After My Best Friend and I Transmigrated Into a Book, the System Made Us Seduce Each Other's Husbands novel · Chapter 2 of 24
Chapter 2: Mirelle's Playbook
Mirelle runs her dating rules on her charming husband on their wedding night, then walks into his brother's wing and finds Aurek waiting.
Mirelle Fairchild had coached four hundred and twelve women through bad first dates, and she had never once been told to wait up for nobody.
She tore the note off the pillow and threw it at the fire.
The fire ate it without comment.
Her room was the twin of Elora's, with a bed big enough for six and a hearth carved like a dragon's mouth.
She sat on the mattress in her red gown and made a list on her fingers.
Rule one, never chase.
Rule two, let him come to you.
Rule three, ask about the thing he's proud of.
The System's letters floated in front of her, pale and patient.
TARGET: PRINCE AUREK. AFFINITY: 0%.
"I'm supposed to seduce the ice sculpture," she told the empty room.
The door opened without a knock.
Dacian came in with a bottle in one hand and two women in silk behind him, one on each side, laughing at something he'd said in the hall.
He stopped when he saw her sitting there.
His amber eyes went over her once, from the gold circlet to her bare feet, and then he smiled the same easy smile he had worn at the altar.
"Princess," he said. "I was told you'd be asleep."
"I was told not to wait up."
"Ah." He looked at the bottle. "That was the steward. He gets excited about protocol."
One of the women giggled.
Mirelle looked at her, then at him, and kept her face pleasant.
She had a lot of experience with men who brought an audience.
"You brought company to our wedding night," she said.
"I bring company everywhere. It saves on conversation."
"That's honest."
"Everyone says I'm charming. Nobody says I'm honest." He sat down in the armchair by the fire and stretched his legs out. "Go on. This is the part where you cry, or throw something, or ask me to send them away."
Mirelle thought about the playbook.
Rule one, never chase.
She stood up, took the bottle out of his hand, and pulled the cork with her teeth.
The women stopped giggling.
"Send them away if you want," she said. "Or keep them. I'll just sit here and watch you pretend you're having a good time."
She took a long swallow and handed him back the bottle.
It was sweet and strong and tasted like smoke and pears.
Dacian looked at the bottle, then at her.
For a moment his smile slipped, and what showed under it was something much more careful.
"Out," he said to the women, without looking at them.
They went, with the soft rustle of expensive cloth.
The door closed.
"That was the worst play I've ever seen," Mirelle said.
"You're welcome." He was smiling again. "Why do you talk like you've done this before?"
"Done what?"
"Sat across from a man who isn't going to touch you, and made him wish he would."
Mirelle almost laughed.
It was exactly the line she would have given a client, and he had said it first.
"Lucky guess," she said.
"I don't guess." He took the bottle and set it on the hearth. "I'll sleep in that chair. You take the bed. Tomorrow I'll tell the court I behaved like a gentleman, and they'll all know it's a lie."
"Why would you tell them that?"
"Because the book you two came from," Dacian said, and then stopped.
Mirelle went very still.
"What book?" she asked.
"The one on your nightstand." He nodded toward it. "The one you've been holding since the wedding."
She looked down.
She was holding the dark, heavy book from the aisle.
She had not even noticed.
Her pulse started again.
"It's a prayer book," she said. "From home."
"Of course," Dacian said, and shut his eyes.
He was asleep in minutes, or pretending to be.
Mirelle lay on the very edge of the bed with her back to him and did the math.
Ninety days, minus one.
A billion dollars, if she could make a cold prince say he loved her.
And Elora, next door, was supposed to make the warm one say it.
Elora, who read contracts for fun, would try to out-argue him.
Mirelle would have to teach her better.
The System pinged softly.
MISSION NOTE: The target prince will be alone in the east courtyard at midnight. Take the opportunity.
She stared at the letters.
"You don't know my husband's already in my room," she whispered. "You're not very good at this."
The letters did not answer.
She got up, as quietly as she could, and took the book and her shoes.
Dacian's breathing did not change.
The corridor was cold and lit by torches that burned blue.
She walked toward the courtyard with her shoes in her hand and rule one running in her head, never chase, never chase.
The east courtyard was empty, a square of black stone under a swollen yellow moon.
She had just turned to go back when a tall shape stepped out of the shadow at the corner of the east wing.
He had curved black horns and gold embroidery on his coat, and he had clearly been standing there for a long time.
"Princess Mirelle," Aurek said, in the same low voice he'd used at the wedding.
"Your Highness."
"You are lost."
"A little."
He looked at the bare feet, the book, the shoes in her hand.
"Walk with me," he said.
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