Quinlan Elysiar stayed on one knee on the boards of Jasmine's sickroom, and the question he had just asked hung over ten women.
Will you become my empresses?
For one full breath, the only sound in the room was Gina Argentis, who squealed into her daughter's hair.
Then Ayame stepped forward.
She came off the bedpost with eyes wide, body shaking.
"You asked properly," the samurai whispered in disbelief. "You actually asked. I thought you'd chicken out and just keep saying we were already your wives."
She crossed the last step between them, and both her hands came up.
Ayame drew his head against her womb, against the mark he had given her, and held it there. Her fingers slid into his hair and began to stroke, slow and gentle, as if he were the one who needed steadying.
She looked down at him with the tenderest smile he had ever seen on her face.
"I accept."
