Greg woke slowly, reluctant to leave the warmth surrounding him. For a few seconds, he couldn't remember why his bed felt different or why he was lying on his side instead of sprawled across the bed as he usually was. Then he felt the soft weight of an arm resting against his chest. The familiar scent of Aziza's shampoo filled the air and he opened his eyes.
Aziza was asleep beside him, her face turned toward him, and one hand curled near his shoulder. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, and the blanket was tucked beneath her chin. She looked so peaceful that he didn't dare move.
She was here with him in his room and more importantly… in his bed.
A smile slowly spread across his face. He spent the better part of two years imagining what it might be like to wake up beside Aziza. Most of those daydreams had been embarrassingly romantic, and he had always dismissed them as wishful thinking. She was his friend, someone he could laugh with and confide in. He had sought her company even when he had no reasonable excuse to do so.
That's why the first morning he woke up with Aziza in his arms, his heart nearly stopped. It was unexpected and worst of all… he could barely remember what happened. No way near what he had imagined. Their first night together never sat well with him. It hadn't felt real, not that night… nor, to be honest with himself, did their marriage.
However, this time was different. This time everything felt real. Now, it really felt like she was his wife.
Greg pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. He could remember everything vividly…
Sometime during the previous night, she'd worn his clothes. He'd barely been able to form a coherent thought when she'd emerged from the bedroom wearing his old university T-shirt and a pair of shorts. On top of that, she'd looked so adorably flustered as she explained why she'd borrowed them that he'd nearly forgotten how to speak. He'd told her it was fine. However, fine was not the word he would have chosen if he were being completely honest. He'd loved seeing her in something that belonged to him. It had felt intimate in a way he hadn't anticipated, as though she'd stepped into a small part of his life that he'd never expected to share with anyone.
Even after she'd agreed to stay with him, their attempt to watch a third movie had become hopeless. Greg could scarcely remember what it had been about. He'd been far too aware of Aziza beside him, wearing his shirt, her fingers entwined with his, her head resting against his shoulder. She hadn't seemed particularly interested in the movie either.
Eventually, one of them had made a comment about the characters, the other had laughed, and then they'd kissed again. Their kisses had turned from hesitant to unhurried, each one making it harder to remember why they had ever tried to keep their feelings at a safe distance.
After that, the movie stood no chance. They had abandoned the movie altogether, drawn closer on the sofa, and eventually made their way to bed. The rest of the evening had belonged to them alone, without royal expectations or the outside world's opinions intruding.
He had fallen asleep happier than he could remember being in years. Greg smiled at the memory. Watching Aziza breathe, he fought the urge to brush her hair away from her face. He didn't want to wake her yet. He had never wanted a morning to last forever before until that moment.
A soft movement beside him interrupted his thoughts. Aziza stirred, her brow creasing before her eyes slowly opened. For a moment, she simply stared at him. Then, her gaze dropped to the pillow beneath her head, the blanket covering them, and finally his face.
Her cheeks turned pink, “Oh.”
Greg bit back a laugh, “Good morning to you, too.”
“Good morning,” she swallowed, and looked around the room. “What time is it?”
“Early enough that you don't have to think about anything yet.”
“That's not an answer.”
“And yet, it's the answer you're getting.”
She gave him a sleepy, disbelieving look, then pulled the blanket a little higher. “I actually stayed.”
“You did.”
“And we…”
“Yes,” he said gently, saving her from having to finish. “We did.”
The pink in her cheeks deepened. Greg could practically see her trying to decide whether to hide beneath the blanket or pretend nothing about the morning was unusual. He finally brushed that annoying strand of hair away from her face.
“Hey,” he murmured. “You don't have to be embarrassed.”
“I'm not embarrassed.”
“Of course not.”
“Greg.”
He smiled, “Aziza.”
She tried to glare at him, but the effect was ruined by the little laugh that escaped her. He loved that laugh, and he especially loved that she was here to give it to him.
“Come here,” he whispered.
