He was at war with his mind. He'd need to sleep with Tatiana, but to do so he'd need to be able to look like he was enjoying it, and he wasn't sure how it would be possible. It wasn't even that she was a woman—he'd slept with women before, reached a climax while sleeping with women—but that it was her. "Yes," he answered, "and it's never been—great, but—it's—she moved in with us when she was nine. Can you imagine?"" He sounded miserable when he spoke, but it was only half of it. He knew he was no saint; he'd slept with Arthur, who like Tatiana was his cousin, but he was older than Valerian and they hadn't spent years living in the same household. Tatiana being a woman didn't help matters, but it wasn't the crux of the issue.

As if to try to push the thoughts from his mind, he brought his hands up, running them through Greengrass' curls. He pressed his lips against the top of Greengrass' head, holding them there, desperately trying to find comfort from his thoughts. "I wish I didn't have to marry," he murmured, turning his head to the side again. It was not a sentiment he'd ever expressed before; in fact, he'd always been insistent that he did want to marry. But that was before it was a concept in his mind—him, a wife he was fond of but didn't have to bother much with, and half a dozen little children. Now, it was a reality, and it was scary as much as he hated to admit it.

---