The banquet was being held to bid farewell to Jean’s cousin, who was finally leaving that afternoon. Vero doubted Jean would have any time for her until the evening, given how strongly his cousin disapproved of their relationship, but she had been invited to attend. Vero and Antoinette seated themselves in the least busy corner of the packed hall they could find.

The spiced capons and wine were both excellent. The courtiers all kept their distance from the mistress they half-believed had bewitched their lord, but that suited her tastes as well. Vero really wanted no company other than her maidservant.

“You look very pretty this evening Veronique.”

The Marquise had approached them from behind, unheard in the din of the crowded hall. She was positively radiant; in an extraordinary dress she wore like a second skin. It was, if anything, even more flamboyant than Vero’s clothes. A pure, rather than off white, and covered in strings and buttons to no purpose which Vero could determine. Her face was painted just enough to highlight her gods granted features, and her golden blond hair fell down around it in gentle curls.

She was accompanied by her train of handmaidens, each more beautiful than the next. They hung around the Marquise like jewelry, and each of them only added to their mistress’s own glamor, rather than detracting or overshadowing her in any way. They spread out around the table.

“Th- thank-you. I mean to say- you look very beautiful as well, my Lady.” Vero replied, hating the way her nerves made her stammer.

“Are you alright, dear?”

When it became clear that the Marquise intended to remain, Antoinette quickly stood and offered the place beside Vero to her. The Marquise took it graciously. Although Vero would have much preferred her to stay, Antoinette stood back with the other maids to give them some privacy.

The Marquise was more than a decade older than Vero, and even a few years the senior of her husband, but she made a good match for him. Vero found them a very attractive couple when she saw them together. She certainly made Vero feel very plain and awkward in the comparison.

Vero took a large swallow of wine to try and calm her voice enough to put it on a single track. Then she caught a glance from the Marquise, which reminded her that gulping down wine at the table was another distinctly unladylike gesture. She put her cup back down again.

“I don’t usually come to these affairs. I hope my presence here doesn’t offend your ladyship.”

The marquise gave her a smile which made Vero feel as if she was staring into the sun. She quickly averted her eyes down to her plate.

“And why should I be offended by your being here, Lady Veronique?”

By way of an answer, Vero directed her gaze up, across the room, and toward the most crowded corner of the banquet hall. In the center of the assemblage was the Jean. The Earl of Kaer Longus and Father Ignacio were both beside him and the Duc, enjoying their brief return to the head table.

Following her gaze, the Marquise began a refined little laugh, before demurely restraining it to a smile. “Oh Vero, I hope you don’t take offense, but you have the moral sense of a farmer’s wife. So, my husband goes to bed with you. I see no reason why that should bar our friendship. I would even say it give us greater impetus to interact harmoniously.”

Vero realized that she was already past the point of caring about how it might look, and emptied the remaining contents of her cup. “Not to put too fine a point on it, my Lady. But I was raised in a small village. Mama- my mother was a farmer’s wife. And had I not left- then there’s every chance I would have been as well.”

The Marquise put away her smile. “I can see that I have offended you, and that was precisely the opposite of my intention.”

Vero motioned for a servant to bring her more wine. “I suppose this will sound very silly to a courtly lady such as yourself. But when I was a little girl, my mother told me that for every man, the gods created a woman. So that they could love one another and form two halves of a single whole. Like the sun and the moon.”

“And you believe I’m standing in your way?”

“No. I believe I’m standing in yours.”

Vero felt a hand placed on top of hers. She looked down at it, then followed the body it was attached to until she reached the Marquise’ soft eyes.

“I sensed you had been avoiding me. To be truthful, I insisted that you be invited this evening so that we would have the chance to talk. I can see that I should have extended it much sooner. Life has pains enough without us torturing ourselves. What your mother told you wasn’t silly at all. I think it was very beautiful thought. And true, in its own sort of way.”

The Marquise took a moment to collect her thoughts and then continued. “Jean and I are married because my father had two daughters and no sons. When the War of the Bastards was over, he began to mistrust his nephew, whom he had put on the throne, so he gave him my elder sister to tame him. And in case that failed, I was married to the largest landholder in the kingdom as a counterweight. The first time I met Jean was at our wedding. I think he’s a good man, and I’m on very pleasant terms with my husband. But I don’t love him. Or any other man for that matter. My children will inherit this land, and that is what matters to me.”

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Vero did not know what to say. She watched while a servant refilled her cup. She wanted to reach for it and drink it all at once, but she had several already and thought better of it.

After a prolonged silence the Marquise added, “And whatever your connection to my husband, I do hope that we can be friends.”

Vero’s balance had faltered when she tried to stand up, so she leaned heavily on Jean as he assisted her up the stairs. An elderly female servant was waiting in the bedroom. She deftly pulled Vero out of her clothes, despite her difficulty complying with the woman’s instructions. Once she was naked, Vero flopped down onto the bed as quickly as possible. She tried to make some sense of the room, which she felt certain was shaking. Jean’s squire undressed him in the outer room, and he entered once the old maid had time to leave.