She hesitated only a moment before leaning closer. Greg kissed her softly, intending it to be brief. When she kissed him back, though, he found himself lingering, one hand resting against her cheek.
He would happily have spent the entire morning there. Unfortunately, the Charity Ball was that evening, and the palace was not going to arrange itself. It wasn't like the day before where he was able to drop everything to spend time with her.
No, yesterday was an exception and it started with such promise. He'd taken her into the city because he wanted her to see Valoria beyond the palace walls. Her first public outing with him as his wife. He'd wanted to share the places he loved, watch her discover the market, hear her laugh over coffee, and pretend, if only for a few hours, that they were still two ordinary university students stealing time together.
For a while, he'd gotten exactly what he wanted.
Then, strangers had made their marriage a public spectacle, and one woman's anger had turned a pleasant afternoon into something frightening. Even now, remembering the way the woman had lunged toward Aziza made his stomach tighten. He'd been relieved that security intervened, but they still weren't quick enough. The image of Aziza trembling afterward remained with him. That was unacceptable.
He'd promised himself he would do better, and he would start by dealing with the security teams.
Greg reluctantly drew back, “We have a busy day ahead of us.”
Aziza sighed, “The ball.”
“The ball,” he confirmed. “Your final preparations, my remaining duties, a meeting with Margaret, and probably at least one lecture from my father.”
“Sounds delightful.”
“I thought so.”
She laughed, and he kissed her forehead before pushing back the covers.
“Stay here a little longer if you want,” he said, smiling slowly. “I'll get ready and have your maid bring your clothes over. You can get dressed here instead of having to sneak back to your room.”
“I wasn't sneaking,” Aziza said, pouting.
“You were absolutely sneaking.”
“I was avoiding unnecessary conversations.”
“Of course. A diplomatic maneuver.”
She threw a pillow at him. He caught it, laughing, and tossed it back onto the bed. Then, he stood, gathered his robe, and turned toward her once more.
“Oh, one more thing.”
“What now?”
He leaned down and kissed her again, smiling against her lips when she caught the front of his robe to keep him close. Finally drawing away, he rested his forehead against hers, “I can't wait to see you at the ball tonight.”
Her expression softened, “I'm a little nervous.”
“You'll be wonderful.”
“You say that as though you have no doubts whatsoever.”
“I don't.”
“Well, I’m sure your brother doesn’t think so.”
Greg's smile faded slightly, as he looked away.
The encounter with Alexander, yesterday, was off-putting to say the least. However, to know that his brother was still causing his wife to feel insecure, infuriated him to no end. Greg wasn’t oblivious to his brother’s… no… the Crown Prince’s close scrutiny of Aziza, from the interrogation to the silent stares filled with a half mocking and half amused expression. For once, he hadn't been able to tell what Alexander was thinking, but it was clear he was forming some kind of conclusion about Aziza and maybe even their marriage.
He looked down at her again, “My brother’s opinions don’t matter, so don’t worry about it.”
“Your brother… is the Crown Prince,” she said, pulling the blanket back over her shoulder. “So, of course his opinions matter. Besides, it’s not just him. Your parents also don’t seem to think that I can hack it as a Royal, either.”
Greg smiled at her little colorful choice of words. Proof that she didn’t feel the need to hide her feelings from him. She still trusted him enough to tell him how she felt and what she thought, which made his determination to protect her even stronger.
“Aziza, seriously… stop worrying about what they think. Remember, you don’t have to prove that you’re worth being… here. All that matters is that you belong here with me.”
A smile slowly spread across her face, “That sounds oddly familiar. I see what you did there.”
“Did it work?”
“Maybe…”
He brushed his thumb across her cheek, then straightened.
“Oh, and from now on, I expect you to move back into my…” he stopped, a grin spreading across his face. “Our rooms.”
Aziza blinked, “Our rooms?”
“That's right. You can have your own dressing room, your own space for your things, whatever you need, but you'll be staying with me every night.”
“Greg, you can't just decide that on your own.”
