"Would you forgive this degeneracy, my lady?"

  I'd sworn to myself, over and over since that night, I would never again lie in this bed; not until I had been welcomed by its owner. But here I am. An impatient waste of a man I remain. Unable to even be at her side through such an arduous day, a failure in my one purpose. Yet, here I am—seeking the affections of a perfect woman, but only when she cannot hear my stifled supplications. Whispering my most depraved thoughts in a vain attempt to find some sort of solace. As if speaking these wicked feelings would free me of their never-ending temptations, that it would allow me to finally be only her servant once more.

  It did nothing.

  No relief. No peace. Only a deeper hunger, a fire that claws at my insides, ravenous and unrelenting.

  She is more beautiful than ever. Every time I lay my eyes upon her, I am certain perfection has been reached—only to be proven wrong again. The soft glow of candlelight dances across her skin, tracing the delicate curve of her cheek, the slope of her nose, the gentle parting of her lips. Strands of hair, dark as void yet glistening with a faint luster, spill across the pillow in a silken cascade. My fingers ache to comb through them, to feel their weight, to commit their texture to memory.

  The mattress sinks under my weight as I settle closer to her. Again she draws me in; again I succumb to my foolish desires. The fearful respect her eyes commanded hold no power over me now. My fingers weave through her hair, luxuriating in its softness, the silken strands slipping betwixt them as water. Holding her tenderly, so close to me. Just as a husband would.

  What did I do to deserve such a reward? Nothing. Unworthy of even being the dirt beneath your heel. I am nothing without you, your presence that I do not deserve yet I seek it so fervently. Letting myself believe I could ever ascend to your heights of majesty, to be at your side; not just as an aide, but as your lover—perhaps, even your equal.

  "Could you find it in your endless heart to forgive this foolishness, my love?"

  My palm moves to hover just above your cheek before pressing down, ever so gently, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath mine. Heat rushes through me at the contact, so much greater than the touch of your hand. Though that makes sense, doesn't it, my love? We are so much closer now, nearly intertwined. The heat of your body pours into me, suffusing my skin, my very being. A gift. A sign. Surely, you must feel it too—this bond, this joining of self and soul. And, in return, do I not warm you as well? Do I not complete you, as you complete me?

  This is true closeness. What I had before was nothing, a cruel illusion, sating myself with scraps when I could have the feast laid before me.

  Yet you also deny yourself the banquet.

  So many suitors have come and gone. Kings, warriors, noblemen with riches beyond measure. Any of them would have served you well. Would have devoted themselves to you, built monuments in your name, slaved away to make your kingdom eternal, pledging their very souls just for the chance to stand at your side.

  You took none of them.

  Why do you wait?

  Surely a woman as intelligent as you knows there are none on this earth that could even touch your sublimity. You could not be so foolish as to wait for a man to reach your level. Is there someone you have in mind, my dear?

  Or…

  Perhaps you wait for me to find courage and take you for myself?

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  A sharp breath escapes me at the thought and my thumb drags across your lips, marveling at how your mouth yields to my touch. Soft and plush, they part for my hand, as if inviting me in. You have always been gentle, so kind, so full of grace—but here, now, you are pliant beneath me, even in sleep.

  I shift closer, just enough that your chest presses to mine. The delicate curves of your body contour against me as though we were shaped to fit. A perfect match. A perfect symmetry. How could something orchestrated by fate ever be denied?

  Endless love fills your heart, your body so perfect, so welcoming. It dovetails against mine, our forms aligning as if the gods constructed me specifically so I could hold you like this.

  My fingers trail through the silk of your hair before tilting your chin just so—that I might appreciate you in this propinquity and finally see you as I was meant to.

  So close now, your every breath brushes against my lips—temptuous and damning it beckons me. Drawing me to you as a tide pulls a drowning man beneath its surface. You have offered yourself to me like this, laid bare in your slumber, unguarded and mine for the taking. To resist you is to deny the will of the world. The mere idea of tasting you, of claiming what has always been meant for me, it is an agony I can no longer endure. You are within reach, and I cannot bear for me to hesitate any longer. What is honor against the promise of your lips? What is restraint against the certainty that you belong to me? I close the distance.

  And you—

  Oh, my love, you accept me so sweetly. Your lips give in, molding completely to mine, mirroring my every movement, as though we have kissed a thousand times before. My mind reels, my body sings, my very soul shudders under the weight of this truth.

  You love me.

  You must.

  But I must not rush you, tarnish this sacred bliss with haste. No, I will savor it. Let it linger. Let it be the beginning of something greater.

  I pull away, though it pains me. Lying on my back to enjoy your visage once more. My tongue flicks over my lips, a shiver running through me as the sickly sweet tang of your floral oils coats my tongue. A part of you, marking me as your own.

  The entire castle seems completely silent now, save for our intermixed breath. I close my eyes for a short while to appreciate it all. The warmth of you beside me. The press of weight along my side. If I let myself drift, I can almost believe this night was born from kindness instead of chaos. That you chose me. That this is a beginning, not a mercy.

  I want to kiss you again.

  Gods, I want to feel your skin against mine, memorize your every curve as you're pressed against me, listen to your moans caught in your throat.

  Suddenly you lean in just a little, the side of your thigh brushing mine. A small, unconscious move, as if drawn to warmth in the night. The weight of you—so slight, so devastating—grounds me to this cursed bed.

  And I cannot breathe.

  Unwillingly, my breath catches. For one hideous instant, I think you’ve awoken. That you’ve seen. That you know. And if you do—what then? There would be no excuse. It was unforgivable, wasn't it? Even to one as merciful as you. A sour bile rises to my mouth. To think I'd tried to justify this disgusting foolishness. Not even in fantasy should a wretch as low as me dare to touch you.

  But I had.

  Selfishly twisting your benevolence and pity. Deluding myself into believing, for even a second, that I had a right to you, to your body. Repulsive. That's all I was.

  Never again.

  Truly, never again could I allow myself to lie here. May only the gods know how far I would fall if I act otherwise for this cannot be how I love you. Should I ever have such an honor, it will be by virtue of you bestowing it.

  Perhaps one day I shall draw enough courage to speak on the matter. Opening my heart to you fully, regardless of what you may say. However, all I can give now is space.

  Once more I must push myself away from your loving embrace, neither time having earned such a joy. Someday I will, but not today.

  My hushed steps take me to the door. Carefully I twist its knob, immediately slipping through in all the silence my shame can muster. There is just enough space for me to admire your sleeping form. This may very likely be the last time I may see you so vulnerable, I pray it is not, but I drink in the scene to the best of my ability in case that is the truth. The door shuts in near silent reticent, and for a moment, all is still within.