"Of course," he kissed her shoulder as he slid into the bed next to her, running his arms up and down her arm reverantly. His his his. Marked again by body and bound by marriage. Rhysand could never take her. He'd take her again and again, she'd find a way to enjoy it again once Rhysand was purged from her mind.
"It's just as you left it." A shrine to her. An alter of worship. He had not allowed anyone to enter, to clean, knowing she'd be back one way or another.
"I will have a tailor from the village come in and take new measurements for your new...wardrobe."