Piccola hung from a lock of my hair.

I heard Mars’s deep voice murmur something in response to whatever Ines was remembering now, for she had a great deal of memories that involved Mars.

Scores.

Scads.

I decided ten more minutes I would endure the torture of their reminiscences (or hers, for Mars had not said much), before sharing I had a busy day the next day, offering my goodnight and heading to my chambers.

“So, will you? Silence?”

Her voice coming at me for the first time of our long-finished dinner caught me by surprise, and I looked to her.

“I’m sorry?” I asked.

“Will you go to the orgies for Miet?”

I blinked at her.

“No,” Mars decreed.

Orgies?

Angelo had said nothing about orgies.

He had turned an alarming shade of red when I asked about the Miet, something which confused me for he then shared it was the celebration of the yield, that meaning of the crops, and went on to explain there was a good deal of food consumed and liquor imbibed.

But he’d breathed no word about orgies.

“Oh, that’s too bad. I’d hoped the two of you would be there,” she mumbled, looking as if she was pouting. She quickly brightened, but did it in a catty way, and then asked Mars, “Do you remember when—?”

“Ines,” Mars growled.

“What?” she queried with sham innocence.

“If you intend to speak of what I think you intend to speak of in front of my wife, I would reconsider,” he advised.

She shot him a dazzling smile.

I felt bile rise in my throat.

They had…

At an orgy…

Piccola chirruped.

I stood.

“Please, do not allow me to further interrupt this reunion,” I said, right to her. “It is clear you’ve spent some time apart, but were once very close, and you wish to bond over shared memories. I would simply love to know all about these, in detail, but I’m afraid I have a number of letters to write before I can be to bed. Though it was such a delight to meet you, Ines. I will be certain to mention you to Farah, one of the letters I shall be writing, you know, queen to queen. Now, please enjoy your visit to the city and the celebrations of Miet.”

I then turned to Mars, bent to him, Piccola swinging from the lock of my hair, and I caught the point of his beard in my grip.

His brows shot up.

I bent, pressed my mouth hard to his, straightened inelegantly the second I felt his hand touch my waist, and mumbled, “My king.”

“My queen,” he mumbled back, eyes dancing.

Eyes bloody dancing!

Of all the cheek!

I glared at him, twirled, Piccola chirping gleefully as she went swinging, and I smiled as sweetly as I could at Ines.

“Goodnight,” I bid.

“And a goodnight to you too,” she replied on a nasty grin.

“My queen,” Mars rumbled.

I turned to him.