"You will be kind to her, your Majesty?" There was a nervous warble to Castil's voice, but she plunged onward. "Kareena knows her duties, but she is frightened, as any new bride would be."

Despite her anxiousness, Castil did not drop her eyes from his, and Doranis gazed at her in admiration. She was brave in her way, speaking in support of someone she cared for, knowing she risked offending him with an impertinence.

He stepped closer to her, smiling slightly as she refused to give ground though he did not miss the slight shiver that shook her frame. "Madam il Marcam does not fear becoming a bride. She fears becoming my bride." He raised her chin with one long finger, tilting her face upward. She blinked as a stray beam of sunshine passed across her eyes. "And you, Madam il Veras, keeper of dead languages and old tales, would you fear me were you mine?"

Images flashed in his mind, the result of his concentration and touch upon her. A bright, full moon, blankets of snow on the Laybet Mountains. Things cold, beautiful, bound in winter. It was how she saw him in her mind, and his breathing slowed even as he felt hers speed up.

"Would you fear me, Castil?" he repeated.