It had been a day since her traumatic injury. Noelle had done very little that helped her pass the time, which resulted in a restless state that haunted her dreams. She had done little but lie in bed and count the hours, unable to sleep and restless with anticipation of her healing. She wanted so badly to attend the winter festival. She wanted to walk among the stars, feeling the power of the universe and the largeness of the world. Being a royal was so time-consuming and made her feel like so much of a someone she despised herself. Being another small speck under the stars on a great big earth emphasized her smallness and brought a childlike sense of wonder back into her life.

At one point in the late afternoon, she had convinced Meridath to allow Austere into the royal infirmary. He had come up many times during the day, slipping little notes through the door or otherwise trying to toy with and capture the attention of the princess when he wasn’t assigned to some task or other. Although he was officially the royal advisor and mentor of the princess, he was a man of many talents and wore many hats. He did a lot of overseeing for the king in many different forms, likely doing the work in one day of seven or eight men. If he didn’t have so much energy, Noelle was certain he would have died by now from the stress of it all. She had never understood how he could take on so much responsibility and be so carefree at the same time.

“So, if I may ask, which I know I may, who is your romantic conquest of the hour?” Against Meridath’s advisements, Noelle was sitting up in bed, sliding one of her bishops across the chess board. Austere had snuck it in while the princess’s caretaker had taken a leave of absence to complete one task or another.

Austere grinned a boyish grin, his blond hair falling in his eyes. “Bold of you to assume there’s just one.”

“That’s why I said ‘of the hour,’” she retorted, “if you’re scheduling more than one woman per hour, even I may have to look upon your practices disapprovingly.” She gestured to the chessboard. “Now hurry up and move something so I can defeat you once more.”

Austere obliged before continuing, “and you? Have any of the men actually caught your attention? They’re a slow bunch, not much to them other than status, and in some cases, age.”

“Checkmate,” she replied, a certain mischief in her eyes Austere rarely saw anymore. It made him smile, but sadly. Somewhere deep in his heart a pang of something he hardly recognized hit him. Guilt? Pain? Some sort of raw emotion. “And, perhaps,” she toyed with him. “But I refuse to reveal my secrets so quickly when mystery and intrigue can linger for eternity.”

“You know that any questions left unanswered just leave my mind to wander, which is always a dangerous thing.” He smiled a charming smile, silvery eyes glistening in the afternoon sunlight. It was abnormally warm again and almost unwelcome considering the ambience it set for the festival. “I’ll just imagine that you have insatiable affections for one of the men who is over double your age.”

A soft, melodic giggle escaped her lips as she watched him, his eyes wry with mischief. She heard footsteps down the hall approaching them and moved painfully quickly back into a more restful position as Austere hid the chessboard somewhere Noelle couldn’t see. Meridath entered the room as Austere stood, smiling at her confidently despite her suspicious glances. Nobody at the castle truly trusted or respected Austere besides Noelle, though he had never given anyone reason to feel any different than she.

“I was just leaving,” Austere said, tucking a piece of paper into his pocket. Noelle had slipped it to him as he’d finished tucking the chessboard away. She’d written on it with the knowledge that he’d have to come back later anyway to return the hidden item to its rightful place. It read, in beautiful sprawling cursive: Gather information for me regarding Prince Callen.

…

A warm afternoon had fallen into a chilly evening that was reminiscent of a true winter season. When Austere had returned, he mentioned briefly that the gypsies in the square were predicting snowfall for the remainder of the week. It brought a smile to her face, partially because of the news, and partially because he had mentioned it with the knowledge that it would cheer her up. That had been hours and hours, she knew, because she’d awoken well after nightfall with a horrible dream that left her heart racing and her lungs unable to fill with air. She’d shot up quickly in the bed and the pain had left her equally dizzy and in excruciating pain that made her want to pass out even more. Still, she took deep breaths, gripping the bed sheets with the little strength that she had as tears spilled down her face. Under the impression that she was alone, Noelle just cupped her face in her hands and wept bitterly about the emotional prisons she had been locked in. It was so lonely and so isolating being stuck in these chains. She almost wished that they were tangible so the rest of the world could the pain she was stuck in. She was so tired of being alone all the time, of being strong and cheerful when every little thing reminded her of the person she could never be again.

