Stoffel and Raven

Cecilie's earliest memory is of lightning and thunder, of being frightened and curling up warm and safe between Raven and Stoffel, of being too young to understand that they were too old to share a bed anymore. They were scolded of course, but she never forgot the warmth of boy body pressed against hers, and the pleasant sensation of their heartbeats under her palms. Ever since then she's hated sleeping alone.

Raven

Sex and sharing a bed are two very different things, but she eventually learned that one implies the other. She and Raven gave their virginity to each other in a field full of flowers when they were still much too young. The only things she regrets are that it only happened once and that a bee stung her ankle, making it swell to a monstrous size. Her preference for sex in the conventional setting of a bed was established early.

Wolfram, Conrart and Gwendal

Celi loved children, even more so when they were hers. Wolfram was the only one to have a cradle as soon as he was born because his father insisted on it; she always regretted that, giving into a man she loved for his face and not for his mind. Conrart and Gwendal slept every night in her arms until they could walk. The cowlicks at the tops of their heads were the very softest part of their baby bodies and every night she would go to sleep with them in her arms and the smell of them all around her. She never understood mothers who left their babies in other rooms. Even when her sons were older, right up to the time they began to shed their baby teeth she let them sleep with her during thunder and heavy rain. She remembers vividly, lying awake, waiting for the soft tap on the door that never came when they outgrew their need for her.

Dan Hiri

The first human she ever slept with and the first man to convince her that sex could be good on surfaces other than a mattress. This could have been self defence on his part; little Conrart slept a lot but woke easily and both Dan Hiri and his wife would never have had sex again after the birth of their son if Celi hadn't compromised on venue.

Adelbert

It never happened. He was jealous of course, jealous of her friendship with Susanna Julia and he'd visited her on some slender pretext when all he wanted to know was if Celi was sleeping with his fiancé. They'd sat and made strained small talk that was vastly unsatisfying to both of them, and when finally he gave up they'd shaken hands goodbye. The spark that leapt between their fingers had surprised and shocked both of them. He'd left quickly. Celi occasionally wonders what it would have been like with him but given a chance she would probably say no.

Susanna Julia

Adelbert was right to be suspicious. Susanna Julia was the first woman Celi ever shared a bed with and the first woman she ever had sex with, when she was Queen and they were both inspecting troops near the border at a town with a single, miserly inn and as the only women of rank they were given the only bed of note. The only bed of note was narrow and hard and they'd put their arms around each other because there was nowhere else to put them. Celi woke in the 

night, in the darkness, with Susanna Julia's mouth on hers and Susanna Julia's fingers between her legs. They did it slowly, luxuriously, and while Celi genuinely prefers men she has sex with a woman every year on the day of Susanna Julia's death. It's a strange way to honour the memory of someone but Celi thinks that her dear friend would understand.

Murata

Another one she's never slept with. She's genuinely repulsed by the very thought of it. When things were bad, when Wolfram's eyes had changed colour and the rain came down and the Boxes in the Temple weighed down the very air, she and Murata had found themselves, purely by accident, alone together in a small, private room. An expression so terribly old, so knowing had slid across his face and he'd lent forward and whispered in her ear. She had pushed him back, a single, violent movement of her hand and he'd suddenly looked so young and vulnerable, like another person entirely. He had apologised. They've never spoken about it since. She occasionally has nightmares about him and in them, he's always much older than he really is.

Yosak

She'd like to say it was an accident but it wasn't. She'd like to say that she feels guilty about sleeping with her middle son's best friend, but she doesn't. Every now and again he shoots a wink her way and she smiles, and blushes, and thinks about doing it with him again someday.

Gisela

Misery sex. Or comfort sex, depending on your point of view. Susanna Julia died and Gisela was crying. She was much too young but she knew what she wanted and she wanted Celi. Maybe it was because Celi is both woman and mother, both of which Gisela has always desired but can only ever have one of. They did it on the night they buried Susanna Julia and when Gisela came to her she almost sent her back to her father, but she let the girl stay and they drank tea and then alcohol together, and then Gisela's sticky, messy mouth was on top of hers and Celi was lonely and they both hurt. They did it twice, first roughly, then gently, and the second time Gisela wept quietly all the way through. They held each other all night and in the morning, Gisela had bowed politely and said thanks. She and her father were so much alike it was frightening.

Greta

Sometimes, when Celi is in the castle and both Wolfram and Yuri are away, Greta will knock on the door, storybook and doll in her arms. She'll crawl into bed beside Celi and they'll read the book together and Greta will fall asleep and Celi will stroke her hair, wondering what it would be like to have a daughter.

Anissina

It was quite strange, really, because there was something almost asexual about the woman, as if she channelled all desire into her machines. For all Celi knew she did, literally. But Anissina came to her and there was no grief, no alcohol, and it was not the anniversary of Susanna Julia's death. They had sex; it was nice. They did it again a few weeks later, and the way Anissina kissed her it seemed like the mad inventor was almost looking for something in Celi's mouth. Whatever it was, Anissina didn't find it. They never had sex again but instead they developed a deep and sincere friendship that Celi treasures.

Günter

The strange thing is, as often as Celi has shared a bed with people, the one that she's spent the most time with is the one she's never had sex with. Günter is very beautiful and brilliant, and they've been friends for a very long time. It's an ongoing arrangement, something that has been in place since before her sons were born. If she doesn't have a partner she will go to him. Invariably, he will be sitting up, reading, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, his long hair in a braid. He always wears a sleeping shirt and soft, heavy trousers, no matter the weather because he feels the cold. There's a ritual to it; she knocks, he bids her enter. She asks whether she may stay the night and the answer is always yes. He never puts his arms around her when he's awake; when he goes to sleep he turns his back to her but in the night he'll turn, and sigh, and embrace her. Sometimes, with the heat of her body pressed against his, he'll develop an erection but he has never once been improper. Celi wonders, sometimes, what it would be like with him. It's love, really, but it's not the sort that has screaming orgasms. So instead of putting her arms around him she moves away and waits for him to roll over again. Holding him in her arms is not as nice as holding her children, is not as intense as sex, but it has a special pleasure all of its own.