Christ, he was empty, just a shell of himself. He had nothing to give, not even his seed.

Why?” he screamed, letting the noise bellow out loud and ferocious. “Why can I not have some measure of peace?” he questioned.

As he looked around the huge ducal bed,
he saw everything that meant the world to him.
Outside the sky was darkening and the snow was falling. Through misty
eyes, Matthew looked up, saw the moon glowing brilliantly and whispered,
“thank you.”
It was simple, but heartfelt. Never had a man been more grateful than that
very moment when everything was utter perfection. With his family and his wife
pressed up against him.

As I said, you have mistaken me for another. London is full of drab little peahens, sir. Now, then, I’m leaving,” she said in a huff.

“To change?” he asked, unable to stop from goading her.

“To write a poem for my toast,” she snapped. “And you may suffer, for I will not help you with yours.”

“No need, darling,” Matthew drawled, his words intending to push her away.
“I doubt you know a suitable word that will rhyme with fuck. ”

“Stuck,” she said, turning to face him. “For two days, my lord. We are stuck with one another. Let us make the best of it.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“By giving each other wide berth. We will not stand together, we will not talk to one another and we will most certainly not look at one another.”

“No problem from this quarter.”

“Good. You may be assured that it will be no difficulty for me, either.”

-Matthew and Jane

Matthew,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “How can I save you?

Pressing his forehead to the cool glass, he held her gaze, her palm, his eyes pleading with her. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.