After some amount of time, she noticed Warren standing on the balcony across the room. She was unsure of whether he was giving her the grace of ignoring her outburst of emotion or if he had truly not noticed with the noise of the festival in the background. The royal infirmary had a gorgeous view of the town which now seemed to be taunting her. She sighed and regained her composure, though the crying had been scared right out of her when she recognized that she wasn’t alone.

Getting out of bed and walking on wobbly legs, Noelle nearly crashed into him as she found her way to the balcony. She gripped the railing with both hands, leaning the weight of her upper body onto it to keep her balance. She glanced up at him softly, a gentle, neutral expression on her face. She simply studied him, wondering why he looked so upset. She recognized that he was constantly in pain, and though she longed for him to see her scars, the ones she was forced to keep hidden away, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She knew they could be in pain together, perhaps alleviating some of it just by sitting in it, unalone for the first time. Yet, she couldn’t, she just couldn’t.

“What are you thinking about?” She implored gently, unassumingly. She was genuinely curious, and with the violent and disturbing images running rampid in her mind, she was desperate for a distraction. Her gaze returned to the festival, and a pang of sorrow hit her heart. Though she could barely walk and certainly couldn’t stand up straight, she would have given anything to be walking through the streets of the town in that moment. “They say I may die,” she acknowledged, a long while later. “I shouldn’t be telling anyone this, but I almost consider that welcome.” She couldn’t bring herself to go on, to elaborate. She didn’t trust him, she didn’t think of him as a safe place she could run to. Yet, he was there. He was in the same pain she was, too. The only difference was that he did a terrible job of hiding his, and she did a great job of concealing hers.

Warren’s eyes hastened up. How long has she been there? He reached for her to keep her poised but she has already done so with the balcony railing. He slipped off his suit jacket. He hadn’t changed into more suitable clothes for night, since he had fallen asleep in his suit. He glided it on her shoulders. She was already ill and she would get even worse in this chilly climate. The only thing he had overlooked was the letter laid in the pocket of his suit, for his cognizance had strayed elsewhere. The letter didn’t articulate his illegitimateness though it did attest that he had a substantial royal correlation with a strong outside kingdom. All Noelle apprehended was that he was just a man who had shown up. She didn’t know of his past, nor that he was technically royalty.

He took a minute to acknowledge her question. “What am I thinking about?” He murmured. He gawked off into the distance, his amber eyes complex like he was scanning for something. “My home.” He reflected, placing a hand on his heart. “I was reminiscing about my home. It is different than this place. It is colder.” He fell hushed. “I don’t mean weather-wise. I presume you can say cold as in the people possess not-so-good personalities,” He snickered. It wasn’t the peoples' liability that they were like that. They were like that from the mistreatment of Warren’s father.

He peered at her but his smile promptly dissolved when he saw the expression in her eyes. It felt so similar. Of course, she seemed hurt and disturbed but there was something there that was regarding him. She was leery of him. She looked at him like everyone else. He tapped his fingers on the railing in an endeavor to not become distressed by it. Warren lifted his eyes when she vocalized again.

“You won’t die, m’lady. You are strong, and many people don’t see that” His voice grew simple like he was dissatisfied with himself.

“You aren’t the only one,” He groaned, pressing fingers against his scar. He yielded his head in shame. No snarky smile came on his lips as his persnickety self would regularly do in this type of moment. He was different. He was more desirous. The thing was, he held up so many barriers around people that he was such a tender person behind doors. “But the difference is you are different. You have a purpose. You are a princess who is going to be queen. You are going to marry a man that will nurture you. Not solely that but you have people that need you.” He raised his head, his eyes looking deep into hers. His eyes seemed shaken. He fell hushed. It was several long minutes before he spoke again.

“I know you are hurting more than you let on. It is obvious now that I am not so blindsided.” He scratched his cheek nervously, hoping he wouldn’t get reprimanded for being so blunt. “I know I am not meticulous with my words. I just let my emotions get the best of me,” He finally admitted his faults to her. It was unlike him to do so in the presence of people. Getting him alone really made him change.

“I comprehend you aren’t one to speak of your emotions to someone you have a difficult time trusting, and I am not one to force things when it comes to feelings…..so here is what I will do,” He turned towards her. “We are going to the festival.” He watched her seriously, yet his eyes sparkled. “No need to worry about anything, I’ve got it all planned,” He finally shattered a smile.

