Even clothed, the man's physique was magnificent. But the naked torso revealed after the Duke shed his shirt transcended imagination entirely. Alexio's body was as beautiful as his handsome face—sculpted muscle and smooth planes that seemed impossible to achieve even with years of dedicated training. Just _looking_ at him felt illicit, forbidden. The thought of _touching_ him made Adelina's heart race for reasons she couldn't quite name.
The Duke noticed her hand suspended awkwardly in midair, caught between retreat and advance. With a slight tilt of his head, he reached up and placed her palm directly against his chest.
The shock of it—firm muscle, warm skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips—made Adelina jerk her hand away as if burned. Alexio's low chuckle rumbled through the quiet room.
"Princess, you may touch me as much as you like." His eyes glinted with amusement. "This should be fair play, after all."
"I didn't mean to touch you at all..." Adelina kept her voice as level as possible, desperate to maintain some semblance of composure. She dropped her gaze, hoping to cool the fire blazing across her cheeks by focusing on something—_anything_—else.
What lay below proved far more devastating.
Her eyes widened involuntarily when they settled on a clearly defined bulge straining against the fabric of his trousers.
The Duke caught the direction of her frozen stare. A barely audible laugh escaped him—one he didn't bother to fully suppress—and his voice took on a teasing lilt.
"Ah. So instead of my chest, you wanted to touch _this_ part of my body?"
"**No!**" The protest burst from her lips, furious and flustered. Her gaze darted wildly from side to side, unable to settle anywhere safely. "It's... it's just..."
"'It'?" he prompted, voice velvet-soft and wicked.
"Just... _it_..."
_Wasn't it too large?_
Adelina was well-versed in anatomy—she'd received extensive education on the continuation of noble bloodlines, complete with detailed diagrams and clinical explanations of sexual intercourse between man and woman. But no diagram had prepared her for _this_. No matter how she recalled those educational illustrations, her husband's proportions seemed far, _far_ above average.
Watching the princess remain frozen in stunned silence, Alexio asked again, his tone dripping with mischief.
"It seems the place you truly wanted to touch is—"
"Nothing of the sort."
"If you'd like to renegotiate the terms of our contract—"
"I said **no**, Duke of Pembroke!"
When Adelina cut him off—hastily but firmly—the laughter Alexio had been suppressing finally broke free, rich and unrestrained.
---
**Knock, knock.**
The sound at the door severed Alexio's laughter mid-breath, replaced immediately by Sophie's familiar voice.
"My lady, did something happen last night that kept you up so late?"
Adelina's eyes fluttered open. She blinked against the morning light streaming through unfamiliar windows, disoriented by surroundings that weren't her own. The only familiar sight in the room was her maid's concerned face.
"Sophie."
"Oh my **God**."
Sophie's hands flew to cover her mouth, her eyes widening as her gaze landed on something that made her expression shift from concern to shock. Adelina's face flooded with heat when she realized what the girl was staring at: her collarbone, exposed where the nightgown had slipped during the night. The marks Alexio had left behind were undoubtedly visible—vivid and damning.
"Nothing happened that you might be imagining, Sophie."
"I wasn't imagining _anything_, my lady." The maid's tone was carefully neutral, though her eyes sparkled with barely suppressed curiosity. She moved to the bed and gently tugged the blanket higher, covering the telltale marks. "Whatever did or didn't happen last night, I must take the sheets and blankets now."
At Sophie's pointed words—mindful of her assigned mission—Adelina obediently rose from the bed. The space beside her, where the Duke had lain through the night, was empty. As if he'd never been there at all.
"Are you looking for the Duke?" Sophie asked, stripping the linens with practiced efficiency. She'd noticed the direction of her mistress's gaze.
The princess shook her head quickly, averting her eyes.
"No. I was simply thinking about how large the bed is."
It was a casual observation, yet entirely sincere. Last night, lying beside Alexio, the bed had felt impossibly cramped—every shift of his body acutely felt, every breath audible in the darkness. Now, seeing it empty, she wondered if it had always been this vast.
Sophie folded the sheet with a knowing smile playing at her lips.
"The Duke left after an early breakfast."
"Sophie, I didn't _ask_ about the Duke of Pembroke."
"Of course not, my lady. I simply thought you'd want to know the master's whereabouts."
Hearing her maid's natural, unguarded laughter, Adelina couldn't help but chuckle despite herself—a sound caught somewhere between exasperation and genuine amusement.
