Outside Denah's Room

Denah’s face was red hot, and she fought hard to keep the tears from falling down her face and staining her gown. She was breathing hard, and one of her handmaidens was fanning her face when there was a knock at the door. “Denah? I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to insult you, I swear.” “In what world would the comparison of a Countess and a peasant girl not be intended to insult?!” she shouted back. “I was never good with words, please, allow me to explain myself.” There was no answer, and he took that as permission. “It’s just that I’ve waited so long for a Queen and a son, I want nothing more than to have you as a wife, and to love you like my father loves my mother.”
Denah stomped to the door and whipped it open, catching Dixon off guard. He gave her his most charming smile, to which she responded with a sideways glance. “And if I never give you the son you so desperately desire?” Dixon looked at her with his mouth agape. “My love, don’t speak of such terrible things. With the history of our entire family, that is highly unlikely. Even if that were to happen, I wouldn’t love you any less.” Denah looked deep into his eyes in search of the truth. Both of their fathers were testaments to the hopeless romantic nature of the men in their family, why should he be any different? Her face softened, and he knew he was slowly but surely chipping away at her frosty exterior. “Please come back downstairs, we are the guests of honour.” Dixon held out his hand and mustered up the softest face he could. Denah rolled her eyes, put her hand in his, and allowed him to be lead her back to the party.