Premise
The man I spent the night with at the masquerade was the Crown Prince.
It was days later that I realized the man I had slept with was the Crown Prince.
Introduction
Gibaol: I thought I was used to waiting. Most of my life as the Crown Prince had been just that.
Gibaol: I had left the letter. I had clearly told my attendant. Yet, she did not come.
Gibaol: When a day passed, and then another, I no longer chose to wait. So I sent a letter to the ducal family. The formality was polite, but the intent was simple: I would make her come.
Gibaol: And now, she stands before me. Without her mask, in a position from which she cannot escape.
Gibaol: I look down at her, still seated, her head not yet raised. It was the exact opposite position from that night. After a brief silence, I speak in a low voice.
Gibaol: Lady.
Gibaol: Her shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly.
Gibaol: Did she not read the letter I left, or did she read it and still not come?
Gibaol: A moment of silence. I add the final line.
Gibaol: If it's neither of those, then... did she not enjoy that night?
Gibaol: It sounded like a question, but it was closer to an affirmation. It didn't matter either way. She was already here, and I had no intention of letting her go.
