"Princess Gwendolyn, forgive me if I am too forward," Myris began as she lingered in the doorway. "But are you certain of this?"

"Yes, Myris," the royal Valkyrie assured her, overlooking her confidant's candor. Even if it wasn't her place to have her say, Myris could be perfectly correct in her observations. Smoothing her palms down the front of her silken nightgown, Gwendolyn tried to allow its cool touch to soothe her. Anything to still her trembling hands. "There is talk that the world will soon meet its end. One cannot afford the luxury of time. Not when I love Oswald so."

Unable to conceal her sigh, the Pooka servant attempted a hollow smile. "All that you need to prepare can be found on your nightstand. I have left an extra set of towels and a change of attire, should you need it. After… it is done, please do not hesitate to ring for me to draw you a bath. Otherwise, Oswald has ordered both myself and Brom not to disturb you until late tomorrow evening, if necessary."

"My affection must inspire much confidence in him," Gwendolyn mused, her wings shuddering slightly, ruffling her feathers. "Oh!" she exclaimed, cheeks dusted in a rosy hue. "That must have sounded—"

"'Tis alright. Such conduct is not improper among lovers." Taking up her potions tray, Myris bobbed a curtsey that rattled the bottles she skillfully balanced. "I will leave you now."

Gwendolyn listened to the padding of her maid's footsteps fade down the stone hallway until she realized she had begun to gather her gown into her hands. She cursed under her breath, "I am so thoughtless! Perhaps the wrinkles will fall out once Oswald returns."

Crossing the balcony under a brilliant canopy of cosmos, she fidgeted with her attire as she seated herself at the antique vanity. Just as Myris had said, the proper arrangements for the night were there, crisply folded for her use. Next to the linens was an array of peculiar potions. Each glass vile was labeled with Myris' looping penmanship, detailing their directional use.

Royal confidants such as Myris specialized in a vein of alchemy that alleviated the duties of their masters, especially where heirs, or lack thereof, were concerned. Her father had always dismissed these skills, not requiring his own attendant to practice such "absurd" alchemy, but her mother and Griselda had always supported Myris' studies in it. Now, she understood why.

Affection, especially of the physical sort, never quite crossed her mind. Before knowing Oswald, she only ever found pleasure in the heat of battle. Wielding her weapon had brought glory to her country and praise from her father. No matter how many times the blasted Inferno King Onyx would try to tempt her, love was a frivolity that she could not afford. Marriage was a duty that she refused to fulfil until Griselda had first betrothed herself to another.

But now, she wielded an heirloom taken from the lifeless hands of her sister. Now, her father's affection brought her only disgust and heartbreak. Now, for the first time in her life, a man allowed her the freedom to choose.

Tonight, she would consent for Oswald to bed her. Tonight, she would allow herself to indulge until she became featherbrained.

Pulling the cork out of a glass containing clear, shimmering liquid labeled take now, she emptied the contents and let it burn down her throat, warming the depths of her belly. "How strange," she murmured after wiping her lips with a handkerchief that Oswald had lent her. It tasted distinctly like the port that was served in the royal banquet hall, if only a bit more potent. The glass clattered from her unsteady grip and nearly knocked over the other colorful dosages.

"Careful, my beautiful bird," a low voice announced from the open doorway. "We will need those if we are to celebrate tonight properly."

Placing the used cloth on the pile of linens, Gwendolyn rose to greet her husband. "Oswald," she said with a timid smile. "I am glad to see you made it home well. Father has sent word that there is rising discord in the land."

Lips tugging up on one side, the renowned Shadow Knight offered an amused half-smile. "Would you like me to show you just how spectacular I am feeling?"

"My, you are very bold tonight," she said, her eyes downcast. The color rose in her cheeks. "Perhaps I should call you my brave Knight."

Oswald made his way to her, armor clanking with each deliberate movement. He skimmed a finger under her chin, nudging her head up so that he could catch her gaze. "Do not worry about the state of things. The streets are merely filled with murmurs, not bloodshed, and your father maintains his stronghold. You Valkyrie are the fiercest of warriors—do not doubt your sisters in arms. Let us claim the night as our own and only raise our weapons if we must."

He reached further to cup her jaw and she nestled into his touch, reaching up to place her hand over his. "I have already given you my word on that matter." She turned her head to kiss his open palm. "But I appreciate your sweet reassurances, my brave, brave Knight."

Oswald bit down on his lower lip and sucked in a breath. "Pretty bird, you torment me. I once considered agony to be one of my most intimate acquaintances, but your teasing will end me, I swear it."

Stepping even closer, he caused her to bump into the vanity's edge. As she began to protest of her discomfort, he reached behind her for a vial, pushing his cool, hard armor flush against the length of her. "Oh…" she trailed off hopelessly, powerless to stop him as he bit off the cork and downed his share of the tonic. She watched his adam's apple as he savored the burn. A drop of liquid trailed down his chin. Oh.

He tilted his head to better meet her startled gaze. "Will you assist me in removing my armor? I assume you know how, having your own set to relieve yourself of."

"Of course," she breathed. "Of course I know how."

She rose to the challenge and proved just how thorough her knowledge of it was.