She no longer held any hope for nighttime.

The Princess slept that night, as she had every night before it, in tight embrace with her husband. Tight, wholesome embrace. Their legs tangled, their hair messed, he grabbed her and held her tight – but in the manner that a boy might squeeze his bedtime toy, or of two rambunctious children who finally have dropped asleep after tiring each other out at playtime. That first night of their marriage, she recalled, oh, how excited she had been as he rolled towards her in the dark, wrapping his arms about her delicate waist and holding her tight to him. She'd closed her eyes and breathed deep, telling herself to savor the moment, every sensation, the smell and the feel of the man she loved, and how lovingly he kept her there on the brink of excitement. She closed her eyes and tried to sense him, to wait and to know when was the time to respond to him in the most pleasurable way possible... And she waited. And waited. And by the time she could bring herself to move, he was snoring softly, lulled to sleep by her soft presence.

Every night thereafter, the two of them slept together – as brother and sister. She was his bunkmate in the royal bedchamber. How she loved him, she thought, laying there in his arms late at night, two months past their wedding. How she ached for him. How she was scared to speak of her aching to anyone but Nanny. Certainly not to Tack himself. He was so heartbreakingly pure. Or that was what she preferred to think, in any case.

What were they to do? she asked herself, laying and staring at the mosaic ceiling tiles in the dark. What of children? Yes, Father, she had been forced to lie many times, we have spilled enough seed for a thousand heirs! Patience only, Father. Patience. And future concubines? Dear, dear Tack. She turned to him in bed to watch him sleep, peacefully, as only he could. What did she know about him, truly? He was brave, and resourceful, and kind. But he was so silent. What were his desires, she wondered. Was he perverse? Did he desire something of her she could not give, and so refused to ask? No, she couldn't imagine it. She loved him. She would think of no such thing.

She followed the tiles in the ceiling and traced the pictures with her eyes. Whatever man had created the figures there was a brilliant mind. Each image hidden in the patterns was also something else, each single picture actually two, optical illusions hidden away within each other. Enigma was a fascinating quality in decoration, but never people. She closed her eyes and bade sleep to come soon, but it would not.

In lieu of rest, the Princess's thoughts turned once again, as always, to the man with his arms around her. Perhaps he doesn't know, she thought to herself mournfully. He is uneducated.

But men need no education to know such things! she reasoned.

Perhaps such a good man as mine does.

The pictures in the tiles danced in front of her tired eyes. They danced with each other, intertwined to the point it was not clear where one ended and another began. Bitterly, she rolled onto her side, breaking free from Tack's grasp for the night. What she would give for the same experience. She could only lie to her father for so long.

–

"Nothing, Nanny," the Princess admitted tearfully into her tea, sitting up in bed as the morning sun rolled gaily through the high windows. "He is like my brother. Was it misguided to wed, when we might have adopted him?"

The elderly nurse only blinked understandingly and patted her charge with sympathy. She did not speak, but listened to the girl's worries and sadness. It was heartbreaking to hear. They loved each other so very much. Tack's reluctance to speak put a damper on communication, but they way they looked at each other in secret glances said more about them than a thousand words could. Nanny was sure she understood the problem, but it was not for her to fix. She closed her eyes serenely and told the young Princess openly, "Speak plainly to your husband, dear. The time for games is past. Even the smooth strength of the palace has not helped."

Presently, as the Princess dried her tears and finished her tea, the nursemaid instructed her to stay in bed to regain her strength after a poor night's sleep. Nanny took her empty teacup in the general direction of the kitchen.

–

Tack was trying to step on only the black marble tiles in the hallway floor when Nanny burst in with a teacup in one hand and glowering expression on her face. The cobbler froze and watched her carefully as she marched towards him, burly arms swinging violently.

"You, young man," she said, firmly, but too quietly to befit her dramatic entrance, "are breaking your wife's heart." As he stood baffled in the sea of checkered black-and-white, she continued, "I cannot fathom what happens in your little cobbler mind to keep you so silent and odd all the time. But the time is come to look to your loins, and to behave as any other man with your wife in his bedchamber would." Tack was, predictably, silent, but the crestfallen look on his face seemed to indicate that she had gotten through to him. With a huff, the tiny woman scuffled off towards the kitchen, leaving the young cobbler perplexed and alone in his thoughts.

–