The bath is more luxurious than I expected, with the smooth stone and scented oils caressing my skin, and above me a faded mural of the stars. My tired muscles relax in the hot water, and I don't really mind that it isn't fresh. He wasn't exactly filthy.

My mind wanders to the day, the new situation of my life finally settling in. I've married not one, but two strangers, and I don't know what to make of either of them. I've met five people in the space of a single day, all of whom I'll see quite frequently from here on out, yet somehow not one of them seems in any way normal. I feel as though I've dropped out of my own world and into another.

Of all of them, Nora seems the most likely ally, despite her attachments to Shay and Quin. I ought to befriend her as soon as possible. Perhaps that will deflect any further ill will from the men. Or make matters worse, if they believe I'm using her. I sigh, watching the water ripple around my knees. Sheo might look out for me, if there wasn't the small issue of his inability to do anything half of the time. I’m also not entirely sure what he expects from me, as a wife or otherwise, and at this point it’s impossible to tell if can be trusted in the first place. Anyway, I shouldn't need to rely on anyone. It's more than I bargained for, but I'm up to the task. I have to be.

"Alright, pearl?"

His voice startles me, and only then do I realize I've been soaking for quite some time. My fingers have gone all wrinkly. Unsightly. Not to mention unhealthy.

"Yes," I answer back through the door, standing up and grabbing for one of the linens laid out for me.

"Watch your step," he warns nearly exactly as I slip on the stone floor outside the tub. I land hard on my bottom with a yelp.

There's barely time to pull the towel over myself before the door swings open. I flush scarlet, more from embarrassment at having slipped so spectacularly than of being practically naked in front of him. His expression is somewhere between concern and amusement as he glances me over, and I'm not sure whether he's about to laugh or chide me for my carelessness.

"If you knew about it, why don't you put a rug down!" I huff in frustration, trying to clamber to my feet without exposing myself further or slipping again.

"It's the oils. I forgot you'd use them. We'll get something for the floor, so calm down and dry off." He offers me an arm, and I regretfully latch onto it, wondering bitterly where Nora's got to. Granted, I told her I didn't need assistance bathing. I really need to stop dismissing her so readily. It doesn't escape my attention, though, that Sheo hasn't blamed her for the oversight.

Sliding around like it's my first time on ice as more water pools around my feet, halfway to the dressing table I drop the cloth in favor of grabbing onto him with both hands. For gods sakes, maybe I should have just walked on that. It's a moment before realization dawns on me. This time I feel myself blanch, and I'm not sure whether to pull away from where I've fallen flush against his side, or continue to use his sleeve to block the view. It's all very ridiculous, because this man is in fact my husband and there's no one else around, but I can't help the feeling of panic that grips me.

I venture an upward glance and see a look of genuine surprise on his face. His eyes lock with mine, and for just a second I'm sure his gaze is going to lower, but then with a chuckle he looks away. "Never a dull moment," he murmurs, and reaches for a fresh linen from a shelf. Once I'm finally seated, he leaves my side and goes to stand in the doorway with his back to me.

"Your rear okay?" he inquires with a bit of a laugh.

I want to throw the bottle of oil at him. In truth, my bottom is completely numb, and it feels like my spine was knocked out of place. I'll probably feel the worst of it tomorrow.

"I'm fine."

I don't think I've broken anything.

Since by now it's evening, I put on one of my dressing gowns. I sort of miss the oversized robe of last night. Why are men's clothes so much more comfortable? When I stop where he's blocking the door, he turns to face me. After a pause, he simply comments, "Your hair is too wet." Though he doesn't seem to be looking at my hair. "Go sit by the fire."

Strange, to hear the words 'too wet' from the god of water. I suppose after all these years in a mortal body he's learned a thing or two about the fragility of humans when it comes to the element. We're really not that fragile, though. Nodding, I go to sit down on the chaise lounge.