He recognized how much she has wanted to go to the festival. The least he could do was find a way for her to go even if it were against the rules.

He grew close to her. His eyes were friendlier than before. “Get whatever you need, Princess. Once you are ready wait by the door but don’t neglect your room. I will be back,” He whirled away from her like he was on a mission. Warren had left the room to give princess Noelle some time to get ready in whatever attire she gratified.

After many moments of figuring things out, he strolled up to the guards who were shielding the princess's infirmary room by persisting by the door. “It is about time for your shift to change with another guard,” He told them. They responded and sauntered off. There were only a few minutes of a time gap before different guards came. Warren creaked her door open. He chuckled softly like a senseless teenager. His hand stretched for her, gently engulfing her hand with his gloved hand. He allowed her to slip out of the room, peering around in hopes that no one sees them. He retained her close as they snuck down the hallway. “Just so you know, I am not permitted to do this,” He chuckled but kept the chuckle withdrawn. He pulled her close even tighter, to make sure she maintains her balance.

They had accomplished sneaking out and he now escorted her to the stables. There persisted his mighty chestnut horse, already tacked up, which is what he did in the time he allotted Noelle to get ready. He mounted his steed and held his hand down to her. When she seized his hand, he hauled her up. Warren allowed her to sit in front of him, his hands encased around her to hold onto the reins. He did this just in case she still felt ill. He didn’t want her to lose her balance and fall off.

He decided to ride to the festival rather than walk. It would bring awareness but he understood that Noelle wouldn't be able to walk a lot and it didn't help that she already had a troublesome time walking. He clucked the horse off.

As she gazed out upon the starry landscape, Noelle felt that same sense of smallness and wonder she had been longing for all along. The breeze had a bite to it that truly reminded her of this season, of her season. Watching from the balcony all of the little cottages and shops of the marketplace aglow with life, Noelle had finally reached a sense of contentment. It was a feeling that awakened her senses, that caused her life to have purpose and meaning.

She had nearly forgotten she was not alone when Warren slipped his jacket over her shoulders. She flinched, hesitant to accept even the simplest gesture, but felt chained by the restriction of being unable to tell him why. There were some things she could allow others to take the blame for, to accept as something they had caused her to react to, but things of this matter were simply not the same. Although, the thing that truly evoked grief within her was the thought that even if she did not have her father’s command telling her to withhold the truth, she still would find herself unable to tell it. Something deep within her had been broken for a very long time, and as much as she tried to hide it, to push it away, to embrace it, to distract herself from it, it still lingered. For months and months Noelle had been stuck, and with nothing to do to reverse it. Now, there was more movement than there had been in a very long time, yet psychologically it was all negative. The princess had the weight of the world on her shoulders, though she carried herself as if she felt weightless. In the fleeting moments she found herself alone, she wondered when the moment would be when she would finally break, when she would finally implode. She only knew it would be soon.

The simple gesture had increased her anxiety greatly, and thus, her alertness. She studied him in the darkness, emitting an aura of wistfulness, of depth she hardly showed. There was something special about sharing that moment with him, under the stars. It was utterly silent beside the faint hum of street musicians in the faraway town they gazed upon, and the cold was nearly energizing.Warren was typically candid, abrasively so at times, yet in this peaceful moment, he was soft. There was something gentle about him, something vulnerable. It hurt her to think about what could have been and what would be, what was and what is and what caused two broken people to be saying things with their bodies on a windy winter night that their tongues refused to say. It was the obligation of her smile, the hurt in his eyes. It was the way they could not bear to acknowledge the pain of the other or of themselves, so when they spoke their eyes drifted into the shadowy abyss of the star-dotted landscape. He spoke, briefly, in a tone neither of them believed. The ghost of a smile lingered on her lips as she let her gaze find his face, watching his expression become more candid, more vulnerable than it already was. She felt closer to him tonight than she ever had, perhaps because he had shed the rugged, blunt exterior he often wore to push people away.

She was able to hear his words and absorb them until he began to speak of her promise, of the future he kept imagining she would have. The future he continued to suggest would be hers made her blood boil for what felt like no reason. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much to consider the prospect of being loved, of being nurtured. It felt like something she should want, didn’t everyone? She listened thoughtfully if only to exercise her patience, then answered bluntly, “what makes you think we are different, then?” She sighed softly, then looked away from him. “We are both condemned to futures we don’t want.”

