If he wasn’t so bloody angry, he’d laugh.

“Aunt Mercy,” Silence urged.

“My apologies, my soon-to-be daughter,” Mercy gritted.

“That wasn’t very convincing, but it’ll do,” Silence murmured then looked to Farah. “Yes?”

“Yes, of course. Absolutely. And Queen Mercy, I’ll select a servant,” Farah promised.

“You bloody will not,” True bit. “I’ll do your gods-damned laces if need be. If you don’t wish a servant, you don’t have to have one. You’re going to be bloody queen. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

Jasmine chuckled.

Farah stared up at him with big eyes and said conciliatorily, “All right, my True.”

“Yes,” he clipped. “Your True.”

With that, he let her hand go, pushed his chair back, got up, pulled hers out and helped her from it.

His eyes went to Silence. “She’ll seek you for your stroll when she’s ready.”

Silence was grinning up at him. “Of course, cousin.”

He noted Mars wasn’t grinning up at him.

Mars was studying his wife like he’d never seen her before.

True looked to his mother. “We’ll part on bad terms if you don’t use the time it takes for the women to have a wander to find words to make amends. I strongly suggest you take that time and find those words, Mother.”

She lifted her chin at him.

It was set stubbornly.

But she’d find a way.

It would be far from genuine, but she’d do it in a manner that was appeasing.

She had a gift with that.

He tucked Farah’s hand in his elbow and moved them from the table.

When they were halfway to their tent, she noted, “I hadn’t actually finished my breakfast.”

He pivoted them instantly and started back until Farah broke free, laughing softly, and stood in front of him with both hands on his chest to stop him.

He stopped.

“I was joking, True,” she told him, studied his face but a moment and said, “Though perhaps it’s not a good time for that.”

“I would have your life filled with laughter and teasing. When I’m angry, it’s the best time, my Farah.” He was sure to note that she noted the word he stressed, which she did, hearteningly, before he went on, “For I dislike being angry, sweetling. And your eyes alive with humor like they are right now could fill a dead man’s heart with gladness.”

Her lips parted.

And he watched them do so.

Gods, he wished to kiss her.

His mouth was dry with the need and this was becoming an affliction, this need was near fucking constant.

And sleeping at her side night after night…

Agony.

But her mother hadn’t been entombed for even a month.