As the afterglow finally ebbed, she spoke with a slight laugh. "So... getting back to our room is going to be... fun..." she glanced over at the half-shredded dress discarded in the ground. "Also, you are incredibly strong."

She had never seen a man rip off clothes with the force he had, or leave them in such a state. However, to be fair, she'd never seen anyone rip off clothes at all. The only people who had ever dressed or undressed her were handmaidens and lady's maids.

He laughed. "A determined man becomes a strong one. I just really wanted the dress to come off." He winked before his eyes settled on the fabric heap, and all at once he realised he'd left the dress in an almost unwearable state. "In future I will aspire to untie them properly. Otherwise, you'll end up with no dresses to wear. What a pity." He said it as a joke, but realised with the way their relationship was going, there might actually be some truth to it.

"I can bring another dress back here if you would like, so long as your promise not to burn down my work in my absence. Unless you want to take the risk of traversing the palace?" She'd surprised him thus far with what she was willing to do as a lady, but he doubted she'd traipse around nude. "I mean, I can't promise I'll pick a particularly fashionable dress. It's not my strongest suit," he was saying it all in jest. It felt good to joke with her, to bring a smile to those rosy lips.

Marcello kissed her softly, no longer lustful or hungry, but slow and romantic. Her life had changed so much in the past few days: from a prim and proper girl to be married off to lying with him in a post sex glow contemplating how to get more clothes. Her green eyes glowed as she looked at him, smiling, and he hoped she maintained this happiness even when her life became more turbulent.

"Well... I'll try not to spur you on in rooms where I can't easily get to spare clothes..." she laughed, kissing him back for a moment. It felt so natural. She didn't think it went like this for most. Her friends' letters didn't go like this at all.

"And even a flour sack is better than no clothing at all..." she joked. "But I don't have any dresses that aren't fashionable. So you shouldn't have an issue there..." she winked with a laugh. "And I suppose if you rip them all off me, you'll just have to buy me more, and that wouldn't be so terrible." She nipped at his lips for a moment, teasingly. "And yes, I solemnly swear not to light anything on fire while you go, or you could just send someone. Or we could just lay here happily until one of us is forced to actually move..." Her eyes flashed playfully in the candlelight.

He started stroking her cheek delicately, as if she were made of flower petals that would bruise or fall with too much force. He tilted his head, smiling, confused. Had her joke about lying here until one had to move indeed been a joke? Or did she suspect? "Mmm, I like the sound of that. I assure you, though, I would win. You would most certainly have to move first. Also, I can't have my lady running around in a flour sack! If anything, our actions deserve a little market trip or a royal tailor to be called in post haste to have the finest new dresses made for my love." They would have to do a royal visit into the city at some point during their newlywed stage. Show their faces to the townsfolk and be received as the happy couple they were turning out to be. Moreover, once she was pregnant, she would need new dresses. She would need them much more quickly than she might assume.

"Now would you like me to send someone or go myself? Not now, of course. No, we're far too comfortable to move right now," he said with a grin, tucking some more loose hairs away from her face. His fingers traced patterns over her body, testing how ticklish she was. Each giggle she attempted to stifle brought him glee.

He loved hearing her laugh. It had a musical quality and was a sign that even though she might try to be polite and reserved, she just couldn't help but let her joy out. "But if I go, you must also promise not to further tempt me when I return, because another dress will inevitably be ruined."

The candlelight was dancing in her eyes, and it was then that he realised: maybe when she had spoken about the first to move, she might have meant a game. He knew he could lie here for days on end without even needing to shift a muscle, but that was nigh on impossible with a beautiful girl running her hands over him.

As his fingers traced across her, she only smiled back at him until he reached where her ribs met her stomach. At which point she giggled and squirming a little. She was actually quite ticklish, but she tried to hide that fact as best she could. It would do no one any good to give him the ability to torture her as her brother used to. However, especially around her ribs and under her arms, she couldn't resist laughing. A strong goose there would send her screaming for mercy.

Though she didn't think he was trying to tickle her at the moment. He was merely doing much the same as she was... exploring. His body was all new to her and hers to him. How could they not want to touch one another?

She enjoyed lazily kissing him, her lips no longer hungering. The balance between passion and affection would be an interesting one to learn. How she could go from needing him inside her so badly she might explode one moment, to patiently and peacefully prodding at his lips with her own. It was a strange and abrupt shift. He had brought out so many new emotions in her.

"I don't care who fetches it..." she finally said at last regarding the dress. "Just so long as I don't have to walk down the hall nude and catch the glances from everyone, I'll be fine."

