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“Don’t you understand? I can’t marry anyone!” Asmodeus stomped his foot on the marble floor of the mansion-sized dining room. “You can’t make me get married! I have a life to live and people to see. What am I supposed to do if I’m locked down with a spouse?”
The king sighed, rubbing his temples. “I warned you that you needed to settle with a partner by your thirtieth birthday,” he said. “You’re thirty-two. I’ve given you plenty of time to find someone, Asmo.”
“I’m royalty! I’m supposed to be able to choose whoever I want whenever I want,” he argued. “Just because you’re the king doesn’t mean you can force me into something I don’t want to do. I refuse!”
“Asmo, we need the chance at an heir,” he said gently, the patronizing voice of a father speaking to a child. “In order for the kingdom to continue, there needs to be someone to take over the Crown after you pass. Otherwise, you will need to pick a successor, and I promise that is more difficult than having a child.”
He huffed, crossing his arms over the bodice of his daytime gown, adorned with expensive crystals and soft lace. “I won’t stand for this,” he stated. “I don’t want to settle so soon. I have my whole life ahead of me.”
The king frowned deeply, then stood and walked toward Asmo. His steps echoed off of the walls as he rounded the lengthy dining table. It would have been intimidating if not for the thick air between them, Asmo’s stubbornness extremely obvious.
When he reached Asmo, he placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“I understand,” he said, “but this must be done. I promise you, this woman is a beauty. You’ll find her to be just your type, I’m sure of it.”
Asmo rolled his eyes. “So, when am I supposed to meet this so-called beauty?”
“At the reception the evening before the wedding.”
“And when is that wedding?” he asked. “I’ll have you know, I expect to choose all my outfits—especially the costume changes for the day of the event. I want a say in everything down to the silverware and each flower petal.”
“I’ve prepared for that as well. It will happen in December, one year from next Sunday,” the king said. “You’ll naturally have free rein over the wedding’s appearance. That has been communicated clearly between our messengers.”
“And she’ll have no say over any of it?”
“She’s rather leisurely,” he said, rubbing his chin in thought. “I don’t doubt that she would prefer you decide on most of the details.”
“Good.” Asmo allowed himself to smile. As long as he was able to plan his own wedding, he didn’t mind as much whom he married. Besides, she could be the at-home partner, and he could continue to interact with his beloved kingdom’s people as he wished. She would be for appearances rather than for entertainment. After all, she couldn’t take away his desire to party with the other aristocrats.
She would have to learn to live with his lifestyle.
He was the soon-to-be king—or queen, depending on his mood for the day. She was nothing more than the partner, and she would obey his orders.
It was easy, Asmo thought, to keep his subjects in line. It would be just as simple to keep this other random princess from stopping his one source of entertainment. Being a prince or princess was hard work, and a king would be even more difficult. That was why he needed as much pampering as possible.
Maybe, if Asmo was lucky, she could become one of his personal servants (and, of course, she would be lucky to do so. Who wouldn’t want to serve the future king when he looked so handsome?)
Over the months, Asmo worked tirelessly to choose the proper adornments for his garb and the most lavish decorations for the venue, among all the other details. Secretaries brought various artists to help design his wedding portrait—one with only himself, the other with the mysterious princess, and one with the two of them together. Upon hiring a painter and commissioning them, they scurried along to the other kingdom—of which Asmo couldn’t be bothered to remember the name—and created the princess’ portrait.
When they returned, he found himself curious—almost too curious—to discover how the princess looked. What was her name? It would be posted on a plaque beneath the painting, just like his own. Was she pretty? Was she prettier than he was?
No, that was silly.
No one was anywhere near as beautiful as he.
To his dismay, the king ordered all wedding-related decor to remain hidden in the filthy, empty dungeons until the ceremony.
Well, whatever, Asmo thought. It wasn’t like it was a big deal or anything. Her portrait couldn’t possibly outshine his own.
Though…
He admitted—late at night while he lay in his curtained, gigantic, heart-shaped bed—that he would at least like to know her name before marrying her. Maybe his name and her name were cute together, or maybe they were awful, but he just had to know.
To no avail.
He wasn’t going to sneak into the basement, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask around to every subject and royal if they knew his future queen’s name. How ridiculous would that be?
…Not that he didn’t try.
As much as he dropped hints, no one gave him any indication of her name. It felt as though no one knew where she came from or who she was—simply that she was set to become his princess.
Frustrated, just a week before the reception dinner, Asmo stood in a series of mirrors and twirled in his reception outfit—a tailored tuxedo with a billowing, flared skirt launching into a train behind him. Gemstones in various shades of pink coated the entirety of the jacket, while white ones dotted along the rest. His hair and makeup, glammed to the max, struck him as the most beautiful he had looked since his early twenties.
“Will this match the princess’ outfit, do you think?” he asked the seamstress, who had begun taking last-minute measurements at the hem of his slacks.