She felt his gaze burning into her and succumbed to it. His gaze was deep, it almost felt invasive. Nobody looked at her like that frequently, if ever. She felt nervous all of a sudden, overcome by the intensity of the moment. She considered that she could have been imagining it, but she could have sworn she saw him grow flustered too, overcome by the same emotion.

The silence that took over the next moments was validation for Noelle that he had shared in the discomfort of whatever had taken them over. The words that he spoke next were most terrifying though, in a way that immediately made her aware of the fact that she would spend the next hours to days repeating them over and over in her mind.

I know you are hurting more than you let on.

I know you are hurting.

I know you.

I know.

…

Indeed, she spent the following moments alone thinking about his words and what they meant. She wanted them to mean more than they did, and she knew that. She knew that he could not possibly know all that she wished she could trust him with. It was infuriating being royalty. She was expected to marry, to act perfectly at all times. She did not have a past or a present or a future, she just was. Most days, she simply felt like a possession of her father. He didn’t even seem real, the only time she saw him was when he needed something from her. She often avoided the forest because she knew that if she felt the freedom of the world outside of the castle walls, she would not return.

She had changed into a light cotton dress that had never been formal enough for any occasion. Until now, she mused as she slipped it on. It took much longer considering that any time she shifted her gaze or moved she was hit with an overcoming dizziness. She did not feel as though going to the festival was a good choice, but a variety of reasons had caused her to agree. For one, it was very late. How late, she did not know, but she was certain the king and a good number of the suitors--if they had gone at all--would have returned to the castle by this hour. The royalty and the guests of the royalty were always expected to be the first to arrive and the first to leave. She had not wanted to go because of her health, yet she had conceded. Her father was a lot of things, but unfair in setting restrictions was not one. She was not fit to be walking at all, let alone so far from the castle. She should not even be out of bed. The more she thought about it, the less she wanted to go. Yet, she exited the room on wobbly legs, meeting Warren outside of the royal infirmary door. It sat empty so frequently, she mused. It was almost useful for her to be occupying it. He giggled, her eyes glittered with amusement, if only because of his own amusement. She took his arm and clung to it for support as they giggled to themselves, avoiding the guards as they walked.

“Believe me, I know that my father would not condone such behavior,” she smiled up at him, wincing at the movement. She was already fairly dizzy, but Warren’s strength and large stature kept her steady. “Yet, you do not seem like a rulebreaker, so why now? Why tonight?” Already she partially knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it aloud. Perhaps it would cause her to take her marriage more seriously, to be scared by vulnerable words and genuine meaning.

“Tell me about yourself,” Noelle inquired nonchalantly as they rode towards the town. “You know so much about me, and I know so little about you.”

Noelle’s lips formed something of a charming smile at his statement. “You need not explain,” she replied, “I hear that phrase often, but seldom do the words associated with it ring true. It’s very difficult at times. So few people stop to ponder upon such matters, your insight is welcome.”

A gentle, pleasant silence had fallen upon them until the princess had once again spoken. He answered politely and apologetically, but uncharacteristically transitioned into a genuine and authentic explanation of who he was and where he came from. She smiled and nodded along, absorbing what he said thoughtfully and occasionally replying with a word or two that wouldn’t deter his train of thought. Most of her interactions with him featured fleeting and concise dialogue, and the princess found it refreshing to be given the opportunity to hear someone speak from the heart, for once.

“I can tell your mother is very dear to you,” she replied with a gentle smile. Her eyes were unfocused and distant due to the pain and the dizziness that she experienced, even with the precautions Warren had taken to ensure her safety and comfort. “That day in the garden, it was awfully refreshing to hear a man speak of something other than himself.” Her voice sung with a gentle melody of laughter, though her mind briefly grazed over their almost-kiss. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, though she would have been the last person to admit why.

She took in his next words with genuine care, assuming that it was difficult for him to speak of his faults--he only seemed to do it when he was alone with her. Instinctively, she was still very fearful of him and of being alone with him as they were in this moment, but her mind told her to see past her experiences and traumas and understand his good intent. “Your emotions can surely be strong at times, but I assure you my reaction to them is not a reflection on you, Mr. Dwyer.” She turned, scanning a treeline she could not register with her eyes, and continued. “The mind may forget, but the body remembers. I am sorry if my behavior towards you has ever been confusing or off-putting.”

