Perhaps I wouldn’t lose anyone else.
Adele turned in a slow circle, taking in the room with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
“These are your rooms,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” I tugged on the hem of my jacket. “They’re also the chambers best suited for your research. The eastern exposure, particularly from the balcony, provides optimal conditions for weather observation.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly. “You’re giving me your chambers?”
“You’re my wife.” The words felt strange on my tongue. “These are nowyourchambers. 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.
