She smiled at him, and it was a happy and joyous smile, and it lit up her entire face (Miksa was, obviously, not about holding things back). The tears staining his cheeks and the redness of his eyes, it was good, and she let go of his hand and she cupped his cheeks and kissed him once - a companionable kiss, nothing more than that. They had just met, yes, but this release for him, it felt right and good and needed, and she pulled back, and she laughed warmly.
"You may thank me," she said imperiously; queen of all she surveyed.