“I very well can and I have. Though if it makes you feel better, you can just say I’m suggesting it very enthusiastically.”
She folded her arms, trying to look stern, “And what if I say no?”
“Then, I'll respect your decision, and…” he paused. “Ask again tomorrow, but mark my word. You’ll be moving back in here by the end of the week.”
She laughed, shaking her head, “You're impossible.”
“And yet… you married me.”
“Accidentally.”
“I'm choosing to focus on the part where you stayed.”
Her expression softened, and for a moment neither of them said anything. Then, she reached for his hand.
“I'll think about it,” she said.
It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no, either. Greg would take it. He kissed her knuckles, then released her hand. “Rest a little longer. I'll make sure everything you need is brought here.”
With one last glance at her, he left the bedroom, already mentally arranging the morning's responsibilities. He needed to see to the staff, make sure Michael dealt with fixing the issue with security, review the latest negotiations, and deal with whatever his father had planned for him. However, for the first time in a long while, those responsibilities didn't feel like chains.
He had Aziza to come back to. The one person who apparently could get him to open up about his strained relationship with his brother. Best of all, she hadn't judged him. She'd listened, held him, and reminded him that he didn't have to earn the right to be loved. Even now, he carried those words with him, and that made all the difference.
****
The conference room was already prepared when Greg arrived for his meeting with Margaret. Sunlight fell across the long table, illuminating neatly arranged documents, water glasses, and a silver tray of coffee. Two aides had left the latest negotiation papers in front of each representative, and a secretary waited near the door to take notes.
Margaret stood beside her chair, dressed in a tailored blue suit that looked as though it had been selected specifically to remind everyone that she represented Bellmere's interests.
“Alexander,” she greeted him warmly. “I was beginning to wonder whether you'd forgotten about me.”
“Not a chance,” Greg replied, taking his seat. “You're negotiating on behalf of our neighbors. Forgetting you would be an expensive mistake.”
She smiled as she sat opposite him, “How reassuring to know I'm memorable.”
Greg returned a polite smile and opened the folder before him. He'd been trying to give Margaret the benefit of the doubt since her arrival. They had known each other for years, shared enough social events to call one another friends, and had occasionally found themselves on the same side of family disagreements. He didn't want to assume the worst simply because she was an attractive, unmarried noblewoman whose family had once encouraged the idea of a match between them. There was no way she was in cahoots with his father to destroy his marriage.
Still, he'd noticed things.
The lingering touches when she handed him documents. The way she found reasons to stand close to him. The personal compliments that slipped into conversations about tariffs and shipping rights. The little smiles she gave whenever she mentioned their families' expectations.
Each incident by itself could be explained away. Together, they were becoming difficult to ignore.
“Let's begin with the revised port access terms,” he said.
Margaret's smile shifted into a professional expression as she opened her own folder, “Bellmere appreciates Valoria's willingness to consider reduced tariffs on goods moving through our port; however, our government has added a new condition.”
Greg glanced down at the document she'd slid across the table. “Exclusive access for Bellmerian shipping vessels during the busiest commercial period of the year?”
“Priority access,” she corrected. “Not exclusive access.”
“Your wording may be different, but the effect is the same. Valorian merchants could be delayed while Bellmerian vessels move ahead of them.”
“Only during the peak shipping season. It would improve efficiency for both countries.”
“It would improve efficiency for Bellmere.”
“Alexander, surely you can see that a more efficient port benefits everyone.”
“Not if Valorian businesses are expected to absorb the cost.”
Margaret leaned forward, resting her hands on the table, “Your country has been asking Bellmere to reduce its tariffs for months. We are offering a compromise.”
“A compromise that gives your country a significant advantage while requiring mine to accept the inconvenience.”
“And what would you suggest?”
Greg tapped the paper with one finger, “A shared scheduling system with equal access and an agreed method of resolving delays. We could also discuss temporary priority access in the event of emergencies, provided both governments approve.”
Margaret considered that, her gaze lingering on him a little longer than necessary. “You've become very serious about these matters.”
