Enter the Miller's house

You find the door to the Miller's house, as the guard hinted, not as securely barred as should be. With a gentle push, you slip inside. The interior smells of milled grain and dried lavender. A single candle flickers on a small table, casting long, dancing shadows. There, sitting at the table in a simple nightgown, is Miller’s wife.

Upon seeing a stranger invade the house, she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth but she doesn't scream. She takes in your stature, the fine cut of your travel-worn clothes, and the unmistakable air of authority that no simple cloak can hide.

"You... you aren't my husband," she whispers, her eyes wide. She looks you up and down, her fear quickly replaced by curiosity. "And you aren't a thief. No thief walks with his chin that high or carries a purse that heavy."

In the dim light, you see she is far from the dowdy housewife you might have expected. She has a soft, inviting curve to her jaw and deep, dark eyes. She She is, quite simply, a very handsome woman, which boggles the mind why her husband is out there instead of in her.

No matter, his loss.

You take a slow, deliberate step into the circle of candlelight. "I am here to share for the bed with you," you say.

She bristles slightly, though she doesn't retreat. "A bold claim for a stranger in the dead of night."

"Is it?" You offer a cold, knowing smirk. "We both know where your husband is. At this very moment, he is having fun with a skank He won't be back until the sun is high, and there is no one here to stop me from defiling your honor."

The mention of her husband's infidelity hits home. A flash of resentment crosses her features, followed by a slow, simmering heat as she looks back at you, a young, powerful noble standing in her kitchen, about to defile her.