The next few days proved rather strange in subtle ways. Ma, sticking to their word, shared happier stories with Sammy and Julie. Just that these happier stories involved rather vivid imagery and starred women who temporarily lacked clothing, needing an especially close embrace to stay warm.

By itself, those stories weren’t so strange, nor was it strange for Sammy to occasionally ask Julie for some time alone, but Julie couldn’t remember this happening day after day. In the past, it had been so infrequent she barely remembered—maybe once or twice a week.

However, Julie didn’t mind as she rather needed to settle her emotions. Since that childishness the other morning, she was painfully conscious of Sammy, of everything Sammy said and did and even her smell and the taste of her lips and softness of her skin. It didn’t help that, when Ma shared their stories, Julie could imagine it was herself and Sammy doing some of those things, her body knowing those parts of Sammy.

And what intensified Julie’s consciousness into pain was not knowing some parts of Sammy. They were both women, but she found that touching those places on her body only made her ache to learn how Sammy’s felt. Washing Sammy’s back had become torturous, her hands desperate to explore farther, worse yet because she knew Sammy would welcome their exploration.

The problem was that Julie didn’t want to be selfish, but, knowing how unfulfilling she found her own body, struggled to believe Sammy would truly want to touch her. Finding the words to express that had proven difficult. It was hard for her to think of how to say it that didn’t just sound like she didn’t want Sammy to touch her. Because the truth was that she did, that she even tried using silk clothing to imagine how wonderful Sammy’s soft fingertips would feel.

As something of the all-knowing wiseperson of the group, Ma found this situation endlessly entertaining. While they didn’t know the exact details, they watched the growing frustrations of wife and wife, and noticed that one wife tended to look less frustrated when she arrived late for breakfast, and the other wife, while somewhat masculine in dress and build, became so shy during their stories. It didn’t occur to them that Sammy and Julie could be wife and wife without consummating the marriage, instead making use of a rather vivid imagination fuelled by their own previous experiences.

These strange days culminated one evening. In the midafternoon, strong winds tugged along dark clouds, already a dribble of rain, icy cold amidst the otherwise warmer days of spring.

Speaking Lapdosian, Ma said, “We might be forced to camp—there isn’t a village for another hour or so.”

Sammy’s gaze swept across the gently rolling hills, noticing that one area was more raised. “Is there a… castle there?” she asked, gesturing.

Ma followed where Sammy pointed and pulled out some memories, working on an answer. “I think there is an estate, but, to be honest, I would rather camp here than sit in a stable, soaking wet.”

With a slight smile and a convincing tone, Sammy said, “I am sure we will be honoured guests.”

While Ma had their doubts, Sammy spoke to Julie and wife and wife were in agreement. Well, Ma had been paid worse to sleep in worse conditions, so they left those doubts behind.

The downpour held off for most of their trip, aided by horses that, even after a morning travelling, still gladly trotted. Unfortunately, when the torrential rain did begin, it wasn’t like they could bid their horses gallop and risk an accident.

So it was that three soaked travellers arrived at the gates to a sprawling estate.

While that day in Sonlettier had been fun in its own way, Sammy ensured a warm welcome. Ma had a loose idea what Sammy had said, but Julie didn’t know at all, only that it sounded like another language.

Sammy said to her companions, “I simply asked for shelter.”

Ma snorted. “Your Hwang-ben sound like… natural?” they said.

Leaning in closer to Julie, Sammy whispered, “Well, if they think a foreigner who can speak their royal language fluently is a diplomat, it wouldn’t be our place to correct them.”

Julie chuckled, very much satisfied by such a Sammy explanation.

The estate was made up of many buildings, some so close together that they really should have just been one building, linked together by covered walkways that were broad enough that they would stay dry except in heavy winds. The buildings were mostly one storey and only the central one was three storeys, each floor up smaller such that that third storey was a single, albeit large, room.

They were led to a guest quarters. When they arrived, maids were already ready to help, holding fresh clothes and towels. Given Ma’s personal situation, though, Sammy thought it prudent to talk them down to providing those things and not assisting with changing or bathing, but she had to leave that up to Ma as Ma was the one who spoke Wegogoa. So Ma told the maids Schtish people were rather shy and themself was too lowly for such hospitality.

However, there was time for entertainment—plenty of time.

Shortly after they had all bathed and changed, a maid announced the arrival of, in Hwang-ben, the Little Princess. To some, that might have been an alarming title, making them think they had stumbled across a king’s estate. Fortunately, Sammy knew that the title of Little Princess was reserved for the crown prince’s eldest daughter, but only if there was at least one brother to inherit; in the case the crown prince had only daughters, her title would be Little Princess Apparent.

