Page 55 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part One

He nods toward the entertainment center on the opposite wall from the bed.

As in his rooms at Waterfell Castle, it’s the only thing truly set up in the cottage.

But I figure out that it’s the small grouping of framed photos set to one side that he’s directing my attention toward.

I’m too far away to distinguish much detail.

But with his shifter sight, I know he can see the faces of what I assume is his family or friends easily enough.

Rian forces a laugh. “It was crazy ironic, actually, when your matchmaking invitation was delivered by the same guy my lawyer tracked down. I didn’t have to meet him twice to understand that his nickname isn’t some joke. I don’t meet many wolves more dominant than me.”

He means Raoul. Le Loup. My father’s chosen and the head of the royal guard .

My confusion grows, though I store away the little tidbit of him being a wolf shifter. A thing I’d guessed easily enough but hadn’t confirmed. “Wait … your father was connected to Raoul?”

Rian shrugs. “They worked together. Apparently, as far as Le Loup knew, my mother never told my father she was pregnant. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, maybe she just hadn’t had a chance before he was killed.”

The threads of grief woven through Rian’s words yank my attention away from pondering the connection to my father’s chosen. “And … that leads to you, at eighteen, accepting my father’s contract.”

He smirks at me knowingly. “Nineteen next month, if that makes you feel better, Highness.”

I flush, knowing I’m being sensitive about an eight-year age gap. Especially because I understand that Rian has already done more, built more, in his relatively short life than some people ever do. Myself included. “I’ll bake you a cake.”

“Really?”

“What? You think I can’t bake?”

“Can you?”

I laugh despite attempting to remain straight-faced. “Not at all.”

He bursts out laughing himself. And then we just hover in that moment together, trading laughter and warmth. Slowly quieting until we’re just grinning softly at each other.

Rian is the first to break the intense, intimate eye contact, swallowing a little harshly. As if he’s stopping up all the declarations desperate to pour from him as much as I am.

“It was actually Armin who approached me,” he says, flicking his gaze up to gauge my reaction. “Not your father.”

“Armin? You knew Armin?”

“Just one meeting over coffee. Though we talked for about three hours, outlining everything he wanted to do with his horses. He dangled Perseus as an incentive. He’d bought him on private bid about a few months before.”

This was … this is something that I don’t know about Armin. But instead of focusing on how that hurts me, I lean into it greedily. “I knew he was dabbling …”

“Perseus isn’t the kind of horse you purchase on a whim.”

“Well, Armin might.” My mind reels, not necessarily in a bad way, as I try to put the timeline together. “You signed the contract with my father … so this conversation with Armin had to have been …”

Rian nods sadly. “About a week before he died. But he must have already had the contract drawn up, based on everything we’d talked about, in partnership with your father.”

Anything connected to Armin, and also to the main estate, would have been taken care of by lawyers and estate managers in the months since I lost my brother.

Which reminds me again that his more personal correspondence and commitments are still waiting on me to get my shit together.

I need to pack up his rooms and sort through all his belongings, figuring out what to store and what to donate.

Both Anne and Eleanor have offered to help.

I keep thinking I’ll get to it. Eventually. But now with the matchmaking event … and what will follow …

“I liked him,” Rian says, watching me closely.

“Our conversation was easy, not like a prince talking to a subject or anything. He ignored his phone for the entire three hours. Except for a quick series of text messages.” Rian runs his fingertips down my arm, then settles his hand over mine, still pressed to his chest. “He had this smile on his face the entire time he texted … and I assumed he was chatting with a lover. After I signed the contract and settled at the estate, I found out it was you he called …”

“Mirth. He named me Mirth.” And for the first time in over six months, the utterance of my own name — even from my own lips — doesn’t come with even a single needle of pain.

“Because Euphrosyne was the goddess of mirth — but that was too difficult to say as a toddler?”

“Yes.”

“I envied him, just at that moment. That he had that kind of connection with someone. That he loved someone enough to smile like that from a simple text message.”

“We were both ridiculously lucky.” Somehow I’m not crying.

Even as I clearly picture Armin and Rian squeezed into a booth at a coffee shop, ignoring the royal guards not-so-casually arrayed around them.

Then Armin getting a text from me, something the two of us did near constantly when we were apart for more than an hour. “Some siblings hate each other.”

Rian nods as if he already knows that for a fact.