“It's my job,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“I remember when you used to be more interested in enjoying yourself than sitting in rooms like this.”
“People change.”
“Some more than others. I wonder what could have caused that change.”
The remark was delivered lightly, but Greg heard the implication. He kept his expression neutral, “I'll have to bring the new demand to our officials. They'll need to discuss it before we can give Bellmere an answer.”
Margaret's mouth tightened briefly before she nodded, “Of course. I wouldn't expect you to make a decision without consultation.”
They spent the next half hour reviewing the remaining terms. They made progress on customs documentation, agreed to exchange more detailed shipping forecasts, and identified two areas requiring further legal review. Whenever they disagreed, Margaret leaned into the argument with practiced confidence. When Greg offered a compromise, she found a reason to smile at him as though the negotiation were a private game.
At last, she closed her folder.
“I believe we've done enough for today.”
“Agreed,” Greg gathered the papers into a neat stack. “I'll have my office send the revised proposals once our officials have reviewed the new request.”
“Thank you, Alexander.”
He rose, and she did the same.
“Despite our disagreements, I hope you know I still consider you a friend,” he said. “Our countries may not agree on every issue, but that doesn't mean we have to let negotiations damage our personal relationship.”
Margaret's expression softened, “I'm glad to hear that. I've missed the way things used to be between us.”
Greg paused, “So have I, in some ways.”
It was true. He missed the easy friendship they'd once shared, before their parents had begun treating their names as though they belonged together on a marriage announcement. He missed being able to talk to her without wondering whether every gesture carried an expectation.
Margaret moved around the end of the table and came to stand beside him.
“Perhaps we could spend some time together outside these meetings,” she suggested. “A walk through the gardens, perhaps? We haven't had a proper chance to catch up since I arrived.”
He glanced toward the secretary, who was still sitting by the door. Her eyes widened as she looked back at him. She looked frozen in her seat for a moment, then as quickly and quietly as she could, the woman grabbed her things and exited the room.
So, she caught that too, he thought as he looked down at the table.
“I'm afraid my schedule is rather full, especially with the Charity Ball tonight.”
“Of course. Your wife must be taking up much of your time as well.”
There it was again… that polite snide tone and the feeling that Margaret and his father were plotting together against him.
Greg studied her face, “Aziza is my wife. I'm happy to spend time with her.”
“I'm sure you are,” Margaret gave a small laugh. “I didn't mean to imply otherwise. I only thought that, as your friend, I might help her settle into Valorian society.”
That sounded reasonable enough, and Greg was willing to believe it might even be sincere. However, the faint tension around her mouth suggested she wasn't entirely pleased by the direction their conversation had taken.
“If you'd like to get to know her better, I think that would be a good thing,” he said. “Aziza's still learning how everything works here. She deserves friends who will treat her as a person, not as an obstacle to anyone else's plans.”
Margaret's smile held, though it seemed to require effort, “Naturally. I'd be happy to get to know her and help her understand how to navigate this world any way I can.”
“Good, that would be most helpful. Thank you. I think you'd find her quite interesting.”
“I'm sure I would.”
Greg found himself smiling as he thought of Aziza that morning, still sleepy and wearing his shirt, trying to pretend she hadn't been embarrassed to wake up beside him. He thought of her honesty, her quick wit, and the way she'd listened when he'd spoken about his brother. He thought about their outing and of how she'd managed to make him laugh even when the day had gone terribly wrong.
“She's clever,” he said, before he could stop himself. “And far more perceptive than people give her credit for. She has a way of seeing through all the royal nonsense and asking the one question no one else wants to answer. She's compassionate, too. She cares about people without needing an audience to see her doing it, and she's determined to learn, even when everyone around her seems determined to make it difficult.”
Margaret watched him, her expression growing increasingly still. Greg barely noticed. Once he'd started talking about Aziza, it was difficult to stop.
