Her fingers slid down his torso with nostalgia. They paused at his belt, unbuckling it as if she were unwrapping the past.
"There was a time," she said, almost laughing at herself, "I didn't need to come begging. You used to show up with wine and a smile."
Damien gave a tight, bitter smile of his own. "That was before Luna," he said simply.
"Everything," she replied, unfastening the buckle, "was before Luna."
She met his eyes then, her pride bruised but still intact.
"If we do make an heir tonight, Damien… I promise. I won't ask you for anything again. You won't have to look at me like I'm a burden."
He looked down at her, this woman who had once shared his bed without expectation, without complication. And now she stood there, half-begging, half-bleeding dignity at his feet. Guilt twisted in his chest even as he navigated the fog of Luna's face in his mind.
"Seliora," he murmured, almost apologetically.