Jean rolled her over onto her back to make room on the bed for himself, and laid down next to her. He began to kiss her at the nape.

“You’re wearing that perfume your maid makes again- aren’t you?” he asked.

“I prefer the scent of rosemary. Do you approve?”

“Fresh, honest, beautiful. Yes, I believe it suits you very well indeed.”

“My lord believes I’m honest?”

“With me, I hope. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.”

Vero felt fingers glide along her belly, then across her thigh. Then he stopped.

“Is something wrong, Vero?”

“I saw that vile man with you at dinner.”

Jean did not say anything, but the look on his face told her that he knew at once who she was speaking of.

“You said that once your cousin had gone, you would bring the lord of Kaer Longus to justice.”

Jean nodded, and tried to adopt the serious demeanor he used while he attended to official court business, even though he was still giddy from drink. “You’re right of course. I’ll tell Mattie to begin the proceedings first thing tomorrow.”

He began to kiss her neck once more. His fingers traveled up and down her body again. Until he stopped.

“I can have him called up right away, if it would please you. I’d need to put on some clothes first, of course.”

“I need to leave.” The words left Vero choked for a time, but finally she had gotten them out.

“Are you feeling sick? You had several- well... we all had several cups at dinner.”

“I mean, I need to leave the castle.”

Jean looked shocked. “This instant?”

“No, not this instant. But soon.”

That seemed to settle him down. “Of course, it is rather formal, not to mention drafty here. This place has been the seat of my family for centuries, but I wouldn’t call it warm. The Iron Keep, an apt name. We should be able to leave for our hunting trip soon- any day now…”

“I mean to say, that I need to leave you.”

Vero hoped he would only dismiss her and bid her to be on her way. She had prepared for him to get angry, shout perhaps.

Instead, his voice was quiet, wounded. “Why?”

Vero continued to stare upwards at the ceiling spinning above her. She could tell that Jean was looking at her, but she knew that she did not have the courage to look back at him.

“I don’t belong here. I’m not supposed to be here- with you.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You’re just feeling cooped up because of the winter, and because of your rehabilitation, I’m sure of it. But that’s all over now.” She wished that he had shouted at her.

“I’m not…” Vero protested weakly, but Jean continued to speak at an increasing pace, until he was running on only a single breath.

“We can go out riding now that you’re feeling better; I’ve had new hawks arrive only a week ago now, and I haven’t even taken them out yet; just this evening I was speaking to my marshal, and I told him that I wanted you to teach some of our skirmishers your fighting techniques; no forbidden secrets mind you, just whatever basics your order would allow you to pass on- and who knows, I may even come and try and learn something myself.”

Weakened by the wine, Vero felt her eyes watering. She bit her tongue to keep from making any noise.

Jean stopped.

He lay down quietly next to her for several minutes before continuing. “I won’t force you to stay. I just ask that you stay long enough to give me a chance to try and make you feel you do belong here.”

Vero was too far past words to form a coherent response. So, she only shifted over so that their bodies were directly adjacent to one another, and began to cry once she was certain the sound would be muzzled by his chest. Jean put his arms around her, and the wine finally, mercifully, winked her out of consciousness.

“Vero, my head hurts.”

She had been drifting on the edge of consciousness for some time. She was aware of the physical sensation that her stomach was not quite right, but with no sense of identity or perception of the outside world. Then, the sound of Jean’s voice pulled her all the way out of slumber’s womb.

The burden of self returned.

Without opening her eyes, Vero took the shaving razor she knew Jean kept on his nightstand. She opened the very tip of her left index finger just wide enough that a tiny trickle of blood came out, and traced a pattern along her stomach based on memory. Then she opened her eyes, and moved to make the same signs along Jean’s forehead.

He caught her hand, and held it still until she asked, “Would you like me to take care of your head, or not?”

As a reply, he let go and allowed her to continue. She finished the signs and, to complete the ritual, she climbed on top of him to stimulate their vital essences into action as she worked a low chant.

They had been making love for half an hour or so, when a knock came from the door. It was followed by the nervous voice of Jean’s squire.

“I’m really terribly sorry to interrupt- that is to say… to wake you, my Lord. But the chancellor is here. He insists that it’s very urgent, and that you must come right away.”

Both of them held still while the lad spoke, before Jean replied, “Tell Renaud, I’ll meet him in the solarium, as soon as I’m dressed.”

“Shall I send in the servant to dress you, my Lord?”

“No, I think I’ll tend to that myself this morning. See to the chancellor and make sure he has everything he needs.”

“At once, my Lord!”

“And go fetch that woman who knows how my dress goes on!” Vero yelled out after, before the boy had the chance to leave.

“Ah yes! At once, my Lady!”

Once they were certain Lyam was gone, they finished as quickly as possible. Jean stood up at once to pull on clothes. Vero climbed back under the blankets, intent on another few minutes of sleep. Before he left, Jean returned to her side, took her hand, and kissed it.

“I really have spoken to Henri about letting you train with our men. If you’re feeling well, perhaps you could spar with some of them this afternoon.” After a moment he added, “I do love you, Veronique. More than I have ever loved another.”

Then he left and Vero went back to sleep.