Two notches of the candle clock, countless lines, a pile of linen paper, and one aching wrist later, Coris was finally satisfied with the amount of knowledge he had imparted to Meya, and she was freed from her study.

Meya had pretty much forgotten about the promised reward by then. She was kneeling before the mantelpiece, absentmindedly feeding spent papers to the ravenous fire, listening to its happy burps and cackles, when Coris's pale hand slipped into her field of vision, his spider-leg fingers obscured by the thin rectangular box of reddish-brown wood he was offering her. She blinked, nonplussed,

"What? Ah..."

Her lips burst into a smile of delight as she recalled their deal. Coris chuckled to himself as he settled down beside her, his silvery eyes twinkling in the firelight followed Meya as she undid the crimson satin cord without dawdle,

"It's a famous Jaise export. And I know you have a liking for Rose Crystal."

As if to reaffirm his claim, the lid fell away to reveal the gleam of smooth, clear pink, peeking out through the gaps in the lace of the drawstring bag. Meya scooped the trinket up from its stuffed velvet bed and undressed it, rolling the rod of gum on her palm. She noticed the curious indent sculpted all around the tip, and ran her finger over it. Her concentration was so intense, she didn't notice Coris trying his utmost not to burst out laughing.

"Oh, Freda." She gasped, her voice shrill with pure joy, even as she had yet to know what the thing was, still turning it lovingly round and round between her caressing fingers, "It's so pretty it's hard to eat."

"Understandable; you're not supposed to ingest it. Least not in the literal sense."

Coris concurred, his voice suspiciously trembling with torrents of suppressed laughter. Meya glanced up, eyebrows raised, then back down at the deceptively candylike wand. She stripped away the lace bag to reveal its entirety, and the remainder didn't look as savory as she had assumed.

"Eeeeeeeeeeek!"

Coris exploded into a fit of cramp-inducing laughter as Meya shrieked her lungs out. The hideous creation pirouetted through the air and landed with a bounce on the bed bursting with goose-down, rearing its unholy head as if to smile at its intended mistress. Meya kept two unblinking eyes on it as she took heaving breaths, sputtering out in gasps,

"What the...what in the three lands..."

"They call it The Substitute." Coris suppressed his fit of hilarity just long enough to make room for a hoarse explanation. He smiled wider at the sight of Meya's tomato-red face when she whipped around and glowered at him, gesturing with his hands as he continued lightheartedly, "As in, whenever the lord is away, the lady could pleasure herself and remember him by—Ow!"

Meya had snatched the object of pleasure and utilized it to inflict pain on her cheeky husband instead. Brandishing the gum-dong like a whip, she whacked at every inch of Coris she could reach as he cowered and strafed and ducked.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Meya! Please! Mercy! Ow!"

The flurry of blows abruptly ceased after one last resounding thwack smack on Coris's crown; Meya seemed to have paused mid-swing. Coris lifted his head from under his shielding arms and chanced a look,

"Meya?"

Meya was panting heavily. The dark circles in her eyes swallowed her glowing irises as she stared back at him. The Substitute rested its bulbous head on the floor before her knees, its shaft clutched tightly between her trembling fingers as they traveled over its contours, matching the pace of her tongue upon her lips. The absurd sight sent a church's worth of bells clanging in his head.

"Goodly Freda, it's working." Coris breathed in disbelief. Meya glared.

"Don't give me that. You know it's going to work." She hissed through grinding teeth, struggling in vain to calm her ragged breathing. Coris shook his head, eyes agape and jaw slack, shock and awe usurping his long-reigning amusement.

"I didn't know you could absorb it even when it's powdered and mixed in gum—"

That was as far as Coris could go; next moment, his back was already chafing against the warm, rough face of the woolen carpet. The cool silk of his bathrobe pressed down on his torso as Meya moved above him—then it was her bare skin on his, like hot metal on cold stone, their hearts drumming in tandem, forceful as a blacksmith's hammer yet rapid as an army of galloping hooves.

Her nails dug into the hollows of his cheeks as she held his face firm, strands of her damp hair trapped between their lips like bars of a cage, then her tongue rammed its way through to taste his.

"Lexi—"

Her startled cry echoed in his mouth when he slid his palm down past her belly to ascertain. She was waiting for him. But he wasn't yet ready. And, judging from long experience, he likely would not be for tonight.

To Coris's horror, Meya felt him tensing up. She broke away and propped herself up, then glanced downwards. Coris gritted his teeth as he closed his eyes; he couldn't bear to witness her disappointment. As he lie panting, his cheeks now burned in humiliation instead of desire, especially when her enveloping heat drew further away. He opened his eyes to find Meya kneeling down by his side, her glowing eyes alternating between his stricken face and the source of his shame.