Whether or not this was clear to Ma, Sammy didn’t know, but Ma certainly seemed panicked by this news. “Do I say them we sick?” they said.

Sammy held a small smile. “You may rest,” she said, standing up. “Julie and I shall entertain the Little Princess.”

“Is that a good idea?” Ma asked with very genuine unsurety.

“Trust me.”

Whether or not Ma did, they watched Sammy and Julie leave the lounge of the guest quarters, then turned to the pair of maids attending. “Got anything to drink that’s strong and cheap?” they asked in Wegogoa.

In the entranceway, Sammy found a young woman standing alone, the six maids with her a step behind. She was well-raised, which was not the same as being raised well. Sammy could tell at a glance that the Little Princess had been taught everything from posture to horse riding to calligraphy. After spending so much time observing the daughters of nobility, she knew intimately how people believed a woman should stand, what muscles horse riding strengthened. As for calligraphy, the Little Princess had a very faint ink stain on her palm, but a right-handed person wouldn’t have that from writing normally.

Hwang-ben was a very precise language. It didn’t simply have a word for your aunt, it had two: one for your father’s side, one for your mother’s; there technically was a third in case she was from both sides, but that tended to be used as an insult because of, well, the circumstances required.

“This-lowly-one greets their generous-host,” Sammy said, only bowing her head.

The Little Princess regarded the greeting with a detached look that eventually had her say, “It is custom to bow.”

“It is custom that this-lowly-one does not bow to any royalty but their own.” Sammy declined to mention that she never bowed to her own parents either, even though she was supposed to.

There was silence, the Little Princess staring at Sammy, until the corners of her mouths quirked in the slightest smile. “This-princess would be a poor-host to give charity and request duty.”

The other side of Hwang-ben: being an artificial language, it naturally lacked words for simple things that didn’t come up in its intended usage, at times clunky. If Sammy were to translate what the Little Princess had said to Schtish, it would be something like: “Be at ease,” or, “Make yourself at home.”

The literal translation was rather pompous and lacked context. After all, this wasn’t a princess greeting a diplomat, but a curious host, and their little interaction so far made it clear to Sammy how curious of a host they had.

So Sammy said, “This-lowly-one would be a poor-guest to request charity when not necessary.”

Julie watched the back-and-forth go on for a little longer, herself curious too. This language was strangely flat after talking to Ma so much and hearing the Alfen languages, yet the person Sammy spoke to didn’t look upset, and she heard that slight tone to Sammy’s voice that made her think her wife was being mischievous.

Well, it was more that Julie expected a certain amount of mischievousness when meeting someone new.

Once the two finished their conversation, the Little Princess set off, maids in tow, and Sammy tugged Julie along behind. Whispering, Sammy asked, “Would you like to hear me play the piano again?”

“Really? It’s been ages,” Julie said with a smile, then frowned in thought. “Do they have pianos here?”

“A coincidence, the, well, I suppose we would call her the Little Princess—she is an enthusiast of Hufen culture. In fact, she has the very piano I played as a child, which was given to her for her twelfth birthday.”

Julie nodded along, only to stumble once she went over what she’d just listened to. Ma’s earlier panic was now very understandable. “P-princess?” she whispered.

“Her father is the crown prince,” Sammy said, mistaking Julie’s reaction for curiosity.

That did not settle Julie, nor did their arrival at the central building help. Far from grand in size, it made up for it in splendour, air thick with incense and walls under strain from the countless artworks—Sammy pointed out the ones by Hufen artists, a few even coming from Schtat.

As if things weren’t surreal enough, the lounge they were led to truly lived up to its name, everyone removing their shoes and wearing instead slippers, the seating consisting of fabric bags filled with wool, like giant pillows. The Little Princess had Julie sit beside her, saying in broken Schtish, “Guest be comfortable.”

“Th-thank you,” Julie said, bowing deeply.

To which Sammy said in Hwang-ben, “That-lowly-guest does not follow custom.”

The Little Princess laughed at that, a single note, hand covering her mouth. It rather surprised Julie to see that, reminding her that Sammy had long ago laughed in the same way, and then she realised Sammy still laughed in that way, just not when it was only the two of them. A warm and gentle reminder, bringing a smile to her lips.

Warm and gentle became the theme for the late afternoon. As beautiful as Julie had always found Sammy’s playing, the design of the building meant the rain beat a heavy tattoo on the roof, which made such a wonderful accompaniment. The rain raced and slowed, quiet one moment and deafening the next, and Sammy matched it, danced along, the meandering notes wrapping up the cold percussion into something tender.

