*Rosalind*
"Will you give me a tour of your residence?" I ask, wrapped in his silk dressing gown, my back against a mound of pillows at the headboard. Over my lap, a tray holds an assortment of dishes and delicacies.
A small army of servants has delivered an abundance of food, setting it all on a long table against a wall. He and I could stay in this room for a week and not go hungry. I'm torn between expressing amazement at the lavishness and anger for all the times I have gone hungry while those with wealth let so much go to waste.
Stretched across the foot of the bed, wearing nothing except trousers and a loose shirt, he finishes chewing the tiniest pie I have ever seen. "If you like."
"Does it have a name?" The posh always name their residences.
"Nightriver Palace, after my family
