Marrok had slept alone. In all honesty, he was glad that he was able to have any time for himself after the boisterous wedding reception. Every member of court had been in attendance! And although Marrok was ready to retire for bed as early as ten o'clock, he was urged to stay until every last courtier either left or was carried out in a drunken stupor. James, oddly enough, had managed to remain half-sober throughout the event, and so Marrok spent the majority of the evening with him instead of his bride.

Jannali herself was the star of the show. If anyone had found her introverted tendencies odd before, they were confused beyond reason as she danced the night away, flirting with every man that made conversation. It was the most Marrok had seen of her since they first met, and he just wound up feeling uncomfortable and confused. Her kiss at the ceremony had been a brutal wake-up call. At the time, Marrok couldn't seem to explain the fear that curdled his blood, but he was all-too willing to avoid the new Princess Jannali.

After everyone had left, the party was dismissed and Marrok slumped down on his bed, exhausted. His maids offered to help him undress, but he waved them away and shrugged off his coat with a face. He had been sweltering beneath the suffocating velvet. He took off his shoes, and, too tired to do much else, he crawled beneath the blankets and fell asleep in his chemise and dress pants.

He had expected to be woken up within the hour and joined by his new wife so that they may consummate their marriage, as was custom. But Jannali had not shown up, which suited Marrok just fine. He was in no mood to partake in such activities, and certainly not with her. Despite her festive cheer at the reception, she had excused herself from the party two hours before anyone else even began to become tipsy. Marrok wondered with a sneer if she was as boring in bed as she was in public.

He was given utmost liberty the next day, and he slept in well past two in the afternoon. The little time left that he had was devoted to studying over his father's memoirs, a book of lessons and rules that Marrok had gotten into the habit of studying once a month—as just a few extra precautions for when he would come to wear the crown.

Through his fatigue and headache, the endless scrawl of political and economic science made the prince want to bash his head against the wall. The desire only intensified when he was reminded that he was expected for dinner with his parents and Jannali.

He was back in a velvet coat at an ornate dining table, surrounded by roasted goose and sweet corn. He was normally quite fond of these dishes, but tonight, he had no appetite. Jannali sat across from him. Ever since their first meeting, she had obviously refined her glamour into something more typical of a princess—sharper features, longer hair, her eyes a deep royal purple, stunning and artificial. Her silver locks had been teased into large curls that resembled blooming roses. Although out of place on plain, boring Jannali, the hairstyle was much more subdued than the queen's braid, thick like a tree trunk and as long as her legs. An array of flowers replaced her silver crown.

"Tell me, Twinkles," said Aisha, glancing at her son. Marrok resisted the urge to groan. Even in private, he hated when she addressed him by her little pet name. It was cute when he was six, but he's a grown man now! She liked to say it was because his eyes twinkled when something caught his interest. "Was the party to your liking? I made sure that all the pieces played were compositions by Charolais. I know you prefer her over Lalji."

Marrok nodded. "I noticed. Thank you, Mother—and all my favorites, too."

Aisha beamed. "Yes, although I did include your father's little minuet..."

"Absolutely splendid," the king cut in, finishing off a chunk of meat. "You've outdone yourself, Dearest."

"And you, my dear daughter-in-law?" The queen turned to Jannali, who had regained her air of solitude and indifference. She had not looked up from her plate for the entire evening. Even now, she simply nodded as the queen asked her question after question, if she enjoyed the festivities and if not, what could be done for next time. Marrok sat back, irritated. His mother was much too kind.

After dinner was the salon, where the royals were joined by the king and queen's closest friends. Among these nobles was the lovely Genevieve, the matriarch of House Moonborne. She was famous not only as a shrewd businesswoman, but also as the queen's beloved mistress. Marrok had always liked Genevieve—she had helped him take on the piano as a young boy. But the same could not be said for her two sons, one a fancy strumpet and the other an ogre in every sense of the word. Marrok had been wary of them since the beginning. In response, they had snuck into his rooms and cut up half of his pants.

James, of course, was not invited to attend the salon. Marrok had no interest in gambling or playing cards with the older courtiers, and he would've rather burned off half of his own face before conversing with either Moonborne boys, so he was left with Jannali for company. She was draped on a settee by the holographic fireplace, scribbling away in that little notebook of hers. Marrok had the sudden urge to tear it from her and rip it to shreds.

Instead, he settled himself next to her and cleared his throat. She looked up, her deep violet eyes making his vision shift. Dear Stars, those things were bright.

"What can I do for you, Your Highness?" Jannali inquired, her voice soft and meek.

Marrok folded his hands in his lap. Normally, he wouldn't have given her the time of day, but boredom overweighed any disdain he had for her. "I was wondering if you would be interested in a little stroll by the lake. It is getting to be quite stuffy in here."

