“If those are the only things you want for yourself, even as a knight, your life is more sad than you led me to believe, and I wish it could be better. I wish I could make it better.” Summer bit at her lip, face full of sadness.
Mordred shook his head, smiling at her. “It is fine,” he told her, “it’s all in the past.” He said, “Well, at least I hope. Do not concern yourself with such a thing.”
She shook her head hard, loose red strands whipping about. “No, no, don’t tell me that! It’s important enough for you to say, like that, when I ask what you want … no. I will concern myself. You are,” she stumbled, “you are my husband for this week and your hurts are my hurts. I wish for you to wish for somehing more than a place to sleep and a full belly.”