In Which Geneva Has Eleven Options and One Fate

January 16, 1157

It was well past midnight, she was acutely aware--yet somehow, Geneva could not sleep. Perhaps it was the flickering of the fire, or the soft glow of the candles on the bedside table, but Geneva had never been one to be kept awake by nearby lights; it had to be something else.

There was something strange about this bed. Geneva was used to a mattress that sagged in certain spots, worn down by the countless boughts of passionate fornication it had endured. This bed was as firm as a nun's--she would never be able to sleep here.

Or maybe it was just the sheer lack of man. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had to sleep alone, without a masculine form beside her, whether it be Roderick's or Aldhein's, Dalston's or Lonriad's. Yes, that had to be it... she just wasn't the sort of person who was comfortable with such a large bed all to herself. She liked to share.

But of course, right then and there, there was no one she could share with.

Or is there? she thought to herself as she pulled herself out of bed and began her entranced pilgrimage to the door.

It was only now that she remembered that she had not been the only one to come to this wedding unaccompanied. She had several men at her disposal, perhaps too many to count...

Eleven. She had eleven options.

As she stepped into the corridor, she realized that fate had already made the decision for her. Oh yes, she had eleven options... but she could only ever take one of them.

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