And how Julie wanted to dance along too, her breath quavering in her throat as she yearned to sing. There became an intense need, desire, to be involved, as if growing jealous of the rain’s duet with Sammy.

However, the Little Princess clapped between every song and sometimes hummed along, grounding Julie from giving in.

Sammy had some sense of this. Between songs, she glanced at her audience, eager to see her wife’s gentle expressions, at first bemused, later amused, by how expressive her wife had become, even if they weren’t expressions easily read.

Julie’s burgeoning feelings of jealousy continued after Sammy’s performance came to an end and the Little Princess drew Sammy into another talk. The small smiles, short laughs, even just seeing Sammy look at someone else—Julie struggled to remain calm, her hands itching. Eventually, her fidgeting brought her to Sammy’s side and she held her wife’s hand, only then finding that frustration settle.

That not exactly being subtle, the Little Princess chuckled behind her hand before saying to Sammy, “Your-partner must want honoured-guest very much.”

Which, in Schtish, would have been: “He really loves you.”

At least, Sammy was rather sure the Little Princess thought Julie was a man. Hwang-ben was less gendered than even other Alfen languages to the point it was difficult to state a gender at all. The only gendered words Sammy knew were for livestock—whether trading a cow or a bull was, apparently, an important distinction. Otherwise, it was supposed to be obvious by context: a man’s partner meant his wife.

This had been a topic of mild pondering for Sammy. In Hufen and Dworfen, she had nearly always corrected people on Julie’s gender, even though it was usually met by a kind of accepting disbelief. That was difficult in Alfen since the people tended to use equivalents of “they” when being polite or talking of mixed-gender groups. Sammy felt it was awfully presumptuous to correct people for thinking the wrong thing.

However, Sammy had her reasons for still wanting to do so. Whether or not Julie minded being misgendered, Sammy didn’t actually know (although she had some thoughts), but she didn’t want her own identity to be muddied. Being queer was important to her. For all her trips and stumbles and loneliness, she now had a wife.

And she wanted the world to know.

How wonderful it had been to find Pam, to hear of Amélie’s childish affection for her friend, to encounter Élise and learn of her grandmother, to read Sofia’s books and speak with Jeelyo of her friend—to say nothing of how informative Ma had been.

Sammy couldn’t put to words how important those people were for her current happiness, and she had met the real them through being honest about her queerness, making it easier for them to be honest in turn. A sense of belonging after she had spent years defending her feelings to herself.

She hoped those people felt at least a little better, a little braver, for having encountered her and Julie too.

So she said to the Little Princess, “This-one’s-partner is like a cow, not a bull.”

While the Little Princess slightly frowned at the strange thing to hear, Sammy turned to Julie with a look in her eye that Julie knew all too well. Without thinking, Julie tilted her chin up, mouth opening ever so slightly, looking through her lashes as her eyes almost closed.

And Sammy kissed her. It was not a peck on the lips, instead drawing Julie ever closer, her arms wrapped around her wife, which kept Julie standing when her legs started to give. Because, in Julie’s mind, she was keenly aware of how embarrassing it was to kiss her wife in front of a princess and maids, but the answer she came up with was to carry on until her desires overwhelmed her shyness. So she kissed her wife back with a desperation that her wife returned, intense and overwhelming, cutting the tension holding her up.

To the Little Princess Ayea, it looked like a scene from a romance novel, except that the roles were reversed with the wife dominating the husband. Then Sammy’s words echoed in her mind. It was like staring at a bizarre shadow and suddenly realising what made it, except that what made this shadow was even more bizarre than the shadow itself.

Yet Ayea couldn’t doubt her conclusion. From what little she could see of Julie—what little Sammy had let her see—the “husband” had looked so feminine, so delicate and gentle, so ready to accept being kissed. Ayea knew that, even if she was being misled, these two guests had a queer relationship to act like this, few men willing to be so emasculated—at least in front of others.

As for the maids, they enjoyed the show and couldn’t wait to gossip about it with their friends among the staff.

Once Sammy felt her point made, she ended the kiss. Well, she tried to, but Julie chased her lips. So Sammy had to pull her wife even closer such that their cheeks kissed instead. For a heartbeat, she worried Julie might nibble her ear, but—fortunately or not, she didn’t know—she only heard a sigh slip from Julie’s lips.

“What a lustful wife I have,” Sammy murmured to herself.

But Julie heard.

The situation ended with Sammy and Julie retiring for dinner, Sammy insisting no further hospitality was required. Ayea, still contemplating the “reveal”, offered no resistance, wishing the two-honoured-guests a good meal.

