Genevieve was admiring the threadwork of his garb, the color choices, the way the light reflected off the stitches. Anything to keep her from looking at his face, for she knew if she did she would kiss him. As unaware of the...struggle the king was having with their proximity as she was, Genevieve was dealing with her own. His body heat, his smell, his strength. Just this morning she had chastised herself for 'throwing' herself at the king and here she was wanting to do it again! Genevieve felt an incredible thirst and her cursed gown trapped in heat. She could feel her temperature rising. It certainly didn't help to feel his arms around her. Imprudent thoughts swam in her mind's eye and Genevieve's blush reddened not only her face, but her lower neck and bared shoulders.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"I have endured many portraits. This one will be easier because even if you faint I can still hold you and the painter will be able to finish his work.”</span><br/><br/>Genevieve let out a long, slow breath. Her heart fluttered at the sound of his voice and the recalled the helplessness it held the last time he had said her name. Why, in God's name, was she reacting this way?? She had had many suitors and was no stranger to courting, but NOTHING had ever made her feel so...incapable. Incapable of controlling herself, or her emotions. It all began her first night: he took her by the arm and corrected her. She wanted to kiss him then and there, but couldn't admit it to herself. Would it have been different if he had been wrong? Surely. She had known suitors to assert themselves with her, but purely for dominance. He had done so only to get his point across and it had worked.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Sire..! Your nose!”</span><br/><br/>Genevieve looked up in alarm, her eyes widening. "You're bleeding." Her words were breathless and she broke contact to sit in a chair, fanning herself with her hand as one of her ladies maids approached the King with a handkerchief. With some distance between them, Genevieve's head began to clear. This was only a portrait. She'd had portraits done before. They were either with family, or alone, but that was beside the point. She was acting like a child. "I.. I'm thirsty." Her mouth felt dry. "Water, please. I need some water." Her other ladies maid brought her a glass from a pitcher that sat on a table in the corner. When had that got there? In those few moments with the king, everything else seemed to disappear. "Thank you." Genevieve barely got the words out before she gulped down the contents of her cup.