I looked to Tril. She was staring at the sheers clutching lace and satin to her chest.

She’d realized the same thing.

“Tril,” I called.

She turned to me. “Now I’m smitten. Deeply.”

I could not hold it back.

And yes, it was partially hysterical.

But it felt good to giggle.

Tril giggled with me as she approached, saying through her laughter, “Let us get you ready for bed. Then treats for Piccola. By then, your tea will be ready.”

We giggled more over her emphasis on tea.

And then we did as she said.

The tea arrived after I had changed and was sitting with Piccola crawling about my person while Tril brushed out my hair.

I tried both teas.

I preferred the passionflower mint.

When I told this to Tril, she simply mumbled, “I do not find this the least surprising.”

Though she said these words with a big grin on her face.

The tea was relaxing, as was the hair brushing, and I could hear that the din outside was regressing, but then it was time for me to meet my husband at our marital bed.

Mars had made it clear it was my decision what tonight would bring.

But all I wished was to sleep so I would be refreshed and tomorrow, perhaps tackle some of the many things that plagued my thoughts.

Therefore, I hoped he spoke true.

When Tril was finished with my hair, she set aside the brush, caught both my shoulders from where she stood behind me and bent to my ear.

“I am happy for you. I am proud of you. And I wish you all the joy in the world in the life you will share with your king,” she whispered there.

I turned my head and knew I had tears in my eyes when I caught hers.

She had tears as well.

We simply gazed at each other for a long moment before she squeezed my shoulders, let me go, took hold of Piccola and started to blow out the lamps in the dressing room.

I got up, took in a breath and walked to the black sheers.

I drew them aside and moved through, only able to take two steps before I stopped.

There were naught but two lamps lit, one on either side of the bed.

A bed my husband was on.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of his satin pants. These a deep red. And he was lying with his back up on pillows, his shoulders and head resting against the padded headboard.

His eyes were closed.

Was he asleep?

If he was asleep, this would make things easy.

It would also, I admitted to myself, be disappointing.

I approached the bed but stopped, the lace at the hem of the satin floating around my feet, when his head came up from the headboard and his eyes opened and fell on me.