The ballroom glittered with candlelight and artificial charm. I stood rigid at the edge of the dance floor, watching her laugh.

Not with me.

With him.

Some foppish nobleman whose name I couldn’t be bothered to remember. Probably something forgettable like Lord Featherstone or Count Try-Too-Hard. He leaned a little too close. Smiled a little too wide. Spoke to her.

And she smiled back.

I gripped my wine glass. The stem cracked.

She was my wife. She was supposed to laugh like that at me. I memorized three entire volumes on "Wit and Flirtation" just for that laugh. And he—he hadn't read a thing!

I was on the verge of storming across the floor like I was heading to war when her eyes met mine. Soft. Mischievous.

Dangerous.

She excused herself with a little wave and strolled over, skirts swishing like the banners of my defeat. The nobleman still stared after her like a lovesick idiot. Pathetic. I would never—wait, she’s coming closer. Too close. Much too close.

"My darling hubby’s getting jealous~♡"

She purred the words like a spell.

I blinked. “I—I am not—”

She cupped my face. Her hands were on my face.

And then—

Then.

She kissed me.

Right on the lips.

There were fireworks. Explosions. A celestial collapse.

I had trained for this. I read books. I rehearsed what I’d do during our first kiss. Tilt her chin. Whisper something devastating. Dip her backwards like in the illustrations.

But instead—I froze.

Like an idiot.

She pulled back, eyes gleaming, lips curved. “Mm, cherry wine. Suits you.”

I still hadn’t moved. I hadn’t breathed. My arms were hanging limp like I’d forgotten I had bones. My brain was buffering. I tried to say something suave. Anything.

“...Mmmguh.”

She winked. WINKED. “You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you, Your Highness.”

And then she walked away like she hadn’t just ended me in front of the entire court.

I turned to the nearest servant. “Fetch me… a book.”

“A book, Your Highness?”

“Yes. Something on… post-kiss respiratory function. I appear to be—malfunctioning.”