Resuming a more light-hearted topic of conversation, Noelle scoffed. “You say it is difficult to get to know me by my favorite flower when you are unaware of your own.” She smiled, then allowed it to falter as she spoke. “I suppose I enjoyed the effort you put into your assessment of me far too much to end it by telling you that you were wrong. The things you said of me, they touched me in a way I cannot express. You put words to feelings I could not articulate about myself. However, I have always been indifferent about orchids.” She paused, then allowed a mischievous glint to overtake her eye. “If you cannot guess my favorite flower on your second try, I will tell you myself. And yes, that is a challenge.”

As they approached the outskirts of the town, Warren requested that she tell him about herself. “To be completely honest, Mr. Dwyer, I lose awareness for how much of myself I am allowed to share with those around me. It comes with being the sole heir of an international empire, as you may imagine.” More quietly, she added, “while I identify my good fortune in receiving a life of novelty, I sometimes wish I would have been as expendable as I once was to my father. For many years of my life, I was raised as a servant child, a nobody in a large castle of somebodies. My father was certain one of his wives would provide for him a male heir to the throne, and that was all he sought after for many years of his life. You may consider me a simpleton, but I much preferred that life to the one I lead now. It was fulfilling and full of life, and not a single soul cared what I said or did or thought. The woman you called a servant girl, she was once my best friend, alongside Austere. He is all I have left now, my only family and my only connection to life. My only connection to my father is through the local writings that Austere fetches for me while I am left to wither away in that putrid castle. Yet, I digress. For as many hardships, there are blessings bestowed upon me. I hate to seem ungrateful…”

…

The streets of the festival were lively and crowded, and immediately Noelle had felt a sense of relief that she had asked Warren if they may dismount from his horse a ways away from the festival and walk in, enabling them a better opportunity to blend in. She walked close to him, grateful for his height and the ability to find him in a crowd should they get separated.

“How frequently do I get to see my people?” She repeated his question flatly. “Only once per year. My father would kill us if he knew, but I often sneak off to the festival of the summer solstice as well. It is strictly for commoners due to several disputes with the kingdom regarding various matters, but it is just as lively, if not moreso.” She paused, and upon receiving a glance from some passer-byers, slipped her arm into his and turned away from them, desiring to remain unseen. She felt justified in her actions and did not seek to justify them further, so she simply continued on. “In all honesty, I don’t believe my father enjoys any part of this. He would rather keep me in the castle to avoid physical harm to deprive him of his sole heir, though he hardly regards the mental harm it provides. However, this festival was the dream of my mother on her deathbed. It was her final wish for me, that I may have this festival in my honor for every year of birth I see. When I was young, she referred to the kingdom’s people as my own and not my father’s which only irked him further. Yet, there is truth to it. And, each year, for the opening of the festival, I am allowed one opportunity to speak earnestly to my people.” Sadly, she met his eyes. “It is no surprise to you that I am speaking of this evening.”

When she went to release her arm from his, she wobbled a great deal. As quickly as she had attempted to extract her arm, she allowed it to return to its rightful place in his. His voice took on an earnest tone and his eyes faded into deep sincerity, and she paled for a moment wondering what she had done wrong. She was astonished by his candidness, studying his words as if to miss a hidden meaning. He was incredibly gifted at concealing what was on his mind, and while she had been speaking she had not even noticed his preoccupation with his own thoughts.

“Well, what would you have me do?”

A short while later, the jest returned to his voice and she smiled. He was softer and in better spirits tonight than she had seen him before, a welcome sight to a vulnerable and emotionally numb princess who could barely walk or turn her head without a great deal of pain.

“May I ask you a question, Warren?” She took genuine care in replying with his first name, following their topic of conversation. “Of course, I may, but I find that asking first provides a more genuine answer.” Her soft gaze fell upon the twinkling lights that lined the buildings in the town--homes and cottages and shops and dwellings. It made her dizzy, though, so she turned back to face where she was walking before promptly speaking once more. “Why do you apologize so?”