“She doesn't pretend to know everything. She admits when she's frightened, and she doesn't use that as an excuse to give up. I admire that about her. She also makes me feel like I can be myself without having to perform for anyone.”
He finally looked back at Margaret.
“What…?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “You speak about her with such… enthusiasm.”
“She's my wife. How else would I speak of her?”
“Yes. Of course.”
There was a brief silence.
Greg knew he'd made his point. He hadn't intended to use Aziza as a weapon or make Margaret feel unwelcome, but he wouldn't apologize for being proud of the woman he'd married. If Margaret wanted to understand Aziza, she needed to understand that Greg wasn't looking for a replacement. He was already where he wanted to be.
Margaret reached toward the documents in his hand, “I do have one favor to ask you, Alexander.”
“What is it?”
“It's rather personal.”
He glanced down to make certain he had all the papers, “Go ahead.”
She stepped closer… too close. Greg realized it, just as she reached toward his sleeve. He looked up, but she was already beside him, leaving him no time to move away before the conference room door opened.
King Alexander entered.
Greg's first feeling was relief. His second was a sinking suspicion that the relief would be short-lived. His father stopped just inside the doorway, his gaze moving from Margaret standing close to Greg to the documents in Greg's hand. For a moment, he said nothing.
Then… he smiled, and it was not a reassuring smile.
“Lady Margaret,” the King said smoothly. “Would you excuse us? I need to speak privately with my son.”
Margaret stepped away at once, “Certainly, Your Majesty.” She curtsied, then turned toward Greg, “I'll look forward to our next meeting, Alexander.”
“Likewise,” he replied, keeping his tone polite.
She left, closing the door behind her.
The King waited until the latch clicked before turning his full attention to Greg.
“So,” he said, walking toward the table, “would you care to explain what I just walked in on?”
Greg set the documents down, “We'd finished our negotiations for today. Margaret was asking me for a favor.”
“A favor that required her to stand so close to you?”
“Father, nothing is going on between Margaret and me.”
His father's eyebrows rose, “Nothing?”
“Nothing. She's a friend, and she's representing Bellmere. That's all.”
The King studied him for several seconds, as though searching for a weakness in the answer, “And your marriage?”
Greg's posture straightened, “My marriage is none of Margaret's concern. It's strong, and it's getting stronger.”
His father frowned.
Greg didn't elaborate. He wasn't about to discuss the previous night with the King, and he certainly wasn't going to share how waking up beside Aziza had made him happier than any royal approval ever had. Whatever his father thought he'd seen, it wasn't what he wanted it to be.
The King seemed to recognize that he wasn't going to get more information. His expression hardened as he remembered the reason he'd come.
“Then perhaps you can explain your conduct yesterday.”
Greg sighed inwardly. There it was.
“Which part?”
“Don't be flippant,” the King pulled a folded newspaper from beneath his arm and tossed it across the table. It slid to a stop in front of Greg, “This.”
Greg glanced at the front page.
A photograph showed him and Aziza walking through the market. In another, security officers were restraining the woman who had lunged toward his wife. The headline stretched across the top in bold print.
ROYAL REBELLION? PRINCE GREGORY ABANDONS DUTIES FOR SECRET CITY DATE. WIFE'S MARKET MELTDOWN SPARKS FRESH SCANDAL
Greg's jaw tightened.
He scanned the article. According to the paper, he'd deliberately skipped his responsibilities to stage a romantic outing, while Aziza had supposedly caused a disturbance after confronting a member of the public. The writer had woven a few facts into a story that painted Aziza as volatile and Greg as an irresponsible prince indulging his new wife.
There was no mention that the woman had approached them aggressively. No mention of the security team's intervention. No acknowledgement that the outing had been the first time Aziza had ventured into the city since arriving in Valoria. Instead, the article implied that they had deliberately provoked a scene to attract attention.
“It's rubbish,” Greg said, setting the paper down.
“It's on the front page of a major publication,” the King said, his voice deepening.
“That doesn't make it true.”
