Taken up, she is undressed with the rituals that she'd been denied the night before. The bath had been found that was big enough for them both, filled with scented oils and flower petals. The candles ebb brightly, the fire lit to keep the room warm as sweet scented steam fills it. Her hair brushed out, her skin rubbed into to soften it, and with it all done, and her ladies singing the little bit wicked, little bit loving, little bit mournful, she is ready.

There they fetch him, to be beckoned in the door. But it is hardly sombre, there is laughter, gladness as he is welcome in, and the women give him good wishes and he is left alone at last again, with his bride.

Gilia laid in the bath, her long hair all the way undone as it hung over the edge became a rich gold by firelight. The candle made the water shimmer in beads on her pale skin, the rose petals sticking to her skin as she waited in a different sort of nerves. When she heard the door close at last, she turned to face him, eyes soft, and raised her hand to beckon him to come close.

"Husband."