After a few moments of deep thought, she added, “don’t call me by my own name, there is only one Noelle in this country and I am she--it would be too suspicious. Call me Elizabeth, it was my mother’s name.” She fell quiet for many moments, soft and sad and gentle and tainted by the scars she did not show. Her demeanor had changed, and she had hardly noticed when he had excused himself for a moment to purchase something. Undoubtedly it was for her, though she felt the slightest twinge of annoyance at this. Why did men long to impress women with material things? She frequently grew frustrated with the worldliness of the human race, but never stopped to address it with anyone. She simply walked through life, hoping to meet kindred spirits while never making an effort towards this task. She had been lost in thought over everything and nothing and had hardly noticed when a particularly tall man stumbled past her. They made eye contact and she froze. It was no longer a perfect stranger’s face she was seeing, but one of her past. A few people became a sea of people in her mind, all taking the faces of people who had once done her harm. Her breathing became shallow and despite his close proximity to her, Noelle could not locate Warren in her moment of panic. She began scrambling to find him, all the while going further and further from him. By this point, she was shaking violently and her eyes were filled with terror, as if the memories that haunted her had truly happened all over.

As she stood quite a few yards from Warren, she couldn’t help wishing Austere was with her. He always knew what to do, and how to calm her down. As she clung to a pole, unable to regain her sanity, she thought about what he would tell her to do if he was here. She knew it was wishful thinking, but she couldn’t help imagining him stepping out of one of the buildings. He would be completely curious about what she was doing here, but he wouldn’t hesitate to help her upon seeing the terror in his eyes. Thinking about it made her significantly calmer, and while she was still violently shaking, her mind was clearer. The gap between fantasy and reality was much wider, and she could think rationally.

Not long after, Noelle found her way back to Warren. She was able to retrace her steps, at least the ones that she remembered from between massive holes in her memory. All she could recall was fear for many of the moments that led her from where she had been to where she stood. He was holding a pin in his hand, and if she hadn’t been so emotionally numb, she would have questioned his choice of purchase considering her head injury. She wondered if he could see the fear in her eyes, the shaking in her hands, the general shift in demeanor she had displayed. She wondered if it was as transparent as it felt, or if she was once again a different person to the world than she was in her heart. The battles she faced would always be fought alone.

Noelle rested on the bed, watching Warren with gentle eyes and an undetectable expression on her face. The entirety of the situation had caused her to feel nervous and even embarrassed, or perhaps more fearful of the fact that someone had discovered the secret which she kept so well-hidden. She watched him solemnly for several moments after he had spoken before nodding softly, her arms crossed over the shabby clothing she still wore in an attempt to alter her identity.

“Yes, I suppose you may.”

Her line of vision shifted to meet the window on the other side of the hall, and it grew increasingly distant. Her mind went from completely blank and numb to racing with emotions and thoughts and inner-turmoils, then back again. It was a vicious cycle that ate her alive, some nights more than others. This particular night was the worst she had felt in a long while, and nothing seemed to satiate the cycle nor the waves of emotion that vowed to break her. Yet, it wasn’t her thoughts but Warren’s words that seemed to do her in.

“What happened at the festival?” It was an earnest inquiry, one that was delivered with genuinity and concern in his tone and his eyes. Tears were streaming from hers and even still she held a quaint smile that pleaded for him to accept the answer ‘there is nothing wrong.’ However, she knew that answer was another word for lie, and she hated to lie to someone as earnest and caring as he. Warren seemed to be one of the few acquaintances she had in the castle who did not have an ulterior motive when interacting with her. He seemed to genuinely enjoy her presence, as insulting as that could feel at times.

“Nothing I may discuss,” she countered after a long period of silence. She had needed the time to find words that would not come out in choked sobs. Her teary gaze met his for only a second after she had composed herself, wiping her own tears off her face. Her head still pained her greatly and the emotions of the evening--panic, dread, and terror--had seemed to only increase the level of pain she felt exponentially. A pained silence reached them both again, exactly as they were: two pained hearts seeking solace for the most broken of hearts.

At last, he once again leaned forward towards her before withdrawing. Something about the care he put into his movements brought her a comfort she had never known. He seemed so genuinely concerned for her wellbeing, it was such a rarity in this position of prestige. She could see in his eyes the empathy he felt towards her, and how it had affected him, and she gently extended her hand to hold his. She watched his eyes softly before replying, “I extend my deepest apologies for putting you in a position to see me in that way.” Then, gently, she admitted, “typically that side of me is reserved for the seclusion of the night.”