Voices assented lustily.
“Oron is a man,” said Iao “—and a conqueror and a king. All the rest is embellishment.”
In their chamber, Desdira sank onto a divan as Oron closed their door and stripped off his ceremonial armor and his tunic.
“It’s warm,” he commented.
Desdira smiled. “No, it must be you, my lord king.”
She uttered a long, relaxed sigh, then pulled off her glittering robe, kicked away her gilt sandals, and wiggled her toes comfortably. She looked at Oron as he stood before her, gazing at her, and she stood and walked lazily to him and went into his arms and kissed him long and lovingly. Then she kissed him again, winding her arms tightly around him and caressing his long hair. She sighed as their lips parted moistly, and she rested her cheek on his.
“I love you,” Desdira sa