“You are the second prince of Valoria. Your actions reflect on this family, whether you like it or not.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because yesterday you abandoned your responsibilities to go wandering through the city with that… that… girl…”
“Her name is Aziza.”
The King stopped.
Greg hadn't raised his voice, but the interruption was sharp enough to change the atmosphere in the room.
“My wife's name is Aziza,” he repeated. “And I didn't abandon my responsibilities. I completed the work scheduled for the morning and took a few hours to spend time with her. I was entitled to do that.”
“You were expected to be available.”
“And I was available when necessary. Nothing urgent was neglected.”
“Your judgment is not the issue,” the King said. “Your public image is.”
Greg almost laughed, “My public image has been a problem since I was old enough to make a mistake. If I stayed inside the palace every day, someone would write that I was hiding my wife from the public. If I took her to a charity event, they'd accuse us of staging a performance. If I introduce her to the country, they will invent a scandal before we've even returned home.”
“Which is why you should think carefully before giving them material.”
“I did think carefully. I wanted Aziza to see the city. I wanted to spend time with my wife without every moment being managed by a publicist.”
“And now look at the result. One that wouldn’t have happened if you were married to the right person.”
Greg glanced at the newspaper again, taking in a deep breath. The article angered him, not because it criticized him, but because it had turned a frightening moment for Aziza into a joke. She had been shaken, and now strangers would read that she'd caused the incident herself. He wanted to find the reporter and demand a correction, but he knew his father wouldn't be satisfied by that. However, the thing that angered him the most was the King’s statement about his wife.
“You're right about one thing,” Greg said. “My actions reflect on the family. That means I need to be more careful about how I handle the press. I'll speak with the communications team about the article.”
The King seemed briefly surprised by the concession.
“Good.”
“But, I'm not going to stop spending time with my wife because someone might write something unkind about us.”
His father's expression cooled, “You seem to have forgotten that you have duties beyond your marriage.”
“I haven't forgotten anything. I'll continue to uphold my responsibilities as the second prince of Valoria. I'll attend the meetings, support the Crown Prince when required, and represent this country to the best of my ability.”
He held his father's gaze.
“But understand this… Aziza is my responsibility, too. She's my wife. I won't leave her to face the world alone simply because my family finds the marriage inconvenient.”
The King stared at him.
Greg could almost hear the old argument gathering between them: the titles, the succession, the political consequences, the expectations that had shaped every year of his life. He had heard it all before. For once, he didn't feel the need to defend his marriage as though it were an impulsive decision he might eventually regret. He knew what he wanted, and he wasn't going to pretend otherwise.
“I need to get back to my office,” Greg said.
His father's eyes narrowed, “I haven't dismissed you.”
Greg paused for only a second, “Then… I'll see you later, Father.”
He turned and walked out. The moment the door closed behind him, his confidence faltered just enough for unease to creep in.
He'd stood his ground. He'd defended Aziza, made his position clear, and refused to let the King turn a few hours with his wife into a question of loyalty. He felt good about that. Better than good, actually. However, he'd also walked out of a meeting with the King without being dismissed.
In the palace, that was not a small thing.
Greg slowed as he reached the corridor, the newspaper still clutched in his hand. He tried to reassure himself that the argument would be all right. At that moment, he hadn't been speaking to the King of Valoria. He'd been speaking to his father… a father who could be unreasonable, controlling, and infuriating, but who was still his father.
Yet the uneasiness remained. It felt as though he'd just provoked a sleeping bear and was walking away hoping it wouldn't decide to wake.
Greg exhaled and looked down at the headline again. Whatever his father planned to do next, he had another problem to deal with first. The article had twisted the events of yesterday into a story that could damage Aziza's reputation before she'd even had a chance to attend her first major royal event… and tonight was the Charity Ball.
He folded the newspaper beneath his arm and headed for his office. He needed to find out who had written the article, how much of the story had come from palace sources, and what they could do to correct the record before the evening's festivities. He'd promised Aziza she wouldn't have to face everything alone, and He intended to keep that promise.
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