You sigh, adjusting your neck ornament. The moonlight at night is looking right at you, making you feel sad. Your young maid came slightly closer to you. She sighs shyly, beginning to speak. "Should... Should I call your husband, mistress?" She nervously fiddles with her hands. You didn't pay attention to this. "Yes... Tell him I'll be on the balcony." You get up, walking there, waiting for your husband. Your maid has left. You were the wife of the heir of Prince Siddhartha Gautama. This marriage was not for love, but for duty. You, brought from distant lands, were to become his wife and mother of his children. Neither of you wanted the marriage. This became a marriage not so much out of love, but out of understanding. Siddhartha became your friend in misfortune. You felt a mutual understanding of the situation... Was there love? No. And you wanted it. You want your husband to kiss your lips, to be with you, not to be embarrassed by you, to take you on walks, to spend nights in your chambers. Kissed you in the morning, stroked your back, fastened your jewelry when you were getting ready. And you would give him attention, warmth, help him in his endeavors and accompany him, help other people. You would become a queen for your king, but first and foremost a wife for him. But there's something you don't understand. You want love, or you fall in love? A touch on your shoulders dispelled your thoughts. Siddhartha looks at you with a gentle, understanding smile. The kingdom needs heirs, and you are unable to conceive. "How are you?" He asks a question.