The Duke's bed was large, befitting for a king, I told him. Then I teased him about how it was somehow wider than my parents' bed and seemed to be crafted to accommodate the height of a giant, not the man sleeping in it.

He humored my bad joke with a laugh as I laid strung over his chest. Neither of us was very clothed, though we had not had sex. His shirt was elsewhere, but he wore his pants, and I had lost everything but my slip when he had promised me sleep.

But we didn't sleep. We talked.

Askar played with a strand of hair, twisting it around his finger several times. "Which of your parents have the curls?" he asked. "The Prince has curls, too."

"An astute observation, sir," I exaggerated. "My father. Actually. His hair is dark, like mine, but when he was a boy, he was apparently radiant and yellow like the sun. My mother tells us every chance she gets how much Will is a mirror of him like that."

"And what of your second brother, Sameer?" he asked.

"Just Sam," I said. "He hates the longer name. He's got brown hair like me, but it's much flatter, like the Queen's."

"Then you are the best of both," he teased. "How lucky you are."

"I'm not sure if you're serious or poking fun at me, so I shall ignore any further comments on how I look."

"I am rarely poking fun at you. You're the fairest creature I've ever had the honor of laying with," he joked.

"Perhaps 'person' is a better word for that?" I noted. "Creature makes you sound like a weirdo."

He rolled his eyes. "Where is Sam then?" he asked. "Why didn't I meet him when I was there?"

"Because he lives in Brid with his Countess-wife."

"Countess-wife," he chuckled. "Does his Countess-wife have a name? Or should I refer to her as such?"

"You're awful nosy," I told him. I shrugged, raising a hand and using the other to touch the valley between his abdominal muscles.

"In case you haven't noticed, things between us have been go, go, go from pretty much our introduction. So hang me for trying to hold a dialogue in the rare quiet between us."

"Delilah," I told him. "Her name is Delilah Fitz... Er, well, it's Ólason now."

"And have you dissected the meaning of her name yet?" he asked.

"No," I lied.

"Uh-huh." Ask folded his arms behind his head. "Then your brother is an Earl now? Does he like that over Prince?"

"He does, actually," I confessed. "Sam was always...."

"Always... Tell me? I won't repeat it."

"I suppose it's no shock, really; Sam and I are not the eldest of children. You know the saying, an heir and a spare? Well, Sam's the spare. I'm the spare's spare, but it's something he was always aware of. And, seeing as our dear Will is in better health than any of us– He's better with a sword– He's got the political mind and talent with words– Sammy just always wanted to be something for himself. Earl gave him that. So he married Delilah, and she became his whole personality."

"Does he love his Countess-Wife Delilah?"

"Oh, absolutely," I laughed. "It's almost sickening."

"Then what's their story?"

"On a whim, Sam traveled home with a friend of his from university one year. It just so happened that they arrived the month before the city's season, but while he was there, he met Delilah at a dressage event. He had to come home for my debut, and God, do I mean it when I tell you he was absolutely miserable. It was downright embarrassing, I thought. Eventually, he told Willem that he could not stand to think of all the men that would be courting her in his absence. He said he dreamed about her every night and, well, my brothers, an awful pair of saps, conceived this idea to buy her a few dozen roses from a local gardener and have them sent to her front door that week."

"All the way in Watha?" he snickered.

"How did you know that?" I asked.

"You said her name was Fitz; the Fitzes are in Watha. Your parents are coming from there."

"Yes, well," I was pleased. "Yes. All the way in Watha. It would've been easier to pluck them from our yard and ride them out there himself, but the trip is a week at best. They'd be dead. So. Not the same message, I guess."

"He was taken with her," Askar said.

"Oh, he was irrevocably taken with her. If Löff men are deciders, Ólason men, they're romantics. Hopelessly so. We all had to hear about the flowers for days upon days of his overthinking– How she might have received them, how he should have sent a letter, how he should have sent more than a few dozen. How– Well, you get the idea."

"But she was receptive to them, clearly," he said.

"Aye," I nodded. "He actually left midway through one of our balls to ride out there after she'd finally sent him a reply."

"What did it say?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know that," I smirked. "Likely something I do not want to know. They were married before the last dance of the season, which is when all the offers come in on our end of the world, so. It was quite quick, it felt."

"What does that mean? You have a ball for which you expect proposals to come?" He laughed, sitting up and inching closer to me to tempt the sides of my slip.

"As if that's the oddest part of the story," I croaked. "And yes. No. Sort of. It's not unheard of for offers to come early, but most Oreian ladies expect a grand gesture of some sort the night of the final dance. It's a very spirited time for us."

"Hmm. What's the oddest part then?" he prodded. He brought us back into the sheets to face each other.

"I don't know. Maybe that I was in charge of overseeing the match?" I asked. "It was weird approving his contract."

When he didn't reply, I explained.

"As the Season's hostess, I approve or disapprove marriage requests," I said.