Once they were back in the guest quarters, Ma sent out the maids and anxiously asked, “Mrs Sammy, what you do?”

Sammy thought for a moment to question why Ma thought she had done something, but conceded that her smile was probably rather smug and the maids hadn’t been much better. “I informed the Little Princess that Julie was a woman and kissed her.”

Ma’s eyes bulged and they suddenly choked, yet still fought to whisper, “You kissed Little Princess?”

“No, I kissed my wife,” Sammy said, smile wry.

“Oh, that okay then,” Ma said. It seemed like they meant it too, calming down. However, after a few seconds, they started to laugh, covering their face with both hands.

“Pray tell, what is so funny?” Sammy asked.

“Wife and wife kiss in front of Little Princess,” Ma managed to say between chuckles. “What Little Princess think? She like it?”

The humour spread to Sammy; Julie wasn’t sure what was funny about princesses and queerness given that half of all the princesses she knew were very, very queer.

“Well,” Sammy said, keeping to an amused smiled, “she definitely has much to think about it.”

Feeling like they had missed out on the mischief, Ma asked, “You think she is like you?”

Sammy wasn’t sure if Ma meant the Little Princess was queer or if the Little Princess liked Sammy in a queer way, but answered anyway. “I… usually have a good sense for these things, but it felt more to me that… she found me curious. I would imagine that someone brought up so strictly enjoys these kinds of strange surprises.”

Once again, Julie was impressed at how naturally Sammy could frame an answer in such a way to perfectly leave out that she was a princess.

“Ah, yes, yes. I know that once,” Ma said, and they spoke with a certain tone and looked at wife and wife expectedly, breaking into a broad grin when wife and wife indulged them with a kiss. “She was a, mm, local lord?”

“Baron?” Sammy said.

“Yes, baron’s daughter,” Ma said, then continued on with their story of the tryst. Of particular note, they emphasised, “Always bring towel. Hay very poke and towel easy clean.”

Sammy nodded sagely—the romance books never mentioned that part.

Since Ma spoke in Schtish, they didn’t pause when the maids arrived with dinner, finishing the story between mouthfuls of food and sips of wine. The day long, none wished to linger after dinner either, one thing leading into the next until Sammy sat naked upon a stool, Julie gently washing her back.

Ma’s story lingered in their ears, the wine on their lips, and the earlier kiss in the minds.

Julie whispered, “Can we dance tonight?”

Smiling, Sammy whispered back, “Of course.”

Outside, the rain continued. It fell in a loud drumming upon the roofs, in tiny splashes where puddles pooled, and in gasps and curses when the wind blew it under the covered walkways or through open windows.

Ma watched with another cup of wine in hand, a warmed and sweet wine for helping with sleep. They liked rain. Water, they felt, was the most beautiful thing in the world. Powerful and gentle, fast and still, colourless and murky, forever taking the shape that came naturally, whether that was a single droplet or a great ocean or a long and winding river.

While Ma wasn’t particularly egotistical, they wished to be like if water filled an empty body. At times masculine, at times feminine, whatever the situation required. That was rather difficult since men’s bodies and women’s bodies were so different. Well, because of the different expectations for men’s and women’s bodies.

There had been a few times when, getting to know a woman, Ma had taken on a more feminine role. Those were very beautiful moments to Ma because they had felt so natural. Passion, they had found, had no roles or rules and was best indulged. If a woman wanted Ma to be underneath her, Ma happily obliged. Ma was like water, taking on whatever shape the woman they were with desired them to be.

It was that reason why Ma was so intensely envious of wife and wife. It was not an unpleasant envy, instead like admiration, the kind of envy from someone who deeply and intimately wanted the same thing for themself. Ma was not without their own desires. However, until they found someone who accepted them for who they were, they had learned to deal with those desires on their own.

Wife and wife gave Ma hope. They hoped to one day find someone with whom their water could mix, entwined and inseparable.

Watching the rain, Ma took another sip of wine, smiling softly to themself. “Wife is such pretty word,” they muttered in Schtish.

The rain continued late, at times heavy and other times a trickle, never quite stopping until the middle of the night passed. Still, the ground had turned to mud and the air held such a pleasant scent and those awake found every breath refreshing.

These lingerings were also part of why Ma liked the rain. And when wife and wife left their room for breakfast in the morning, Ma couldn’t help the knowing smile. “Wife and wife sleep well?” they asked.

Julie had an unusual shyness, as if hiding behind Sammy, while Sammy said, “We did. The rain was rather soothing.”