In Which Octavius Wants One Thing

March 19, 1155

Of the four castles in Naroni, his had the largest chapel, Octavius, Baron of Tetran, had noticed; now, if only he had a priest. But of course, even the old church had no priest yet, and it didn't feel right to send for a personal priest when there wasn't yet one for the community. He would just have to be content to worship on his own for now, although he didn't doubt he'd have a long list of sins to confess when a priest did come along.

Octavius pulled himself to his feet and approached the makeshift alter, into the flickering flames of the candles set upon it. He took a deep breath, then began to pray.

However, he was interrupted by the sound of the chapel door creaking open, followed by the light feminine footsteps upon the crimson rug and the scent of a sickly sweet perfume.

It could only be his wife, Medea, back from a morning spent with the queen. Holding back a sigh with some difficulty, Octavius raised one hand to his temple; her fragrance had never been particularly kind to his head.

They had been married for a good three years--the longest three years of his twenty-five. True, each spent little of their time in the other's presence, so in some ways, it was almost as if they weren't married at all. Of course, they did have to spend some time together, and each time, Octavius could count on finding at least one more thing they didn't agree on; he was fairly certain that if he told her that spring grass was green, she would scream for all the world to hear that it was, in fact, a particularly vibrant shade of pink.

Octavius was a very patient man. He could put up with a woman who would never say a kind word to him, if he had to. He was willing to endure fight after fight, argument after argument, insult after insult. There was only one thing he wanted from her, one thing she could give him that would make him happier than any other man on earth, and that was the one thing she insisted on denying him time after time.

She was now standing beside him; he tried to mask his discomfort by scratching his beard. That damned perfume kept tickling his nostrils, as if daring him to look at her. He chanced a quick, subtle glance to his right. She was smiling, for once--of course, he had no idea what this meant.

"Praying for a baby again, I presume?" she inquired, as if trying to make herself noticed. Octavius braced himself; she only ever asked him questions in order to provoke him.

This time, however, her voice sounded somewhat different. Considering how she normally spoke to him, anything different would surely be better.

"I have everything else I could possibly want," Octavius answered truthfully as they faced each other. "Therefore, I pray for that which I want most."

A son. Or a daughter. That was all he could ask for, all he needed. Yet, he and his wife had not lain together since their wedding night.

The baroness, however, seemed to be of a different opinion once again.

"Well, if you want a baby, you would be better served asking me than asking the Lord," she snapped at him, her eyebrows slanting angrily and her mouth curling into an ugly scowl, "and my answer is no."

Once more, his heart sank. "But Medea... don't you want children?"

"No," she replied promptly, her blue eyes narrowed. "Not with you."

"But I am your husband!" protested Octavius. It wasn't long before he realized his mistake; he knew she was about to start yelling.

"Not by my own choice, let me remind you! It should have been enough that my younger sister married before me, but then, just to add insult to injury, my father gave me to the eighth son of a lesser lord while she got a prince. A prince! And not just any bloody prince--Oswald himself, Crown Prince of Dovia!"

Octavius shook his head. "Medea, dearest, we are no longer in Dovia. We are in Naroni, and here, I am a baron. Oswald and Athalia have no power here at all!"

"Here?" Medea sneered. "Here? Open your eyes, you fool--there is nothing here! It makes no different whether you call yourself a baron or a farmer or the Lord God Himself! You are the eighth son of a barely noble family; by all means you should be rotting away in some monastery, not married to a daughter of kings!"

He knew she would not stop at that; he had heard all she had to say only too many times.

"I see," he sighed. "I'm going to go get some fresh air."

"Good."

Octavius felt lower than the poorest of serfs as he trudged out of the chapel, leaving his wife behind at the alter--the very thing she would have preferred to have done to him three years earlier.

He would never have a child. His wife would never go to bed with him again. Those two thoughts where all his mind could hold as he absent-mindedly made his way through the castle foyer and onto the grounds. These grounds, he supposed, were not meant for children anyway; they had no walls, meaning that children could get out, and strangers could get in. Fitting that Roderick would give him Tetran, really.

"Excuse me, my lord."

In his grief, Octavius had failed to notice the raven-haired man who had just approached him from the side. Exactly how long the man had been in his presence, he had no idea; he decided to feign interest in apology. "I'm terribly sorry. How can I help you, good sir?"

The man raised his right arm and pointed his thumb southwards, toward Veldora. "Could you possibly tell me who is the lord of that castle to the south?"

"Unfortunately, there is no lord in that shire currently," Octavius informed him, all the while studying his new acquaintance. His dress and manner were much too fine for a peasant, perhaps too fine for even a gentleman, but all the same, he didn't feel like a noble. The ambiguity of his class, however, seemed to make him a little more of a mystery, which was exactly what Octavius needed to take his mind off his marriage.

"Damn," the stranger swore. "Well, could you tell me who resides there, then, while there is no lord? I have been traveling on foot for about a week or so, and my wife is with child, so I must speak with whoever dwells in that castle as soon as possible."

Octavius bit his lip. Roderick was already a father, and would be one again. Dalston too would soon be a father, as was the case with this man. Was he the only man in Naroni whose wife would never give him a child?

"Indeed, traveler. That would be nobody."

"Nobody. I see," the man mused. "Thank you for your assistance, my good lord. Now, I'd love to stay and chat, but if you'll please excuse me, I must hurry off to see this Nobody you speak of. God be with you!"

He began to walk away, in the direction of Veldora. Octavius simply stared after him, feeling the envy fester inside his heart. He could not help but hate this man, just as he could not help but hate Roderick and Dalston. They all had or would have the one thing he wanted most--the one thing he could never have.

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