Despite her best efforts, Pirouette could not help but worry about GarGar. Since leaving for the campaign against the rebels in the South, she’d not received a single letter from her fiance. It had been two weeks now without a word. The silence was even beginning to wear on the prime minister, who could be seen in the halls of the palace, wringing his hands and whispering to his band of secretaries.
Suddenly there was commotion outside Pirouette’s bedroom door. Both women and men could be heard shouting. There was a crash of something being broken. Then, without even being announced by her chamberlain, GarGar burst into her room, his uniform caked with mud, his face flushed with excitement. Extending his arms, he cried, “My love! I am back! Come, give me a kiss!”
Lightheaded from the shock of seeing GarGar, Pirouette swooned and grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself. Behind GarGar, a crowd of courtiers were pushing themselves into the room. “GarGar! GarGar! GarGar is home!” They shouted. GarGar rushed toward Pirouette, knelt and kissed her hand, and then rose, taking her into his arms. “Oh, my love,” was all he could say as he kissed her lips, not giving a jot that the room was filled with onlookers.
Pirouette pushed him away. “Promise me that once we are wed that we shall always be together,” she said evenly.