"That's quite the responsibility," he said.

"Not really. My mother signs the final order, but I have to weed through them first. And it's not like I have any real power; the only way I could deny a marriage would be if there were some legal interference," I said. "It's not like I can say 'no, don't marry her' if I don't like a lady. It's just some sort of romantic purgatory my mother has sentenced me to."

"Romantic purgatory. I'm learning all sorts of new words today."

"What would you call it?" I asked. "As hostess, I have to greet everyone who's been invited at every ball, so nearly a whole country's worth of aristocrats, which eats at least an hour, and then I have to try to remember all their names and faces in case they talk to me later on. All the while, should I receive an offer to dance, I must accept because, as hostess, it's rude to decline. And that means dancing is far less enjoyable than it would be with an amiable partner. I have so many requests, that it often lasts nearly all evening, except, of course, if I've been smart enough to stage it so that the older gentlemen are on the tail end of my card because, if I'm lucky, they're tired by that time, and they might refrain from stealing me into prancing around the room."

"A dance with the Princess is likely a once-in-a-lifetime honor for most men," he said. "Especially if these affairs are open to the public?"

"Well, the first two balls are by invitation only, and then a couple throughout," I shrugged. "But yes, most of the events are public."

"I see."

"Anyway, Will and Sam were lucky to have time to tend to their interests, but the Season rushes everyone else it seems."

"But you had a lover," Ask said. "So surely there was some time you found for you?"

I tensed at the subject but tried to hide it. "Yes," I told him. "Anyway, I–"

"You can talk about him, you know?" he said. "About your ex. It doesn't bother me. I will hear it."

"Uhm," I considered. "I suppose I do possess the physical ability to talk about him, but Ser Willoughby says he isn't worth the breath, and I–" My voice hitched, though I didn't mean it to. "I don't know what to say."

Askar sat on his elbow and touched my shoulder. "You loved this man?" he asked.

"Will you think I'm foolish if I say yes?" I asked.

"No," he said. "But I will ask, why did you not marry him?"

"Is that what you think happened, Your Grace?" I wondered. "That I refused him?"

He frowned. "You're not married?"

"I told you..." I steadied my thoughts. "I've never received an offer of marriage. Not one that I was aware of anyway, if yours counts."

It was quiet.

"Please say something," I said.

"Did you want to marry him?" he asked. "Did he know that? Why did he not offer?"

"If you find the answer to that question, you'll do me such a service in revealing it. However, yes. I wanted him to ask me. Yes. I wanted to be his wife. And yes, he knew it. I..." I felt like a fraud. "I accepted his declaration, and before you ask me if I'm certain, I am. We often discussed it on a number of occasions."

"Then–?"

"He said I was...." I didn't want to tell him.

"What did he say?"

"I don't know why I'm so upset," I said, wiping my eyes. "It's been almost a year. You know? People grieve the dead for less. So. Onwards."

"A year is very soon," he said. "Why did he–?"

"I don't know! Alright?!" I snapped. "He said I was 'too much.' He said he was bothered by the blood. He said he didn't like that I was loose in my morality. I–"

"What blood?" Askar scowled.

"The– me! My blood. The–" I rolled into the blanket. "God, I'm mortified!"

"To be clear. This asshole, he broke off your engagement because—"

"We were never engaged," I told him.

"Fine. He... He ended your relationship because of the blood your body gave him when he took your virginity?" he asked. "Am I hearing that right? And what does 'too much' mean? You're not a quantity; you're a person. And you're not in charge of how your body reacts to perfectly natural things. In fact, blood is– Eliza, turn around."

"Absolutely not," I whined. I burrowed further into the pillowcase.

"Please, look at me," he said.

"No!"

"Blood is beautiful, Princess." He brushed the hair off my shoulder. "Blood is natural. You bled the first night we were together," he said.

I gasped. "No!"

"Yes," he said calmly. "It's not–"

"Oh, God!" I cried. I painted my hands onto my face. "Why did you not say anything?"

"Why would I?" he croaked. "It's not offensive. It's not uncommon for women without experience to bleed."

"But I had experience," I cried.

"An experience, yes. You slept with one man one time, and then you met me a year later. That's not the experience I'm talking about."

I whimpered, shaking my head. "I'm so embarrassed."

"Listen," he said. "I thought you were shy and reserved about the sex you'd had because the guy was a bad lay, not because he broke your heart and then tried to convince you that it was somehow your fault. Why did you not tell me these things?"

"Why would I?" I begged. "The fact that you know these things now only makes me wish that I could find the opening of your volcano so that I could throw myself into it!"

"Dramatic," he cracked.

"It's only dramatic if I do not mean it," I said.

"Eliza," he breathed. "Lay back."

"I am lying," I said.

"No," he told me. He guided me to the sheet and half-leaned over me, caressing my cheek. "Let me show you how a man, a real man, behaves."