"Sophie, you know perfectly well the nature of my arrangement with the Duke of Pembroke. We're not a real couple."
"What's so unusual about that?" Sophie shrugged, unperturbed. "Many people marry this way and end up spending their entire lives together quite contentedly."
"This isn't a marriage. It's a three-year contract."
"Contracts can be extended." Sophie's expression softened. "Try to think positively, my lady. After witnessing yesterday's ceremony, I'm convinced you're far better off as the Duchess of Pembroke than as Prince Arthur's daughter."
"And who was it that spoke so ill of the Duke of Pembroke just days ago?"
"Well..." Sophie had the grace to look sheepish. "That was before I truly understood the situation."
She cleared her throat, eager to redirect the conversation. "As soon as we arrived at the villa, I spoke with the other servants. Apparently, the Duke gave explicit instructions for everyone to attend to your comfort and needs. Because of this, the entire household seems to believe in the authenticity of your 'love match.'"
"The Duke of Pembroke is a thorough man in many respects." Adelina murmured the words quietly, her fingers drifting unconsciously to her collarbone where the marks still burned faintly beneath her touch. "He won't reveal weaknesses—not even to his own servants."
If asked whether Alexio Pembroke was a good man or a ruthless one, Adelina would answer without hesitation: _both_. At least where she was concerned. But she harbored no illusions that the Duke would extend unconditional favor to anyone. His driving forces were contracts and calculated profit, not emotion or sentiment. Though she'd known Alexio Pembroke for only a short time, this much had become abundantly clear.
"Therefore, Sophie, be cautious in your actions. We cannot afford discovery." Adelina's voice dropped, taking on a more serious edge. "Do not make the mistake of thinking the Duke of Pembroke is our unconditional ally."
"Yes, my lady..."
Sophie's shoulders slumped slightly. She knew her mistress spoke the truth. Despite this knowledge, some stubborn part of her still yearned to indulge in sweeter, more romantic fantasies.
Adelina smiled gently and patted the girl's shoulder, well aware of how fiercely devoted her maid was to her mistress's happiness. Sophie brightened immediately, her spirits rallying with visible determination.
"I'll wash the linens before the other servants notice anything amiss. I must play my part flawlessly to ensure your marriage appears perfect in every detail. I won't allow even the smallest mistake."
It was a genuinely reassuring promise. Adelina nodded, offering a soft smile as she watched Sophie's retreating figure disappear through the doorway. Then she sank back onto the bed, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She drew in the unfamiliar scent of sea air mixed with something distinctly masculine—leather and cedarwood—and let her gaze wander across the room's elegant furnishings.
Finally, the reality of this marriage settled over her like a tangible weight.
Marriage. The title of Duchess of Pembroke. A husband who was a Duke.
From this moment forward, Adelina would have to adapt to it all.
---
"Your Grace, is this truly appropriate?"
Alexio removed his sunglasses and hooked them casually onto the collar of his shirt, not even pretending to acknowledge his assistant's pointed question. Despite the blazing Mediterranean sun, the man remained dressed entirely in black—as always.
"**Your Grace!**"
Only after the cry of genuine indignation did Alexio glance back over his shoulder. "What? What's the matter?"
"At the very least, this is supposed to be your _honeymoon_." Simeon's tone carried the exasperation of a man who'd reached the limit of his patience. "The Princess—no, aren't you neglecting your **wife** rather egregiously?"
"I visit her every night. We share the same bed." Alexio waved a dismissive hand, his stride never faltering. "There's nothing to worry about."
He continued walking along the endless stretch of pristine white sand, his steps as smooth and assured as if he were navigating a well-paved street in the capital. Simeon, meanwhile, remained so flabbergasted by his master's cavalier attitude that he hurried to keep pace, his longer strides hampered by the shifting sand that washed over his boots with every step. He stumbled more than once, silently cursing the fact that the Duke somehow maintained perfect balance despite the treacherous terrain.
"Your Grace, is the sole purpose of a honeymoon simply to _share a bed_?"
"Is there another objective?" Alexio's eyes narrowed, genuine confusion flickering across his features.
"There are countless observers in the capital—gossips and spies on every corner," Simeon pressed, frustration bleeding into his voice. "Don't newlyweds embark on honeymoons to steal a little privacy? To have time _alone together_ without the constant pressure of maintaining aristocratic dignity every waking moment?"