"Give me that costume." Clopin stood over Josephine, who was lying sprawled out on her heap of pillows and blankets.

"And if I don't?" She turned to look at the Gypsy King with cold grey eyes.

"I will search your entire room myself."

"What are you going to do with it?" She asked curtly. "That outfit has meaning to me. I don't want it destroyed."

Clopin sighed. He wouldn't dream of destroying the costume, but refused to say that in so many words. "I suppose I won't. Since you asked nicely and all."

"Stop with your sarcasm. I'm not in the mood."

"You have my word I will not ruin your costume."

She looked at him, trying to decipher his expression. Upon deciding that he was not lying to her, she rolled out of her bed and walked a few steps to her trunk.

Josephine handed Clopin her neatly folded set of belly dancing clothes with a pained look on her face. "So help me God, if even one coin on this is missing when I get it back—"

"You need not worry; I will take excellent care of it. It will be returned to you in the same condition, whenever the fancy strikes me to give it back." Clopin said in a jaunty tone, taking hold of the costume, but Josephine refused to relinquish her grip. A final tug persuaded her to let go. He stood there, holding the gold coins, black fringe and orange fabric against his chest clothed in purple, arms crossed still.

"And while we're here, ma Cherie, I expect an apology."

"For what?"

"You do not remember calling the King of Gypsies a bitch?"

"I see no good reason to apologize until you apologize for calling me a whore."

"I said like a whore. There's a difference."

Josephine clenched her jaw, knowing it would be unwise to challenge him any further. She realized that she had already caused enough conflict with the King of Gypsies for one day, even though it was killing her to not point out she had said "like a" as well, and had not directly called him a bitch.

"I…am sorry." Josephine managed to say the words, as difficult as it was. "But it wasn't provocative!"

Something flashed in Clopin's eyes, passing far too quickly for Josephine to read. In an instant, he had her up against the cold grey wall, his hands holding her wrists to her sides.

"You know full well you were playing those men for fools," Clopin murmured in her ear. "Some men—most men—will not restrain themselves."

"But it was the feast of fools, I-" She tried break his grip, but he had an iron hold on her. He put more pressure on her, pushing her even harder against the wall and ignored her claims.

"You surely have been with a man before, Josephine, have you not?" His ebony hair brushed against her cheek as he leaned down to speak quietly, so only she could hear.

"No." She seemed too shocked to be offended that he asked her this personal of a question.

He stiffened, and inhaled sharply, disbelievingly. At 19, looking the way she did, she had never…? Clopin certainly wasn't expecting to hear that. He promptly masked his astonishment.

"Then you do not know how your dancing affected the male crowd today. I saw the way they looked at you. You do not want to be taken against your will?" Clopin growled, his breath hot against her neck.

She shook her head.

"Then do not dance again." He let go of her like her skin was on fire, his breathing ragged, and strode out of the tent, her forbidden costume jingling in his arms.

It had been a few days since Clopin had taken Josephine's costume, and things had been tense, although no one spoke of the dance or Clopin's reaction. Jacques had noticed his leader to be acting rather different of late, and had chalked it up to Clopin being moody, or maybe he was coming down with an illness. Speaking of which, Jacques leaned over to get a better look at his superior. He looked out of it, tired, and slightly ill.

"Are you not feeling well? You don't look good," Jacques commented on Clopin's pale complexion and his furrowed brow.

Clopin groaned and rubbed the temples of his forehead. "I will be fine, Jacques, just give me a while."

The young gypsy man gave his king a worried look, and then disappeared around the corner.

A moment later he returned with Josephine and Tsura, both of whom rushed to the King's side.

"Clopin?" Josephine asked, concerned.

He looked up and saw the ebony haired teenager standing there, looking apprehensive. She saw his feverish eyes and turned to wet a cloth in a nearby bucket of water. Meanwhile, Tsura had crossed the room and felt his head.

"You are a little warm, Clopin," Tsura said. Clopin pulled away from the middle aged woman just as Josephine raised her hand, reaching towards him, holding a damp cloth. He knocked her hand away before she could touch his forehead.

"Out!" He roared at her, causing her to step back with a look of pure shock on her face. Tsura rushed forward with a damp cloth of her own in her grasp, and placed it on Clopin's forehead to bring the fever down. Josephine stood there, stunned.

"Josephine, the King would like you to go," Tsura spoke quietly, in a calm manner. Why Clopin didn't want her there, Tsura didn't know, but they needed to follow his wishes. Ever since the dance at the feast, Tsura had noticed that Clopin was acting coldly towards the young girl.

Clopin watched Josephine disappear behind colorful drape with a swish of her skirt, much like the day he had first seen her and his shoulders fell. Jacques stayed, hovering by the doorway, unsure of what to do.

"Should we take him to his tent?" he asked Tsura, who was looking at Clopin's pupils, trying to determine what was amiss. She gave up and pulled Clopin to a standing position.

"Yes, help me walk him there. I need you to fetch Sinfai. She's the healer; she'll know what to do."

Clopin leaned on Tsura and Jacques, looking pale and ill and allowed them to escort him to his tent, which, mercifully, wasn't too far away. Clopin fell upon his mound of blankets and pillows, grateful that the tent was warm and quiet.

Sinfai arrived in a matter of minutes, and quickly laid out her satchel of herbs and remedies upon the floor. She was an older woman of perhaps 40, and wore a vibrant scarf wrapped around her dark hair at all times.

Kneeling next to the King's bed, she felt his pulse and watched him intently with her blue eyes. Tsura and Jacques stood back, watching the healer go about her work efficiently. Abruptly, Sinfai pulled her hand away from Clopin's wrist, turned to her satchel and began measuring out herbs.

"Go boil water, Tsura. He needs to drink this down."

"What's wrong with him?" Tsura asked softly, looking at him sprawled out on his bed. With his long limbs, he usually looked very flexible and acrobatic and strong, but now he just looked frail. His normally tanned skin looked absurdly pale.

"Fever, but I can fix it. Get the water, now."