bulllordem:

“We ought.” He responds. To the arousal chord that his Queen’s husky tone strikes on him, the King adds, “We must, Pasiphae!”, with a voice that is coarser than normal.  

“But what is it?” Her words like a bird briskly fleeing.

The Queen is the only person in court with whom the King has ever shared his gruesome visions. Just now, wishing he hadn’t. For the sake of preserving their sacred night. From which she might flinch. 

As if his vision could cloud the favorable moon designated by the High Priestess. Could it?