This was not strictly true; he had grumbled, and moaned, and tried to cajole her, finishing off his attempts at persuasion by fastening his mouth between her legs. While she had returned the favour, she was obdurate in her determination not to have sex quite yet. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was waiting for. Probably some last, still-sane corner of her brain wanted to protect her. But whatever the reason, she had not sealed her position as mistress, and palace gossip was afire at the fact that the princeling lay either with Hermione or alone. He had not (yet, anyway) sought out other companionship, and for that Hermione felt a secret, fiercely possessive gladness.