Heaven Can't Wait ۞ Baldwin IV

XXIII - A man

It was a new year. So, why not brave it head on?

Lluna was so ashamed of having displayed another disproportionate reaction, especially when months had passed already, and that sight should have been no surprise, or at the very least, this amount of time should have been enough for her to brace for it.

After that conversation with Raymond, and the check up with Salome, it was clearer than ever what the reality was. The only way forward.

I do not dislike the King. I do not dislike my husband. Baudouin.

Baudouin.

He is nice and kind. He is a good man.

I like him. I do.

Therefore... there is nothing to fear.

Valentia prayed in the company of Tamilla, who had gathered some laurels and winter blossoms the day earlier, for a purpose she did not share, but said there were enough for both to use. Afterwards helping her bathe her skin in rose water. Tamilla did not ask what all this preparation was for. The queen simply told her 'it is time'. In any case, the young maid knew to hug her tightly.

She then made herself look semi-extraordinary; thick layers of kohl, the front of her hair quickly braided, the rest cascading down to her thighs, lips smudged with pomegranate petals that crushed softly under her finger and stained it too.

Underneath a fur-lined coat, nothing but a night gown.

There was no time for henna like the wedding henna. Her slightly faded casual dots from the past week would have to suffice.

Valentia returned to the King's chambers trying not to show the same spooked demeanor as before. She was fidgety but not skittish. Pensive, not doubtful.

Yet, even though the night was deepening, he was strangely not there.

"Good," she mouthed. And not because it gave her the chance to take her steps back and pretend she had never been there. That did not cross her mind even once. It gave her the time to assimilate and ready herself. "All right."

She did leave for a moment, but only to retrieve the blossom petals within the fold of her overcoat and return. They rained down on the carpeted floor, and the rest shaken over the bed.

"Candles. Candles would be good."

In its emptiness, the room only retained a couple of lit candles. It needed to warm up more, and soon. Her bare feet kept having to skip between one rug to the other.

Lluna was definitely still weary of flames near her, but they had a different meaning at this moment. Certainly not destruction. These would not torch this home.

She found rose and lemon peel candles, and a large one from which its simple beeswax color emanated sweetly and strongly of honey.

She would have even brought Safiyyah to curl up on the bed and warm the sheets. Or a couple of hot pans. But... it might not have been necessary at all.

While the laurel was laced into the latticed stars of the headboard, she thought back to her past confession, soon after arriving in the Levant.

"Father. I confess I am fearful of being a wife. For I am fearful of the first act she has to commit. It is not one I have ever wished to fulfill. I wanted a religious, contemplative life.

I prefer being the virgin wife of Jesus than the wife of any earthly man. I cannot fathom it..."

Except, perhaps, the wife of Jalil. Because the only time they ever spoke of such a subject, they had agreed on a chaste marriage if it ever could have happened. Somehow, Al-Mualim could consider an unconditionally Christian man for his daughter, even leprous, but never a man following the Shia path.