“With the understanding that there may never be anything between us but a shared desire for peace, and my word that I will never force upon you any duty beyond the political expectations of the position, I implore you, Danica Shardae, to agree to be my wife.”
-----
He reached over and pulled the sparkling pins out of her hair, so that it fell in warm and heavy curls down her neck. The sensation of hair tickling her bare skin was unfamiliar and oddly pleasant.
“Much better,” he said, and she thought this time that maybe his voice was slightly uneven too.
-----
“You’re exhausting,” he said.
“I’m what?” She leaned against a tree, watching him close the last few yards between them.
“Exhausting, tiring, capable of wearing on my very last bit of peace.” He faced her, as if his attention was only on her, but she had no doubt that he knew where everyone near them was.
------
‘What is it?’ enquired Dr Elke, looking at Comely’s love child which was climbing with passionate enthusiasm over her feet.
‘It’s a mixture,’ admitted Ruth.
Dr Elke said she could see that and removed her shoe from the puppy’s grasp.
‘But full of personality?’ suggested Ruth. ‘Though not perhaps strictly beautiful.’
‘No, not strictly.’
‘Voltaire wasn’t beautiful either,’ said Ruth, ‘but he used to say that if he had half an hour to explain away his face, he could seduce the Queen of France.’
‘More than half an hour would be necessary in this case,’
----
“I don’t trust anyone who feels you should like them because they love themselves so much,”