“Absolutely, your Highness,” she replied almost instantly. “We’ve designed her dress as well, you know. That was what you asked of us.”
He hummed, straightening the fluttering fabric around his neck as he thought. “Is it beautiful?”
“Yes,” she said, “but nowhere near as stunning as yours.”
Laughing, Asmo winked at himself in the mirror and practiced a surprised expression. When his bride entered the reception hall, he wanted to look his best. “I can’t wait to meet…Oh, what’s her name again?” he dared to ask, getting straight to the point with this low-level worker in hopes that he could sneak information more easily.
She hesitated before speaking in a very soft voice. “Grace, your Highness.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll give you all the grace if you tell me,” he said, waving his hand to rush her. “What’s her name?”
“Grace, your Highness,” she repeated, a little louder this time. “Her name is Grace.”
His brow furrowed. “Grace?” he asked with a scoff. “What a silly name to go alongside mine. I thought it would be something more illustrious or avant-garde.”
The seamstress was silent, taking her measurements quietly as though in fear that saying anything else might lead to trouble.
But Asmo wasn’t going to tell another soul. This was a secret between him and the seamstress, and no one else.
Grace.
Had he met someone by that name before? He had met many, many, many people over the years—introduced himself and been introduced to hundreds if not thousands of people from all levels of the hierarchy—yet couldn’t remember someone with that name.
So, this princess truly was a mystery, wasn’t she?
Oh well. It wouldn’t be so bad to marry someone with a silly name.
Grace and Asmodeus, the next heirs to the throne.
How he wished he could see how she looked before the reception. Was she pretty? Was she shy? Was she boring? Who knew. All Asmo knew was that he would struggle adjusting to this newfound monogamy…not that it bothered him to only have a single partner; in fact, if she were interesting enough, then maybe things would work out between them.
But who was he kidding? She was just some unknown princess. Nothing about her could possibly be that interesting to keep his attention.
The morning of the reception dinner, he prepared with an extended pampering routine. Servants bathed him in oat milk and honey, washed his hair with lilac soap, and dressed him in a long, flowing bathrobe for his hours of makeup—silver glitter and luscious, plumped lips. When they dressed him into his tuxedo-gown, he spun himself in the mirror with a giggle. How beautiful he looked! How stunning! Surely the center of attention, even with the woman who would sit beside him at supper.
“Don’t I look amazing?” he asked the seamstress. “Aren’t I just a doll?”
“Yes, your Highness,” she responded, straightening his train for photographs and stepping aside. “A true future king.”
“Princess Asmodeus for tonight,” he corrected, though he didn’t mind which term anyone chose to use. Princess, prince, future king or future queen—it didn’t matter to him, so long as he was the one on whom everyone focused their attention.
He wasn’t the first to enter the reception, demanding that he be the last in order to leave the best impression. Naturally the crowd would be enthralled by the other princess—that Grace—but they would be even more stunned by his own beauty. Their eyes wouldn’t be able to leave his jewel-adorned face, let alone the train that stretched behind his back down the aisle. And this was only his reception outfit, excluding the gown he would wear on the following morning.
It was when he entered the dining hall, the room covered with all of his chosen decorations, that he saw her. And in his heart, a pang of envy surfaced.
My goodness, she simply was…!
Curvaceous in her sheer gown, a soft, pastel pink, chiffon covered in crystals from head to toe. The bodice stuck like paint from her shoulders to her thighs, with a see-through skirt brushing the floor despite her sizable heels. Cloudy white hair fell in gentle waves, barely touching her shoulders.
And in her expression was a look of surprise as a blush spread rapidly across her pale skin.
His eyes widened.
“B-beautiful,” he whispered, taking in her form from her high-held head to pedicured toes.
As he stepped down the aisle on his heels, Asmo refused to take his eyes off of the pretty woman at the two-seat reception table. As he got closer, he realized her eyes were the most vibrant shade of sky blue, something that he hadn’t seen before—not to that capacity anyway. In stark contrast, her bright red lips opened as if to speak, but she had no words. He saw her mouth what he thought to be his name.
So, she knew as well. She had sneaked the information just as easily as he had.
Interesting.
When he reached the table, she took his manicured hand and, without hesitation, raised it to her lips. On the back of his palm rested a noticeable mark of lipstick, something that he suddenly wished were preserved on a pair of lace gloves. Maybe he should have considered it, but he hadn’t expected her to be so pretty that he’d wish for a memento of their first greeting. For a moment, he considered thanking her for the gesture, but changed his mind. They were royals. They had to act like them.
But damned if he didn’t want to pull her aside and inquire as to where exactly she got the idea for such a gorgeous gown as well as her exercise program to get such a perfect figure, or was it genetic? Some might have thought her body to be worriedly large for such a dainty Asmodeus, but there was nothing he feared. In fact, such curves on a woman were exactly what he found himself attracted to.
