It's best if our union seems as genuine as it possibly can be, even inside the castle, so there's no question."

"Even though your country thinks you were engaged to my sister?"

"I was engaged to your sister."

"You had a business arrangement with my father. That is not quite the same. Do they even know that engagement was broken?"

He frowned a bit at that, and she knew she should have kept it to herself, but...well, it was hard not to correct people when they were flat-out wrong. One of her many flaws, she knew. One she'd promised herself to improve on in order to make sure this worked.

"No, but I am quite certain the previous engagement will work in our favor. The story will be that I sought a political marriage, but then I met you and fell in love. We hid the truth from the press until we could make certain...all parties were satisfied."

She supposed that might work. The positive to her mysterious status as the hidden away Rendall was that, really, anyone could believe anything about her. There was no way to prove anything about her was false.

Perhaps she might wonder why someone like Lyon—gorgeous and powerful and clearly very self-possessed—might be swept away from his princess fiancée by the likes of her lesser princess self, but she supposed that was up to his palace aides to conjure up for the press.

"We do not need to have this conversation while you are uncomfortable," he said, gesturing at her heavy dress. "Your things have been unpacked, plus a few items added for the responsibilities of the next few days. Please consider this space yours as much as mine."

She looked around and tried to imagine treating this space as hers . She wasn't sure that was going to be possible, but she also knew getting out of this dress wasn't going to be possible. And there was no staff hovering around to help her. Unless he called someone, and she had a feeling that wasn't in the cards.

For the optics .

She cleared her throat. "I cannot undo the buttons on the back of my dress on my own."

He had no facial reaction to that, but he did pause a moment. "Ah." He paused again, then moved forward, gesturing her to follow. "Come."

She followed him into the bedchamber and then into a huge en suite that led to another door, behind which was an entire closet and dressing area nearly as big as the bedroom itself. She peered around the room. She could see one side was clearly his, and one side was...hers.

She thought that this might be the strangest reality check of all time. Her own clothes hung in neat rows directly across from his clothes .

"Allow me," Lyon said, holding out his hands.

It took her a few quiet moments to understand he meant that she should turn around so he could unbutton her dress. Which was fine. Maybe the sleeveless nature of the dress meant she wasn't wearing any undergarments up top, but...but...she would just hold the dress up once he unbuttoned it.

She wasn't getting out of it any other way. Besides, whatever this was, she would grin and bear it. That had been the deal she'd made.

Gingerly, she moved so she was closer to him, with her back within his reach. At first, she didn't feel much, just the gentle tug of the dress moving. But as more and more buttons came undone, she began to feel... him.

It was such a strange sensation. No matter how often she'd been helped to dress or undress, it had never been a man back there. A tall, warm wall of presence. One whose fingers occasionally brushed the exposed skin of her back as he moved down the delicate row of buttons.

She held her breath, knowing if she released it some strange sound would come out of her that would no doubt be embarrassing in some way.

"All done," he said, sounding somewhat stiff. But when she turned to face him, his expression was arranged in a bland kind of smile. Even if his dark eyes seemed to... glint.

"Thank you," she managed to offer.

He nodded. "You're welcome."

She nearly barked out a laugh. He was her husband . This man. She was his wife. Standing in his closet, holding the sagging dress to her chest so it didn't fall. It was all so surreal. She didn't even feel panic . How could she? It felt like it couldn't even be real.

"I'll leave you to change." With that, he exited the closet and the en suite bathroom. So that she stood, still grasping her heavy wedding dress, completely at a loss.

What should she change into? Pajamas of some kind? What would be appropriate pajamas for sharing a room with her husband? For optics .

Or was he expecting something different? Something more? He'd made very clear the entire purpose of this marriage was for heirs. Multiple. Beau might be innocent, but she knew how heirs were made. And she read enough romance novels to know the nuts and bolts of that .

She really thought she'd been prepared for this, but the reality of Lyon somehow made it that much more...

She didn't even know how to finish the sentence. That's how little the reality of him matched up to her preparations.

She stared at the clothes in the closet. Some she recognized as hers her staff back at the Lille castle had packed up. Some items were clearly for her, but not her own.

Optics or no, this was going to be their own private bedchamber. She should wear something comfortable to bed. And if he didn't like it...well...

She closed her eyes and breathed out, using all those well-worn techniques to keep panic at bay. Sometimes they worked. Sometimes they didn't. But she was alone, so she wouldn't start adding to the panic by worrying if an attack was coming.

She just counted and breathed until she felt like she was strong enough to make a decision. She'd gone into this knowing she couldn't be herself. She had to be some...made-up version that would suit Lyon. Playing pretend in a way she'd never done before, because it was her turn to take a bullet for Zia.

Zia had protected Beau her entire life. She had stepped in between her and Father whenever she could. Zia had bent over backward to do the things an heir was expected to do, to keep the king from enacting threats against Beau. Beau knew Zia was the entire reason Father had never stooped so low as to put her in an asylum. That and how hard it would have been to keep a secret from the press and citizens of his beloved country.

But there was no way to be perfect here right off the bat. She didn't know Lyon well enough. She would have to accept that there was a learning curve and be open and ready for any changes Lyon might want made.

