“I was giving you time to get used to me and our play, waiting for you to give indication you were ready to take it further, something you did not do.”

Oh balls.

“Because, apparently, not only didn’t you fucking know how,” he went on, “but because you also didn’t know there was anything further to do.”

I did not confirm what he’d already discovered.

I noted, “I-I’m sure this is not the easiest thing to discuss with your child.”

“We will be open and honest about the pleasures of the flesh with our children, Silence. They will know of it, they will know to expect to enjoy it, both sexes, and they will not be ashamed of it.”

“All right,” I repeated.

“And incidentally, you are not a child. You’re an adult. One who, those weeks ago, would imminently be wed.”

I could not argue that.

“Are you taking pennyrium?” he asked abruptly.

“Pennyrium?” I asked in return, stupidly.

He turned me in his arms but instantly imprisoned me in them again with my body held cinched to his.

“Pennyrium is a draught you can take—” he began to explain with reined impatience.

“I know what it is, Mars, I just…” Gods, I was daft. “There was no reason to take it.”

And there wasn’t, not because we weren’t having sex, but because I hadn’t thought of it, for I’d never had to before (pennyrium being the draught a woman took daily which (I had heard) was very good at guarding against pregnancy).

“Prior to sacking her, we’ll ask that maid to procure some so you can begin taking it immediately,” he declared.

I did not wish to be this type of person.

But she was the type of person who flirted with a woman’s husband.

So I did not have very many qualms in making this the last (and one of the only) chores Pegeen did before she was on her way.

However…

“But don’t you want a child?” I queried.

“Yes, I want several, but first, I want time to enjoy my wife, and also, if this Beast ever rises, I do not want her pregnant when we fight it.”

“Oh, right,” I mumbled.

He jostled me. “Silence.”

My gaze had fallen to his throat, so I lifted it to his face.

“The salute of the Trusted Ones, do you remember it?” he asked.

I was confused.

“The salute of the Trusted?”

“When you met my men and they pressed your hand to their heart and their stomach,” he explained.

I nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

“I ordered that salute altered when the men gave it to you.”

When he went no further, I asked, “Altered?”

“With another woman, or a man, in that instance, they would have had their hands pressed to my men’s hearts, and their cocks.”

“Oh,” I breathed.