Cythera was sitting on the balcony of her rooms, plucking idly at a lap harp and watching the clouds drifting across the sky. The days were getting colder, and she was determined to squeeze every from the last warm days. This generally meant lounging around in the sun, eating fruit, and thinking about whatever popped into her head. Today she had grapes, a lovely spot in the heat, and enough thoughts to keep her going past Yuletide.

It was incredible, really, how quickly everything had happened. Only a few months ago, she was still in the Convent, with no greater concerns than which dress to wear to Embroidery and what to plant in her garden patch. Then she had come to Court, and met- well, everyone, of course, but she had met Raoul, and suddenly all the thoughts that had come before hadn't seemed like quite enough.

And now she was married, and so was Aly, and it was dreamlike. She could barely remember now how she had thought before; as if, having discovered Raoul's existence, it was impossible to imagine how she had once been ignorant. Of course there had to be Raoul in her life; none of the equations came out right otherwise, everything went wrong and twisted.

But still, even after the wedding- and gods, what a wedding it had been- it often seemed that they were merely playing at love; I'll be Prince Charming, and you can be the damsel in distress. It was only at moments like this, or when she was alone with her husband, that it really sunk in; she was married. She was in love. If she died tomorrow and they cut her open, her heart wouldn't be in there any more. It was gone; it was beating in another body. The thought and the wonder of it made her feel dizzy.

It was perfectly real, and she had never been happier.

Today was the autumn solstice, and tonight was the traditional feast. It was one of the most important events of the Court year, and she really ought to be getting ready even now. All the same, she couldn't quite bring herself to leave the delicious comfort of her chair, nor the soft warmth of her place in the daylight. She could always call somebody to help her get ready, after all.

She closed her eyes, blocking out the sunlight that was making her squint, and lent back. Settling perfectly into her space, she was just starting to doze off when, suddenly, a voice sounded in her ear.

"Getting comfortable, are we?"

Cythera shrieked and jumped, the harp tumbling from her lap and hitting the floor with a crash. Raoul burst out laughing at the look on her face. She scowled even more fiercely, bending down to pick up the instrument. When she turned to face Raoul again, though, her eyes were sparkling.

"So," she said cheerfully, "all ready for tonight, then?"

Raoul blinked, still grinning. "Tonight?"

"Yes, dear. The ball."

"Ah, of course. The ball. Yes. That would be… tonight. Of course. Yes. The ball."

There was a pause.

"You forgot about it, didn't you?" Cythera said eventually.

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"That wasn't very clever." She was smirking now. Raoul shuffled his feet, looking bashful.

"Sorry."

"You should be." She grinned and stood up, smoothing down the front of her dress. She was wearing a loose, light shift; she had been feeling ill that morning, and hadn't been able to muster the energy to pu on something formal. "Shall we get on with it, then?"