I did not much like the heaviness of the gown, the tightness of the sleeves and bodice.

In this cold clime, I did like the warmth of it.

And I very much liked the belt at my waist made of square, golden disks and the silk underskirts of a warm olive green felt lovely on my legs.

Therefore, I focused on those last.

“I…” I hesitated, drifting a hand in the direction of my hair, which was free, something I had noted nearly everywhere was not the fashion of the Dellish, before I finished, “Don’t really know.”

True chuckled and called, “Helga!”

Mercy’s maid, now my maid, who was offered this position by True, and took it, though I was not certain she did so for any reason outside her need for employment, came bustling in.

I watched her covertly as True shifted to my side and asked, “Is my wife ready to face the day?”

“I…her…um…” she stammered, her attention acute on his face in a manner it was clear she didn’t want to turn it to me. “Yes,” she concluded, but it sounded like a guess.

“True,” I called quietly, my gaze to my maid. “Will you give us a moment?”

I felt him look at me, but I didn’t take my eyes from Helga.

“Of course,” he murmured.

Only then did I tip my head back, fortunately just in time for him to touch his lips to mine.

He left us, entering our chamber and closing the door behind him.

I faced Helga.

“Am I ready to face the day?” I repeated my husband’s question.

“Yes, of course, Your Grace,” she answered.

I did not believe her, and I determined it was time to do something about this.

Therefore, I set about doing that.

“I speak sincerely when I say that I do not wish to hear what you think I wish to hear. I wish to hear your honest answer to whether or not I’m ready to face the day,” I said carefully.

She fidgeted.

“I know you loved her,” I announced.

Her eyes widened.

“I know you grieve her,” I continued.

She clasped her hands in front of her and held them tightly.

“I will never replace her. That would be impossible. There was only one Queen Mercy for this land, and for you, in your heart,” I went on.

I took a step toward her and kept speaking.

“But I would wish that you and I could build our own rapport, over time. That you would trust me. That we—”

“I would trust you?” she interrupted me, then immediately rushed on, “Begging your pardon, Your Grace.”

“How about, in this room,” I lifted both hands, “I am Farah and you are Helga, and you are free to say what you will, and me the same?”

She stared at me.

“You are a servant of this castle, a servant of your queen, and always a servant of your king,” I carried on. “But we share many intimacies, you and I. I have no friends here. No allies. None but my husband and his men. I would be honored if you could find your way to being one of them.”