Then again, there were few things he wasn’t attracted to, but that was neither here nor there.
He mimicked her movement, swapping hands in order to leave his glossy mark on the back of her own. Her palm was warm, bordering hot from what he assumed to be nerves. How he wished he could settle the heartbeats pulsing through her fingertips, though he adored how much he had flustered her. Of course his beauty would shock even the princess. That had been his plan from the start.
When they sat beside each other at the table, he couldn’t stop himself. His chair slowly scooted closer so as to not gather attention from the chattering crowd as they ate.
Once he thought the fewest amount of people were watching, he leaned close to her shoulder. A waft of lavender perfume hit his nose, something that smelled wonderful with her natural scent. “Princess Grace,” he whispered. “You look ravishing.”
She swallowed and delicately dabbed at her face with her fabric napkin. “Ravishing?” she asked from behind the cloth. “Speak for yourself.”
Giggling, he reached beneath the table and ran a careful finger up her bare thigh. “I haven’t seen someone as radiant as you in years.”
“I’ve never seen anyone with the confidence and poise you have,” she replied with a nervous chuckle. “I have to admit that I’m flattered you find me attractive. I was worried.”
“Of course I do,” he countered, almost offended. Then again, it wasn’t as though she was aware of his personal tastes. “If I had the opportunity to see beneath that form-fitting dress, I would appreciate it, you know…though it doesn’t leave much to the imagination in the first place.”
The former blush that had once settled rushed into her neck and cheeks again, but she smiled. As he expected, it was genuine and pretty. “I would do the same,” she said, “if we were able to sneak away for a few minutes.”
“Sneak away, you say,” he repeated, giddiness simmering in his stomach. “What are you implying, darling?”
“We’re getting married in the morning,” she said with a smirk as she placed down her napkin. “I feel like we should have some…private time together before tying the knot.”
“Tonight then, Princess Grace?” he asked, drawing circles on her upper thigh and down to her knee.
To his surprise, she mirrored him. Her hand rested with confidence on his leg and, with dexterous fingers, scribbled music notes and electricity through the fabric of his slacks. “You’re the one they all told me is in charge of the event,” she said. “If you’re interested, I’m sure you can make that happen, Princess Asmodeus.”
“Call me Asmo,” he said quickly, wanting to break the wall of formality before she adjusted to it too much. “And yes. Yes, absolutely, I’ll make sure we get time together after dinner.”
And, sure enough, he did. Immediately following the end of the reception, he demanded with a fury unusual to him that they be allowed half an hour on the spire’s lowest balcony.
The moment she appeared on the threshold, he excitedly grasped her hands in his. The stain from her lipstick still rested on the back of his palm, and the heat from her own hands burnt his skin.
“You’re radiant,” he said.
“You’re more radiant,” she countered with a laugh. “I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.”
“Do you find me handsome?” Asmo asked, pulling her toward the bannisters and turning their bodies so that they could overlook the lights stretching across the kingdom. “Really, truly, how beautiful do you think I am?” Nerves built in his stomach. Would she compliment him enough that he was satisfied?
But she smiled, pulling him closer by the wrists and, to his shock, pressing a delicate kiss to his needy lips. It was so sudden that he hadn’t even felt her breath when it approached or left. Even her perfume was gone in an errant breeze.
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” she said gently. “I wish you could say the same about me someday.”
“Y-you may not be at my level, but you’re certainly beautiful,” he said, though a bit grumpily admitting it. It did make him ever-so-slightly uncomfortable that his bride was this glamorous.
She laughed. “I think your personality is wonderful too.”
His brain malfunctioned. His personality? What gave her that idea? When was the last time someone complimented anything other than his appearance?
“You took the opportunity to get us alone,” Grace explained. “I think that showed some initiative, don’t you? I’m sure there’s much more deep down for me to discover.”
“Initiative,” he repeated, surprised but trying not to show it. Instead of arguing, he gave a forced smile—one that she wouldn’t know wasn’t genuine. “I have to say there’s a lot more to me than meets the eye. You’ll have to find that out on your own,” he sang.
“I’ll manage eventually,” she said, suddenly leaning her body weight against him. “Now, we only have twenty minutes left of our little rendezvous. What do you say to sneaking around a little like teenagers might?”
Asmo hummed before ooh-ing and ahh-ing in delight. “I wouldn’t mind at all!” he said, pulling Grace closer by the waist. “No one’s watching, unless you want to think someone is.”
She giggled and placed a warm hand on his cheek. If she were going to ruin his makeup, she had better make it worth it. “Either way is fine by me.”
He backed her against the bannister, placing as much weight as he dared against the iron and her body so she could feel his heat as his lips molded to hers. It was like they had been built for each other, like they were on the same wavelength, like they knew exactly how to touch to goad out little hums and moans of joy.
Asmo sighed lovingly into the kiss, wishing that it would never end.
Maybe being married to Grace wouldn’t be all too bad.