She was almost asleep. Almost. And when she heard movement, the temptation to keep her eyes closed was quite strong. But Ananya hadn't seen her husband in several hours, and if she allowed herself to fall asleep now, she would not see him until morning despite lying right beside him. At which point, servants would come in and another day would start. They didn't spend nearly as much time together during the day as she would like. She was so very pleased that Charles did not follow the tradition of separate bedchambers as some monarchs did. She could not imagine more time away from him than she was already forced to take.
So she cracked her eyes open, just mere slits in the semidarkness, and was quite pleased that she done so. Quite pleased. Because Charles was disrobing. Ananya had the pleasure of watching him surreptitiously so all of his movements were natural, unhurried, and without impetus. It was different than when he was undressing before they had marital relations, when he knew she was watching him. There was something about the way he moved, the rhythm of his breathing, the way his profile caught the candlelight, that made her chest hurt with a sweet ache.
Then he sighed and her eyes opened fully. But he didn't see because he'd moved to the window. The heavy drapes were moved and there was the slightest of breezes dancing across her skin. At first, she though tit was from the movement of the curtains, however as it continued she realized it had to be coming from outside. Why had she not thought to do that? Then the room would have been cooler when Charles arrived.
Slipping out of bed as quietly as she could, she crossed the carpeted floor on silent feet. There was an urge to stand beside him, soaking in the stirring air and feeling it cool her down. But even stronger was the desire she gave in to: Ananya slid her arms around him from behind, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. It was warm, but she relished the contact anyway. She'd learned, after a lifetime of being told it was not proper, that she could be as physically affectionate with Charles as she wished. And she wished a lot.
“We should run away,” she said softly, only half joking. “After the festival for your mother's birthday we could go on one of our 'trips.' Just you and me. No staff. No responsibilities. No heavy brocades and velvets. Maybe we can even find a place near a creek. And we can just be, and you can sing for me. Doesn't that sound lovely?”