Jannali tilted her head, and Marrok got a sudden whiff of her perfume. Which was surprising, given that his nose had been rendered useless by the ocean of cologne and others scents that the nobles sported. It was a pleasant, subtle mix—coconut and something else that he couldn't place.

Jannali smiled, displaying her pearly white teeth. Marrok suddenly shivered; she reminded him of those beasts in the menagerie that would bare their teeth before attacking their prey. "I would be delighted, My Prince."

It was essential that she take her time.

And Ugly J had an abundance of patience. It was all part of the fun—luring in your prey for the ultimate pleasure and satisfaction when you finally got to pounce. She could've killed Marrok on that first night; Ugly J had not killed in a month and she was thirsty for blood. But she was already aware of their engagement, and so she was forced to let him go—this had only happened once before, and the escaped victim had ran straight to the police. It was how they knew her name, but luckily, she had not shown the stupid man her face. All it took to lure him away was a slight flash of her cleavage.

She would never truly forgive herself for that. Even though now, the fun has only increased, now that the police knew who she was—she was famous. But Ugly J would not commit another mistake. Even prospecting wasn't worth breaking up a marriage arranged by the king; she would have to wait until she gave Marrok an heir to kill him. She could play the crazed widow, now a single mother, and act as regent until the child assumed the throne. Ugly J would then re-emerge from the shadows and begin her reign over the streets.

She was skilled at seduction. It wasn't hard, really—just model yourself into what he wants and then collect your dues. For Ugly J, said dues were a new charm to her necklace and another worthless debauchee erased from the world. But she couldn't erase Marrok so soon after their wedding, without a pregnancy. She had remained undiscovered and was fully content with staying that way. So this time, she decided that she would string Marrok along before bedding him. After all, what was a prospect without the thrill of the hunt?

There were butterflies milling about the flowers, which Marrok found pleasant. When he was younger, he would capture some in a jar and pin them to a wooden board that still hung on his wall to this day. As much as he hated to admit it, it had given him a sick sort of pleasure, driving needles through their bodies and watching them die at his hand. He supposed it gave him the sort of power that a child could only dream of.

He was glad to be out of that phase.

Jannali, for her part, was quite in character—saying nothing, staring at the Artemisia Lake's glimmering waters, seemingly lost in thought. Marrok held his behind his back. "You don't talk much," he broke the silence.

Jannali smiled. "I speak when I have something meaningful to say."

If it was meant to be a jab against him, Marrok ignored it. "If we're going to make this work, we should get to know each other," he announced. He knew that there was nothing about Jannali that he would care about, but he figured that it would be best to melt the ice wall between them as soon as possible. They were, after all, together now. For life. He couldn't help but shudder.

The princess quirked a perfectly manicured brow. "What would you like to know?"

"What's your favorite colour? Mine's red."

"I would assume so, given that wonderful mane of yours."

Marrok stopped walking. He grasped at his hair and saw that his glamour was still in place; he had kept the appearance of the blond boy that he wore at his wedding. His hair was perfectly groomed and settled at his neck like spun gold. "I do beg your pardon?"

Jannali had the sense to act surprised. She put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. "Oh, my apologies! When I saw you return to your rooms last night, I'd assumed that you let up your glamour by then. I must admit, I rather like your hair. It's like fire."

Marrok's cheeks burned. He didn't remember taking down his glamour at all, even once he flopped himself in bed. But it didn't matter; she had seen, and it angered him. "What is your favourite colour?" Marrok repeated.

"Purple. I simply adore purple," said Jannali. "If you couldn't tell by my eyes."

Although it was a severe breach of court etiquette, Marrok then asked: "And your real eyes? What colour are they?"

Jannali smiled. "They're quite dark. I'm not sure what they call such a shade—onyx?" She shrugged. "Anything else?"

"What are your hobbies? Aside from studying, of course."

"I don't have time for hobbies."

"Anything you don't do with your tutors. Surely you don't spend your life with them?"

Jannali ran a finger on the pearl necklace draped across her collarbone. "I used to make jewelry when I was little. My mother would give me all her spare gems and broken pieces, and from them I'd make little baubles. The ladies in my mother's inner circle thought they were absolutely precious and would buy them off me."

Marrok faintly remembered that—his mother would rave on about the adorable bracelets her friends would wear out in town on casual outings. Aisha had given him one that was too small for her, made of silver and rubies. He had been enamoured with the thing. It had a little "J" scrawled beside one of the jewels, and Aisha had told him that it was the maker's signature. It didn't fit him anymore, but he still kept it hidden away with his most treasured possessions.

Now, knowing that Jannali had made it, he would throw it away as soon as he was dismissed for night.