G tilted his head at this. “To be fair, my pants are not where I keep my horse.”
“Don’t try to deny it!” Jane said. “I heard it all from Stan, who mistook me for one of your . . . dalliances.”
G held a hand up. “My lady, if you please, let’s take these offenses one at a time.” He gestured toward a chair. She folded her arms. “Please,” he added.
She sat down, albeit in a chair he had not motioned to.
A peace offering, in the form of the truth, would be the best course of action at this point. “First, the charge of drunkenness. I will admit that on the night of our blessed union I was inebriated, but that was a solitary—or let’s say unusual—occurrence based on the fact that I was reluctant to bind my life to a lady about whom I’d heard much, but experienced very little.”
“And ‘binding your life’ would hinder your nightlife, would it not?”
“Ah, which brings us to your second charge. That of my being a lothario.” G paused and considered telling her about the poetry readings, but he thought better of it. He’d already endured humiliating horse jokes and derision about his lack of ability to control the power. How loudly would she laugh if she knew this “lothario” spent his days composing poems and plays, and his nights writing and performing them? “Yes, I have enjoyed the company of ladies.”
“Ha!” Jane pointed at him as if through her own verbal cunning she’d just gotten Alexander the Great to admit he was overly ambitious.
“Yes, yes,” G said, placating. “I crack under your withering stare. If I may continue?”
She nodded triumphantly.
“I spend my days as a horse. I haven’t been to court in years. I haven’t felt the sun on my skin for just as long. I wasn’t sure I could ever be fit to be a husband, since I’m only living half a life and it’s the half when most people sleep. You can’t imagine how lonely that can be. So yes, up until the night of our heavenly merger, I took comfort in relationships of the fleeting variety—”
“Otherwise known as prostitutes,” Jane interrupted.
“Despite my history with ladies of negotiable affection, I gave my word to your king to be a faithful husband of the utmost standing.”
Jane’s face softened the tiniest bit.
“And I have kept my word.”
She raised her eyebrows. “For two days.”
“Yes. Look, I’ve led a solitary existence. It’s hard to make friends. And despite the efforts of the Lion King, E∂ians are still feared and mistreated.”
Her face grew tight again. “Let’s discuss that. You have this magical ability, this ancient honor, passed down from our ancestors, destined to be bestowed upon the champions among us. And yet you call it a curse.”
“My lady, you have a distinctly naive and hopelessly optimistic view of E∂ians.”
“It is not naive,” Jane said. “My opinion has been cultivated over years and years of study.”
“Studying histories that glorify their legends.”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Have you ever read one single book about them in your life?”
“No.” He preferred poetry and fiction to informational books. But he wasn’t about to admit that. He stood and walked over to her, towering above her. “I don’t have to read about it. I’ve lived that life. Tell me, lady, what would your beloved history books say about that E∂ian attack on those poor peasants earlier this evening? Where was the glory, the honor, in tearing apart an entire community for a few measly bits of meat? Where are those stories in your precious books?”
“Those were not E∂ians,” Jane said softly.
“Indeed they were,” G said. “Real wolves would not allow a feral dog into their ranks, nor would they work with men to raid a village. That, my dear, was the infamous Pack.”
Jane frowned. “The Pack is just a rumor. E∂ians would never do such despicable things.”
“You are mistaken. To think such is to be naive.”
“I don’t understand you. You’re E∂ian, yet you speak of E∂ians with as much loathing as Verities.”
G poured two goblets of water from a pitcher on an end table. He was determined to keep his composure, despite the general irritating nature of conversing with his wife.
He handed her one of the goblets. “I do not loathe them. I just believe that random magical abilities do not constitute the honor of a man.”
“Or a woman,” Jane provided.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Or a woman,” he acquiesced. “I