If he didn't like the pajamas she chose, she would march right back in and change. If he told her to do anything differently, she would. And if that started to grate, she would just remember the look of shock on her father's face when she'd told him she'd arranged to take Zia's place in marrying Lyon.

That all the papers were drawn up.

And he would have to announce her as heir.

That memory would keep her going for decades.

So, she picked out a pair of comfy leggings from her own clothes and a silk nightshirt. It was hardly lingerie, but there was a kind of sophistication to it that was elegant and could lend itself to anything hands-off...or hands-on.

Filled with determination—or at least she'd fake it till she made it—she returned to the bedroom. To find him unbuttoning his own shirt. His tie was already off, hanging over the back of a chair that sat nestled into a corner by the big window.

He really was beautiful. She knew she hadn't met a lot of men in her life, but he was so tall. His hair had an interesting wave to it, though he kept it short. Underneath the crisp white shirt of his wedding suit, a broad expanse of tan skin, well-muscled and impressive.

Did he work out? He must. No one just looked like that, surely, even a handsome prince.

He looked up, and she didn't miss the quick survey of her outfit, though she couldn't read his reaction to it. He straightened, and for a few moments they simply stood in silence regarding each other.

"Now that we have some privacy," he finally began. "We should discuss the more...delicate matters of our relationship."

"You mean sex."

He made a strangled noise. The kind of noise she often brought out in people, but she'd found being forthright and frank often helped quell her anxiety. Just say it. Just deal with the consequences rather than worry about what they might be.

She might have to work on curbing that impulse now, but for this moment, she needed it to keep her steady.

"Yes, I suppose I do," Lyon agreed.

But then he didn't say anything. He stood by the window, shirt unbuttoned. She stood by the en suite door in her pajamas.

He cleared his throat. Which should have seemed like a gesture of some kind of nerves, but he stood there looking so... princely and handsome and fully in control of himself, she didn't think he'd ever been nervous a day in his life.

"While heirs are my primary concern," he began, like this was a well-planned speech. Maybe it was. "And will need to be...secured sooner rather than later, we do not need to jump into such matters right away. We can get to know each other a bit first. Ease into things."

Beau carefully exhaled. That was actually quite...kind, all in all. She had not thought him cruel—their arrangements had now been a few months in the making. His correspondence had always been polite, his propositions always fair. So it wasn't that kindness should be a surprise.

Simply she was not used to it.

He moved then, taking a few steps toward her. Again, her breath backed up in her lungs. There was just something about him that drew out these new, overwhelming physical responses in her.

"Just because we have a very careful arrangement does not mean that it can't be mutually enjoyable. It does not have to be a...chore."

She blinked once. Trying to work through that. Enjoyable. She felt her cheeks heat, despite trying to be very sophisticated about the whole thing.

"I hear tell that I am not a hideous beast," he said in a soft, humored voice.

It was about the first sense that under all his duty, all his plans, all they'd agreed, that Lyon might have a personality. A hint of humor. And ego. Which she didn't mind. She'd much prefer a man who was sure of himself. She'd found men riddled with insecurity who had any kind of power tended to wield it in ugly ways.

"What about me?" she asked him. Because it was true, he was gorgeous. She might enjoy...things with him. But her...

He gave her a sweeping kind of glance that had a strange fissure of nerves dancing along her skin. "I can see that you are not a hideous beast, tesoruccia ," he said, his voice...darker, it seemed.

Her body certainly found him convincing, if the heat in her cheeks was anything to go by. But her mind... "You think I'm pretty?"

"Yes."

"Prettier than Zia?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Is it a competition?"

Always. Not because she wanted any competition. Nor did Zia. It was just...how they were seen. Two halves of one whole, but constantly determining which half was better. "No, but that answers the question easy enough."

"Speaking of your sister—"

He wanted answers, and Beau had some, but it felt wrong to offer them to Lyon. Not before Zia decided on her own fate. "I'd rather not. Not just yet."

He frowned a little, but he didn't press the issue.

"I haven't..." She gestured helplessly at what would be their marital bed. "Obviously. I have been...very sheltered."

"We will take it one step at a time."

"Step?"

"We shared a kiss just this evening. Consider that step one, and enough for our first night as husband and wife." He reached out, took her hand. He rubbed a thumb across her knuckles, then squeezed gently, reassuringly.

His hand was large, warm. It was the strangest sensation, because it sent a wave of nervy excitement through her. That anticipation she so liked to read about.

But there was also a...kindness. One of the few times in her life someone had reached out and offered physical reassurance.

"I think our arrangement will be quite...successful, Beaugonia."

She so wanted that to be true. Needed it. So, she corrected him. "Beau."

"Scusami?"

"My friends call me Beau."

His smile was warm, sweet almost. She knew she shouldn't hope for more out of this arrangement, let all those fictionalized versions of happily-ever-afters give her ideas . She was still who she'd always been. A little too direct, plagued by uncontrollable and unpredictable panic attacks, selfish and so on and so forth.

No handsome prince was going to sweep her off her feet.

But maybe...she would hope for a successful arranged marriage. Maybe she would allow herself to dream of an arrangement that was kind. And a physical relationship that could be more enjoyable than chore.

As long as she kept her true self under wraps, she was certain she could do it.