"You're not up." She muttered, her voice wooden, then pointedly averted her eyes from the abomination, her hardening gaze boring holes into the carpet, "Am I doing something wrong?"

Coris's heart gave a painful lurch at her conclusion, which was proof of how far he still had to go in fostering confidence in Meya. He shook his head, mustering his courage and his voice,

"No. It happens." He croaked out, words squeezed between bouts of panting. Meya spun around, wide-eyed, and he reached his hand feebly to cover hers, as he rambled out countless apologies, his cracking voice choked with suppressed sobs.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. So sorry. So sorry. Sorry—"

"—Stop sorrying, will you!" Meya snapped in frustration, interrupting his string of sorrys. She cradled his hand gently between her rough palms, even as her voice remained sharp and scolding.

"You're probably just tired. It's been a long day. On the road and off. Looks like a quiet night for us, then."

There was steel in Meya's voice, and in her arms now supporting him up—figuratively and literally. She was the strong one. His protector and savior. Time and again. Whereas he was the weak one. Impotent. Lacking. Even when he should be the man. Although he knew Meya had never minded, he couldn't shake this aching desire to be the one to shield and provide, just for once.

As he sat upright, Coris noticed the pink gum wand rolling unattended on the floor nearby.

"Perhaps we could make use of The Substitute?" He suggested. Meya's gaze flicked up to meet his, and he cocked his head towards it.

Meya didn't spare it the merest glance out of the corner of her eye. Her blazing eyes were steady and contemplating as they remained solely focused on his, then she wordlessly stood up and walked off, leaving Coris to call unsurely after her,

"Meya?"

Meya picked up her bathrobe and slipped the sleeves over her arms. She tugged the lapels together and cinched the sash at her waist as she crouched back down. After retrieving his robe, she slid her arms under his shoulders and urged the still nonplussed Coris to his feet.

"I'll sing you to sleep." She offered, reverting to her lovely birdsong voice in preparation, "Which song would you like?"

Coris sighed and shook his head moodily as he staggered towards their bed, slipping on his bathrobe as he went. The instant his big toe touched the bedframe, he keeled face first down on the black satin blanket, limbs akimbo.

"It's fine, May Queen. A wee nightcap and I'll be out cold in a blink."

Coris pointed blindly towards the bedside cabinet, upon which sat a pot of valerian tea, two teacups and, to Meya's dismay—a cork-stoppered vial of clear, dark brown liquid; laudanum—then pushed himself up and clawed his way towards it.

What little remained of Meya's good cheer from the day's triumphs vaporized, at the sight of her beloved reaching towards the bottle she now knew was malignant. Flashes of her heated discussion with Arinel coursed through her mind like rapids bursting through floodgates, and she clenched her trembling hands as she recalled her reluctant promise to the Lady.

"Um, about that, Coris..."

Meya began hesitantly over the clink and tinkle of crockery; Coris was stirring honey into his good-night's-sleep tea. He paused and turned to her, silver spoon aloft and eyebrows raised. Meya drew in a deep breath before continuing,

"Could you leave out the laudanum? I was talking to Arinel today. She said it could be dangerous if you got addicted to it."

There was a brief pause. Meya held her breath as she held Coris's gaze. There was a blink of surprise in that moonbeam gray, followed by a flash of annoyance, which just as soon dissipated and settled into weariness.

"It's a cure, Meya. It would be dangerous if I don't take it regularly." He rebuffed with a sigh, then turned away and resumed stirring, "Trust me, I've tried. My stomach would act up and I'd have a burning fever, among other things."

"Maybe your body just needs time to get used to not having it." Meya persisted. This time, however, Coris did not bother turning around. Desperate, she bounded onto the bed and crawled briskly to his side, then tugged at his arm, "Try taking a few drops less tonight and see what happens. I'm right beside you. Just wake me if there's anything."

Coris heaved another sigh, his voice growing less patient by the second, "Meya—"

"Agnes was taking it for her burns, and for years she couldn't live without it." Meya cut right across, leaning close and hissing right into his mask of cooling water, "She nearly sold herself off at the brothel for it, Coris! You try going on a few drops less for one night. See if you can make it. Then we'll know if you're dependent on it. Please!"

She rattled his arm, impatient with Coris's still apparent lack of concern, which he made up for with a surplus of defiance. Coris rolled his eyes and huffed irritably,

"I'm taking a tiny dosage, Meya. Just to soothe my stomach. Trust me, I know what I'm doing." He subtly shrugged his arm out of her grasp, then went back to stirring, "If you suspect my performance is suffering because of laudanum, I assure you it isn't. I've always been like this."

