The morning had finally crawled by; Masson and Reza were on their way to the zoo.

Christine was in the library, reading 'How to Murder Your Man in His Bed' or something. She was wearing her yellow dress, one of my favorites. I entered the room silently, startling her when I appeared in her periphery. She frowned briefly, but I refused to break eye contact, which unnerved her. Softly, I began to sing.

Alas, my love, you do me wrong,

To cast me off discourteously.

For I have loved you well and long,

Delighting in your company.

"Oh, no," she sighed.

Greensleeves was all my joy

Greensleeves was my delight

Greensleeves was my heart of gold,

And who but my lady Greensleeves.

Approaching her, I extended my hand.

Your vows you've broken, like my heart,

Oh, why did you so enrapture me?

Now I remain in a world apart

But my heart remains in captivity.

She closed her eyes to avoid my gaze, but she could not prevent my voice penetrating her.

I have been ready at your hand,

To grant whatever you would crave,

I have both wagered life and land,

Your love and goodwill for to have.

Her eyes opened dreamily and she took my hand, blushing under my gaze.

If you intend thus to disdain,

It does the more enrapture me,

And even so, I still remain

A lover in captivity.

I finished standing behind her, arms around her, the hands of a princess in my work-roughened grasp. She shuddered as I breathed against her neck.

Greensleeves was all my joy

Greensleeves was my delight

Greensleeves was my heart of gold,

And who but my lady Greensleeves.

She turned toward me, but I backed away to hold her at arm's length. I kissed both her hands; backs, then palms. I kissed her wrists, inside her elbows, then her neck. Her hands came round my neck, pleading wordlessly for my lips on hers. I did not disappoint her. It had been so many days since I'd felt her, tasted her, I was starving.

"Remember when all we had was a kiss, Christine?" I whispered. She buried her face against me, my little girl again. I stroked her back, feeling comfortable and normal.

"Take me upstairs," she spoke so softly I could scarcely hear her.

I shook my head. "Is that all you think I want?"

"It's what I want," she admitted.

"But I want more."

"What more?" she asked. She yanked my shirt from my trousers petulantly. She wanted to feel my skin under her fingers. "What do you want?"

"Everything; remember?" I repeated those words I'd spoken in her dressing room, seemingly lifetimes ago. "You must love me, Christine."

"You know I love you," she insisted.

"I don't; not anymore," I reminded her, as gently as I could. "I don't really mind if you mistreat me, so long as you love me," I smiled.

Christine grabbed handfuls of my lapels. "Let me be sorry."

I took her upstairs then. She wept silently as I loved her. She seemed a virgin in my arms, timid and unsure. She clung to me almost desperately, as if she needed to draw strength from me. I felt something give way between us, her final defenses crumbling. Suddenly I realized that she trusted me again, completely, for the first time since I'd returned from Budapest. At last, perhaps, we could move on.

I left Christine sleeping when I heard Masson thumping upstairs, catching him just outside the door.

"Ssshhh, Mama's taking a nap."

"GRRRR!"

"Someone had a wonderful time at the zoo, I see."

"I saw pink birds! Biiiig lions! GRRRR! ROWR! Where's Christine?"

Likely Christine was on his way to Masson, even as Masson ran off in search of Christine. That cat adored him; it was a marvel.

I collected the annulment and the letter from my room and laid them on the pillow next to Christine. Kissing her forehead, I whispered, "I must go, Masson's home."

She moaned with displeasure and threw her arms around me. "Come back…" A blanketed leg swung out in search of mine.

"Later, I promise."

I paused outside the kitchen. Masson was instructing our Darius substitute, Silke, in the care and feeding of Christine.

"You cook it."

I peered into the kitchen surreptitiously. Masson was banging through the cabinet, fishing out the cat-liver-cooking-pan.

"Cook it?" Silke accepted the pan from him skeptically.

"Mm. Darius puts that flavor in it." He indicated the spices.

"Spices? For the cat?" Poor woman. "What spices?"

"I show you."

He reached out for her to lift him onto the counter. Little weasel; Darius would never stand for a baby bottom on his counter. On his way to the spices, Masson availed himself of the opportunity to feel Silke up. She started a bit, but gazing into the sweet baby eyes he made at her--surely she'd imagined the entire thing. Right, time to make my entrance.

"No, sir. Off the counter." Off the hired help as well.

"I'm sorry, Sir." Silke blushed furiously.

"Not at all; you didn't know my son is a rank opportunist," I smiled, swinging him down.

"No! I need to help!" he frowned, gearing up for a fit.

"I'll take care of it, Son. It's garlic and parsley that Christine gets in his dinner," I handed the containers to Masson, and the crisis was averted.

"Garlic parlsey."

"Close enough," I smiled, producing a chocolate coin for him, and one for Silke.

"Wheee, Papa!" He raced off, confident that Christine would not be forced to consume raw liver. "UNCLE REZAAAA!"

"Thank you," Silke gave a little curtsey; charming. No one was so formal in our household; I feared we'd spoil her for all other employers.

"No; thank you. You must let us know if Masson becomes too much of a despot."

"Oh, no," she glowed, hooked already. "He is a beautiful child!"

"Indeed," I replied.

"And so clever!" she gushed.

"You think so?" I asked innocently, putting the kettle on for tea.

"Oh no, Sir, let me do that, please," Silke fretted.

"Thank you, Silke, I—"

Suddenly the air was rent with a feminine squeal overhead.

"Ah, that will be the Comtesse; if you'll excuse me."

Christine sat on the stairs, disheveled, dressing-gowned, clutching her annulment tightly. I moved onto the step below her and touched her cheek.

"Angel?"

"Happy tears," she sniffed. She squeezed me so tightly I could scarcely breathe, and began making suggestions I felt reasonably sure I could not accommodate on the stairway. I was just about to remind her that we were no longer alone in the house when Masson announced himself with an outraged shriek.

"MAA-MAA!" He was headed toward me like a mad rhino.

"Mama's alright, Masson," I assured him, giving way so he could see for himself.

"Mama's fine," Christine echoed. She looked at me with obvious regret as Masson climbed into her lap. He glared at me, fishing inside her dressing gown possessively. I love you and all, Papa, but…

"Someone's getting a bit old for this nonsense," I noted.

"Oh, but things have been so…"

"Yes, well, that's life, isn't it? There's always something going on that's not exactly tea and cakes. I wish I could just grab—"

"Erik!"

"Right. Well. I think it's about time, is all," I grumbled.

Christine touched foreheads with me. His Majesty offered no objection; neither would I have done if I had a handful of breast.

"I adore you," she whispered. I gasped, too moved to speak.

"Mama, did you and Papa make a deal?"

Christine looked from Masson to me, bewildered.

"Yes, Son, we made a deal," I replied.

"YAY! DEAL! DEAL!"

"It was a preliminary agreement, however; I suspect we'll want to enter into more detailed negotiations at the first opportunity," I added pointedly.

Christine's eyes danced. "Most definitely; the sooner the better."