Lunch followed in the sunlit gardens. Tables groaned under crystal platters of honeyed fruits, spiced meats, and delicate pastries, but conversation buzzed with two very different currents.
The official one—reform bills, voting rights for noblewomen, new inheritance laws that would strip wastrel husbands of automatic control—flowed politely across every table. The unofficial one, however, spread like wildfire among the six who had spent the night in Aiden's bed.
Elara, cheeks still pink, leaned toward her tablemates and whispered, "I can still feel him… so deep inside me that I swear my womb is shaped to him now. I came so many times I lost count and started speaking in tongues."
Lirael giggled breathlessly, fanning herself with a lace handkerchief. "He made me squirt while my friends watched. I called him 'my lord' and 'master' while my husband's name is literally embroidered on every handkerchief I own."