Already, it's painful to walk and more so to sit. I groan inwardly. It's going to be tiresome trying to hide my waddling from Quin, and especially Shay, who probably would derive some sadistic pleasure from my absurd affliction. I'm certain Nora will only apologize incessantly. Maybe I can fake illness and stay in bed tomorrow. Then I won't have to talk to Quin, either… it's quite a tempting plan.

And one Sheo apparently has also thought of.

"You should take some books and stay in bed tomorrow," he says as he sits beside me and turns me by the shoulders to face away from him, "if you're lucky, he'll feel guilty about it."

I'm about to ask why Quin should feel responsible, but then I remember that he assumes Sheo is a perverse monster. I wrinkle my nose at the insinuation. Now I'm not sure I want Quin to suspect anything is wrong with me at all. How humiliating… Anyway, I'd rather not become a game piece between the two. No more than I already am.

Troubled thoughts come to an abrupt halt as fingers gently catch the hair at either side of my face and draw it back over my shoulders, where he wraps it in a towel and presses out the remaining water. Normally, this is something my maid should do, but I honestly don't want him to hand the task over.

Though I didn't expect to feel the line of a comb press against the fabric over my no longer numb bottom. For the briefest moment, I'm intensely thankful that my hair is that long, though just as quickly I feel guilty for thinking something like that when he's been so decent with me. Or maybe he knows how this is making me squirm inside. I’m almost positive he knows.

The gentle drag of the comb climbs steadily higher as he works through the tangles, and all the tension I've built up since stepping out of the bath melts back to nothing. The fact that he's obviously done this many times before doesn't seem to matter. My eyes drift closed and I wobble a bit, only to be startled awake again by a jolt of pain in my bruised posterior.

"Here, lie down," his voice is softer than before, like music, and sleepily I oblige when he draws me across his lap. I’m far too blissfully content to think about what I'm doing. The comb continues its steady card through my curls, and sleep becomes more and more irresistible. I'm barely conscious when he eventually puts down the comb and slides his fingers against my scalp, drawing them out through the length of my hair, smoothing and arranging locks over the fabric on my outstretched back. Soon I'm completely melted into the warmth beneath me, drifted into oblivion.

My eyes open at the click of an unfamiliar door, and I see a figure approaching in the firelight. It's Nora, carrying a tray and looking as though she's just been face to face with a lion. I blink blearily at her, and move to sit up. A sharp pain reminds me forcefully of… wait, but if that happened, how did I get here in my own room?

"The Master carried you down," Nora supplies, "Please remain in bed, milady. I've brought your dinner so you needn't get up. His lordship says you've had a slip on the stairs and might be rather sore."

Oh, so that's why she looks so scared. She's had to speak directly to Sheo, who apparently terrifies her to a level rivaling Shay's seemingly endless fountain of hate. I'm not sure I'll ever understand either of them, but at least Nora isn't scared of me. As scared, anyway.

"How long have I been sleeping, Nora?"

She shakes her head, pale wisps quivering at either side of her face, "I don't know, milady, the Master only just left."

I glance at the timepiece on the mantle. 12:03 am. It couldn't have been later than 9 when I'd dozed off. Was I asleep on him for three hours? Well, anything I might want to say to him will have to wait a full day now. I feel a bit miffed, but ultimately grateful that he's apparently lied for me about the washroom incident, and I won't have to endure any distasteful assumptions about my indisposition. In the end, it was my fault for falling asleep, so I can't really blame him for not waking me.

Or was it?

I have my hair brushed by someone else nearly daily, and it's never turned me to jelly before. Is it because he's a man, or is it him in particular? The word 'siren' pops into my head with a tinge of alarm, but it's just as soon dismissed as I recall that his godly powers are supposedly sealed. Maybe it’s just that I was comfortable after some stressful events. Either way, it feels as though there's something about the incident I can't remember. I suppose in the end it doesn’t much matter what did or didn’t happen, but I would at least like to have my wits about me next time I lay all over him in just a dressing gown and nothing underneath. I really need to get a hold of myself.