Marcello didn't want to get up, but knew he had to. He kissed her forehead, lips, and then trailed them all the way down her body, kissing her once on her mound before rising. He stretched and flexed his muscles. There was no real reason to other than to show off to her—which he did shamelessly. Then his feet pattered across the cold stone floor to his pile of clothes and redressed. "I will bring you back a dress, my love. I shan't be long." It was easier for him to get one than to have rumours amongst the staff about why they suddenly needed another, even if it was their own business.

He finished buttoning his shirt and blew a kiss to her playfully as she lay on the sofa like a goddess in the nude. God knew how many paintings he would end up making of her. He stepped outside and locked her in for good measure, more worried about people walking in than her walking out, and went to retrieve a new dress.

Natalia had lain there for a moment longer after his departure before getting up and ambling about the room. She happened upon the torn dress and tried to use it as a rag to clean off her thighs, now very wet and sticky, before abandoning the pursuit. She would need something more proper to clean herself with once she could leave the confines of his art studio.

Lacking anything better to do, she continued her leisurely pace around the room, looking at the paintings once more. First, she looked over the pieces he was still working on. Next to the easel with a half-finished red rose, she found a decanter. Picking it up, she could not help but notice that it looked darker than most wine. What gave it that tinge, she wondered? Removing the top, she inhaled deeply. She wrinkled her nose at the metallic scent. It didn't smell like wine, either.

Her eyes fell on a glass sitting beside the decanter. It had within it a little burgundy residue in the bottom. After a quick examination of the viscous liquid, she poured a little more in, curious as to what it actually was. It was in a wine decanter and a wine glass, but she'd grown up with every kind of wine. This... wasn't wine.

She brought the glass to her nose, swirling it as she'd done a thousand times. It was rich and minerally. There was no sweetness. No notes of fruit or fermentation. She then touched it to her lips. It was thick. Too thick to be wine. It clung to the skin like a sauce, not a drink. Finally, her tongue flicked over it, and she licked it off.

Immediately, she set down the glass, looking at it cautiously. Was that... blood? She picked it up again, touching it to her lips once more. It tasted like... blood. Why would anyone keep blood in a wine decanter? And why would there be a glass next to it with something coagulated in the bottom? Was he drinking it? Why?

She set the glass back down before wiping her mouth and backing away from the table and easel. Why? She asked herself again. There had to be a reason!

Her mind churned with excuses. Maybe he wasn't drinking it... maybe he needed it for... why would anyone need blood? What purpose could it possibly serve? Paint? Could he have been using it to bring out the red of the rose? Did people paint with blood? And if so, why was he using a wine glass? And where had it come from?

Her mind was spinning. Still, it wouldn't do any good to worry about it... yet. She'd bide her time and wait for the right time to ask about it. Perhaps he would tell her. But when was the right time to ask someone why they had a decanter of blood sitting next to a wineglass? Then she heard the click of the door unlocking, and she moved to the other side of the room, pretending to be examining another painting.

None the wiser, Marcello unlocked the door and relocked it behind him, holding his chosen dress up for her approval. When he heard nothing, his eyes scanned the room for her. Despite knowing he came in, she wasn't looking in his direction.

Walking over, he offered her the dress, studying her as he did so. She seemed a little uncomfortable, and paranoia gripped him as he scanned the room; his eyes fixed on the decanter with a wineglass next to it. Had he left that much blood in the glass? The question played over and over in his head. He cursed his inability to remember before focusing back on Natalia.

He held up a simple beige dress without too many frills. He'd chosen it specifically because it seemed the easiest to help her into. "I hope this one will suffice? You will look stunning in anything of course, but I hope it is to your liking?"

She looked at the dress, then back into his deep grey eyes. He searched her own for any betrayal of emotion, any sign that she had tampered with the blood or suspected his secret. It was impossible to tell. All he saw reflected in the emerald orbs was a softness.

"Although if you don't want to dress just yet, that's not a problem" he ran his hand down her side, resting on her hip. Had she set him so off kilter that he couldn't easily read a human? How had she disarmed him so quickly?

Marcello knew he would have to conceal the blood next time he brought her back here. It was too great a risk to leave, so open for her to pick up. The more he thought about it, the more he realised how many places he had left it carelessly lying around: his bedroom, his studio, some hidden by the weapon rack, the wine cellar, both the kitchen and dining room, even the servants building had some in it in case he got a craving. There had been no need to hide it. Everyone either knew what he was or were compelled to look past such things.

"It's perfect," she assured him as she took it from him. "Thank you for retrieving it for me." She hesitated to put it on as he grabbed her hips. Instead, she stood on her toes and pressed her lips up to his, lingering in the kiss for a few seconds before pulling back and smiling.

"I guess I should put this on..." she laughed, stepping out of his arms to slide it over her. The laces were in the front. So it was easy enough to tighten herself. Once she had finished the task, she smiled at him. "All fixed."