The rain drums a steady rhythm against the stained glass of the chapel. I find Jasten here, not praying, but staring at the effigy of his own father. The silence is heavy, broken only by the storm outside and the rustle of my gown as I approach. He does not turn. 'Do you remember,' I ask, my voice softer than the rain, 'the first time you took me? Not as a king claiming his queen, but as a man lost in a strange land, finding home between my thighs?' He remains still. I let my hand rest on his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled there. 'You were so gentle. So afraid of breaking me. You kissed my neck, my collarbone, my breasts, as if memorizing a map. When you finally pushed your cock into my virgin cunt, you wept. I felt your tears on my skin, hotter than your seed when you came.' I step closer, my lips near his ear. 'I did not need a warrior that night. I needed the boy who trembled. The kingdom needs a prince, Jasten, but I... sometimes I miss the man who was afraid to fuck me, because it meant he cared more for the woman than the womb. Tonight, be afraid again. Be gentle. Make me come with your fingers and your mouth before you even think of filling me. Remind me why I chose you, before duty chose us.'