“Thank you,” I say. “For that. I didn’t know that about Armin. That it was him who …” I smile at him, in what I hope is a saucy manner. “Who contracted your … services.”

A smile flits across Rian’s face at my completely unsubtle innuendo, but it doesn’t completely penetrate the seriousness that underlies the conversation. He smooths his hand up my arm again, then speaks gently.

“Tell me why my asking you for a secret hurt you so badly.”

“Armin,” I say, hot tears instantly spiking at the corners of my eyes. “Armin has taken all my pathetic secrets to his grave.”

“Oh, Mirth.” Rian gathers me firmly against his chest. “I’m so sorry, love.”

I press my face against his warm skin, indulging in his comforting me for just a moment. Then, shoving back the tears before they fall, shaking my head, I push upright again.

“No, I’m not doing that. I’m not wallowing. I’m living here. Now.”

“In my bed?” he asks playfully. “Because I’m totally on board for that change in your residency.”

I snort-laugh, then cover my mouth in dismay at the sound. Rian just grins at me.

“A secret …” I say, trying for a playful tone again. “Let’s see —”

The bedroom door bangs open.

Rian has me rolled and pinned underneath him before I manage to even flinch in reaction.

I feel the intruder’s energy before I hear him or catch sight of him. It boils into the room, which suddenly feels even tinier, even more cramped.

“What the fuck, Mirth!” he roars, looming in the doorway. “I thought you’d been kidnapped again!”

Bolan.

“Back off, asshole,” Rian snarls, straightening but still keeping me firmly tucked behind him.

I scramble to get the sheet wrapped around myself while also trying to keep Rian covered.

“Fucking the stable boys now, Mirth?” Bolan snarls, pacing into the bedroom.

A flush of anger rises to overwhelm an odd twist of shame at being caught in my lover’s bed .

“While we all pant after you, you’re down here fucking the —”

“Since when do you pant after anyone, Bolan?” I ask, all snooty and cool. “And since when is it your business who I choose to fuck?”

Bolan goes still, then takes a step closer. Trying to lock his gaze to mine over Rian’s shoulder, I assume, because his incensed glare isn’t difficult to misinterpret. “Since you fucking invited me to court you, Mirth.”

I open my mouth to dispute the fact that I invited him. Then I remember I actually did so, no matter how inadvertent it was. I rally, but my next verbal volley sounds weak even to my ears. “Stalking me isn’t approved courting behavior.”

Bolan’s bright-blue eyes narrow dangerously, almost maliciously.

Clutching the sheet to me, I steel myself for whatever vitriol is going to erupt from him. I don’t really know how to fight like this, screaming and throwing words at another person. By contrast, Bolan is truly adept at blistering someone from the inside out, even with a seemingly casual remark.

But he just frowns suddenly, his gaze sweeping over me, then flicking to Rian for a moment. He relaxes slightly, enough that the energy pouring off him isn’t as smothering.

“If you didn’t need me to rescue your sweet ass every fucking second moment …” His tone is still edged in darkness, but it comes out in the smooth purr he’s so well known for as a singer. “Then maybe I wouldn’t have to —”

“You know you made that situation worse,” I say. I finally manage to get the sheet tucked around me. But only because Rian, completely naked, slowly stands with his hands raised to the sides.

Bolan snorts dismissively at him, keeping his blisteringly bright gaze trained on me. His wolf is in his eyes. That’s what Rian is reacting to. And I can feel a calming energy radiating from the younger shifter now.

Bolan smirks nastily. “I rescued you —”

“You destroyed the —”

“That was your fucking father.”

“And who do you think got him riled up?”

“You, Mirth! You getting fucking kidnapped.”

Rian is still acting like he’s expecting Bolan to attack me, but his voice is calm. “I’m out of the loop here, but I also haven’t kidnapped Mirth.”

“Mirth,” Bolan spits. “He can call you that without you fucking flinching? But I can’t?”

“Why are you here, Bolan?” I ask, abruptly weary.

“I thought you were in trouble.”

“Why were you following me in the first place?”

“I … I wanted …” He actually takes a step back, casting his gaze around as if he can’t articulate his thoughts and look at me at the same time. “I was going to say sorry for whatever I’ve done to piss you off.”

“You don’t know?”

“What?”

“You don’t know what you did to piss me off?”

“Which time?” he snaps.

I throw my hands up in exasperation— and lose the sheet in the process, exposing my breasts. That derails the argument for a moment.