Someone brings in strawberries and champagne shortly after we wake up, and now it’s clear that not only can one enjoy good food and good sex, but also enjoy the two together. It seems outrageously gluttonous, but it doesn’t stop me from reaching over to the platter and picking up a strawberry while the king pours champagne.

Just as I open my mouth, the king catches my hand and makes a tsk-ing sound. “This, I believe, is my job.”

He takes the strawberry from me and presses a champagne flute into my hand.

“So now I’m permitted to drink?”

“As long as I’m the one pouring, you are.”

“You’re a control freak.”

The king scoops cream onto the strawberry from a nearby bowl. “This surprises you?” he asks.

“No, but you could try loosening up for once in your life.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What, exactly, do you think I’ve been doing for the last twelve hours?”

“Punishing me,” I say without missing a beat.

He sighs. “You keep lying. Hasn’t anyone told you the key to a healthy marriage is trust and honesty?”

I scoff at him. “There are so many things I could say to that statement.”

The king smirks and lifts the strawberry like he wants to feed me.

“Do that, and I’ll bite your fingers off.”

“You like my fingers too much to do them harm. Now, open your mouth.”

I eye him like a wary creature even as I part my lips and he feeds the berry to me. My annoyance with him is less compelling than my desire to eat the fruit.

My eyes close as I bite down on it and enjoy the taste. I can’t remember the last time I had a strawberry.

When my eyelids lift, Montes is watching me with fascination, like he craves these reactions.

That sense of wrongness comes back. I shouldn’t be doing this with the king while the world toils on. I feel like the traitor everyone made me out to be.

I flash him a cautious look, and never taking my eyes off of him, down the champagne.

Bad idea. Whether it’s my empty stomach, all the alcohol I’ve imbibed, or the rich palace food, something’s not sitting well.

“Serenity?”

I scramble out of bed. I don’t bother grabbing the silk robe on my way to the bathroom. I barely make it in time. The water’s tinged red, and I can’t tell if it’s from the berry or the blood.

Behind me, the king swears. What’s he doing in here?

“Get out,” I say weakly.

“Last I checked, I’m the king, not you.”

I flush the toilet and rise to my feet. I’m more fatigued than I should be. I fear that just when I decided I had the will to live, my body decided it didn’t.