It remains a mystery how Zagonnas mended the wooden bed; today, regardless of Cendrarsa's movements, the bed remains steadfast and immovable.
The drafts in the room have all been sealed, leaving Cendrarsa feeling less cold.
As Cendrarsa touches the medicine bottle beneath the pillow, the temptation to drink it directly into the blankets arises, indulging in a shared intoxication and reverie. However, Cendrarsa hesitates, aware of the potential consequences she may not be able to bear.
With a soft sigh, Cendrarsa eventually releases the medicine bottle from her grasp.
"My lord, are you weary today?" Turning towards Zagonnas, Cendrarsa's voice is soft.
"Mm, a bit. Rest early," Zagonnas, possibly genuinely fatigued, lazily replies before closing his eyes.
In the dim moonlight, Cendrarsa gazes at Zagonnas' profile, struck by his handsome features—the moistness of his lips, the softness of his skin, the long lashes that rest upon his lower lids, his fair neck, and the slightly flushed earlobes...
Who could resist such allure?
"My lord, I cannot fall asleep," Cendrarsa confesses.
"Count sheep; you will drift off soon," Zagonnas advises, his eyes meeting Cendrarsa's gaze.
"Ah, one sheep, two sheep, three sheep, four..." Before reaching five, Zagonnas' eyes flutter open as he turns to behold Cendrarsa's desire-filled eyes, unmasked.
"In your mind, count silently," he suggests, seeing through her intentions.
"I cannot," Cendrarsa innocently admits, shaking her head.
Zagonnas observes her unabashed desire, torn between his identity and the fear of potential regret from her discovery of his true self.
"Close your eyes; sleep will come soon," Zagonnas softly advises, brushing Cendrarsa's eyes. As her lashes graze his palm, it feels like a leaf drifting onto a tranquil lake, creating subtle ripples.
Upon retracting his hand, Cendrarsa's eyes, previously closed by him, flutter open.
"My lord, if you're tired, you should sleep first," she says, concealing her thoughts of conceding defeat if she fails to entice him tonight.
With a simple acknowledgement from Zagonnas, he adjusts his position, facing the window, feigning sleep once more. However, a chill at his waist prompts a request for warmth from Cendrarsa.
Not only does she reach out her hand but explains as well.
Zagonnas caught off guard, grunts faintly, pretending to be on the verge of slumber.
Little did he anticipate her wandering hand—first at the waist, then the abdomen, and finally...
Just as she nearly makes contact, Zagonnas seizes her hand.
"Rest it on my chest; it's warmer there," he insists, keeping her hand nestled against his chest beneath the covers to prevent further mischief.
"Indeed, it is warmer here," Cendrarsa stifles a chuckle, her hand motionless as she edges closer, her front pressing gently against his back, her face near his nape.
Though her hand is cold, her breath is warm, creating a juxtaposition of sensations that threatens to drive Zagonnas to the brink.
After a moment of contemplation, Zagonnas finally turns around.
"My lady, I believe we need more time between us," he states, dampening Cendrarsa's earlier spirits.
Why the need for time when they are already wedded—what difference does a day make?
Biting her lip, Cendrarsa retrieves her hand, rolling away from Zagonnas and purposely distancing herself from the bed.
As the embrace empties, Zagonnas senses a void within himself, recognizing her likely discontent through the subtle rise and fall of her slender shoulders.
"My lady?" Zagonnas softly calls out, receiving no response from Cendrarsa.
"Are you asleep, my lady?" Zagonnas tries again, met with silence.
"Yes, I am asleep. Rest now," Cendrarsa answers herself before turning away, both lying back-to-back.
Yet as Zagonnas attempts to close his eyes and suppress his thoughts to drift off to sleep, he finds himself reminiscing about the sensation of her touch on his waist moments ago.
Her touch is so soft, delicate, and cool...
She had nearly...
The power of vivid imagination lies in its ability to entice one into realms not yet explored.
Maintaining purity for twenty-five years, Zagonnas finds himself on the verge of madness due to these fantasies.
His breathing grows heavy, his restlessness is unprecedented.
Summoning his resolve, Zagonnas considers retreating to the study to sleep, but what about her—would she feel cold alone? Moreover, as newlyweds, what would she think if he left her alone? How should this night unfold?
"If you cannot sleep, go to the study," Cendrarsa's cool voice suddenly resonates, stirring within Zagonnas a tumultuous mix of frustration.
A moment of hesitation, and then Zagonnas slowly turns his body.
"I thought you were asleep."
"Mm."
"My lady, would you turn around? I wish to see you."
"No, we're moving too fast; it's not appropriate."
Zagonnas: "..."
Zagonnas: "Are you angry?"
"No," Cendrarsa responds, her voice slightly choked up at the word. She regrets not simply sprinkling the 'sexual drug' on the bed and avoiding the anger she feels now.
Sensing her tearful state, Zagonnas feels uneasy.
She, usually proud and assertive, had taken the initiative to engage with him intimately, and he, in his muddled state, was now complicating matters needlessly.
As husband and wife, bound by ceremony and vows, the consummation should have taken place during the wedding night. Yet today, not only did he fail to perform adequately, but he also made her cry.
He was truly... wretched!
Realizing these thoughts, Zagonnas extends his arm to draw his coy wife snuggled within the bedcovers back into his embrace.
Witnessing her lack of resistance, Zagonnas presses his lips against her fair and delicate nape, planting a gentle kiss.
With just one kiss, Cendrarsa's heart races.
Subsequently, the hand embracing her waist deftly loosens the ties of her inner garment.
"My lady, you smell divine—sage, rosemary, lavender, cherry..."
At this moment, Zagonnas encircles Cendrarsa within his embrace, showering her with affection while mentioning the herbs within the 'sexual drug.'"