As if to add insult to injury, Coris laid down his spoon and reached for the laudanum. It was then that Meya's mounting temper reached bursting point. One ferocious swipe sent the repugnant vial flying out of Coris's hand. It fell onto the carpeted flagstones with a barely audible plop, rolling back and forth, unheeded by either of the room's occupants; the two lovers were staring daggers at each other. But Coris's wave of fury washed away as soon as it had crashed in when he noticed the glistening tears blurring the glow of Meya's eyes.

"For Freda's sake! You think that's all I'm worried about, you donghead?" She snapped, then jabbed her finger into Coris's meatless arm,

"You're skin and bones! You're pale as a corpse! And clammy as one! You could barely scale the stairs back in Hadrian Castle!"

Meya flung Coris back against the pillows, her shrill cry choked with boiling tears. As Coris stared, pale and wide-eyed and speechless, she wiped them carelessly away with the back of her hand, then her jittering legs collapsed under her.

Meya reached towards the cabinet on her side of the bed, fumbling past the ruby brooch to the raw emerald stone. The symbol of hopeless waiting, forever tinged with the fear of his impending death. She pressed it flush against her heart and clamped down with her chin, as Coris hovered a comforting hand unsurely just out of her sightline.

For perhaps a minute Meya simply sat there, hunched and listless, rocking in place from the force of her stifled sobs, then she finally spoke,

"You have...no idea...how harrowing it is to share your bed, Coris."

Her low, trembling whisper of suppressed rage and grief rippled the suffocating silence of deep night. She glanced up and glowered at Coris, her red-rimmed eyes still gleaming with half-dried tears. Her voice grew louder, harsher,

"Every morning when I rose, I prayed to Freda and steeled myself before I turned to your side of the bed. And I held my breath until I was sure you were breathing."

Coris shook his head in sorrow, biting his lips against the overwhelming torrent of guilt, at the sight of the pain she had kept hidden. He placed his hand atop hers and held tight, weathering her bitter vow,

"I swear by Freda, if I ever woke up to you stiff and cold by my side, Fyr help me I will climb up that caldera and kill you again."

"Meya..."

A scalding teardrop splashed onto his wrist. Meya fell limply into his embrace as he gathered her towards him. She shuddered with renewed sobs in his arms as he smoothed her hair down her back. Coris dug his chin into her shoulder and whispered into her ear,

"I'm sorry. Very well, I'll give it a try."

As Meya froze in surprise, Coris bent down, reaching for the phial lying just beyond the tip of his longest finger. He strained his back an inch further, coaxed the troublesome thing into his palm, then carefully straightened up. He presented it to Meya, who stared dazedly back at him.

Heaving a small sigh, he pushed the bottle into her slack fingers, then turned and fetched his teacup.

"You know how much I normally take. From now, you decide my dose for our experiment."

For a moment, Meya simply blinked in disbelief, then her lips unraveled into a thankful smile. She leaned forth and planted her lips still salty with tears upon his. She held on for a breath, then withdrew and began fumbling with the cork of the vial.

Coris obligingly held out his cup. Meya tipped the bottle sideways then tapped it five times. Five drops of opium tincture dissipated one after another into the glassy surface of the lukewarm tea. Half the amount Coris usually took every night.

⏳

The crescent moon floated on its back, as if perched on an invisible plinth. The cloudless sky was solid perse, littered with glittering constellations.

Meya slept soundly, her deep slumber hastened along by relief, and also the headache which often accompanied excessive crying. Her dragging, snorting breathing had long since mellowed as the gunk clogging her nose dried, and the sound of Coris's shallow, rapid breaths swelled to take its place.

Droplets of sweat peppered the slivers of his pale forehead where locks of damp hair had left bare. His eyes squeezed shut and his brows furrowed, he rubbed the back of his head against his pillow, searching anxiously for his sweet spot, now that his dose of sleeping aid had been halved.

At long last, resolve succumbed to fear, and Coris reached for the tiny, glinting vial Meya had left unguarded in its place on his cabinet, a glaring testament to her overly trusting nature and unwavering faith in him, despite his repeated betrayals and mountain of secrets.

Coris's hand trembled so hard, he spilled some of the bitter liquid onto his lips and his chin. Once he reckoned he had filled up on his missing dose, he returned the stoppered bottle soundlessly back to its place.

Guilt weighed down on him like a cloak of chains, and he couldn't yet summon the strength to lug his feeble self back to his pillows. Clinging to the beveled edge of the cabinet top, he lowered his head onto his outstretched arm.

"I'm sorry, Meya." He whispered through gritted teeth, as he attempted to cool his feverish forehead on the icy wood,

"It seems I really am compromised."