In Which Medea is Persuaded

October 25, 1155

"She certainly does have your eyes, Geneva," Medea told her friend as she cradled the baby in her arms. "They both do, for that matter."

Geneva smiled. "Well, let's face it--Roderick does not have the most beautiful eyes in all of Naroni. When they're old enough to understand the concept of beauty, they'll consider themselves lucky."

"I can already tell that Princess Learianna will be a lovely woman--Dalston's boy is very lucky that his only competition so far is her brother."

"Speaking of competition," sighed Geneva as she placed Ietrin on the floor, "when are you going to give my two a couple of sweethearts?"

Medea pursed her lips, determined not to let Geneva see her scowl. "Oh, but they already have a pair of sweethearts. I think Dalston would agree to have dear Leara marry Lornian, and Ietrin can marry Rahileine."

Taking her daughter from the baroness's arms, the queen shook her head. "Oh yes, I'm sure Roderick would be thrilled to have Severin's daughter as the next Queen of Naroni."

"Besides," she added, making her way over to the old cradle the steward had brought into Medea's room, "I want my babies to marry your babies."

Medea couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the idea. "Geneva, listen to reason; Octavius is only the eighth son of a lesser lord. You do not want your royal children married to his."

"But you are the daughter of an earl, and the blood of kings runs in you," replied Geneva stubbornly as she made herself comfortable on the bed. "And even with your husband's blood... well, like Severin says, it's all red, isn't it? He would know--he's half a gypsy, after all, and he married Alina of Valcria."

"Well, I suppose half an earl and a half a lesser lord does beat half a duke and half a gypsy," Medea admitted, settling beside her, "but chances are Dalston and Celina will have a daughter at some point. You don't have to worry about Ietrin marrying Rahileine."

Geneva stiffened. "Oh, listen to us, Medea! Talking about their marriages even though they can't even walk yet... surely they won't appreciate this."

"You sure didn't!" Medea laughed. "I must have pushed you down fifteen sets of stairs since we were thirteen!"

"Eighteen," Geneva corrected her. "Fortunately, neither my family nor Roderick's knew anything of that. If they did, I probably would have had to settle for Octavius."

Sighing, Medea shook her head. "You haven't even settled for Roderick yet."

"Dearest Medea, what are you talking about?" sighed the queen in mock ignorance.

"Oh, don't play the fool with me, Geneva!" she teased. "You already told me about the steward, remember?"

"Oh yes. Aldhein."

A fond smile appeared on her face for the briefest of moments. Then, her eyes narrowed. "Roderick has no reason to complain though, seeing as I've already given him two children. Besides, he has the stamina of a twelve-year-old boy--and about the size of one too, if you know what I mean."

"Geneva!" gasped Medea. "What a thing to say about your husband--much less, a king!"

"A woman can say what she likes about her husband and what lies beneath his clothing," insisted Geneva. Her eyes became alight with interest. "Now, tell me--how large or small is your husband's?"

She took a moment to think about that--only to realize she couldn't even remember.

The queen shook her head. "Please, Medea. I can accept Lornian as a son-in-law, but at least give me a pretty little girl for Ietrin. Please."

Those words lingered long after Geneva had left. All through the evening, they just kept running through Medea's head like a haunting melody, not a note or rhythm forgotten. It only could crescendo as she lay in bed, struggling in vain against the queen's symphony of a sentence for a few short hours of sleep.

She couldn't take it anymore; she had to make it stop.

Slowly, Medea pulled herself out of bed, her bare feet practically falling to the cold tile floor. Damn you, Geneva, she thought as she found herself standing. Damn you and your babies.

As if she were a woman possessed, she opened the door and left her bedroom, heading in the direction of her husband's study. Their castle was cold at night, she realized now; never before had she left the warmth of her own bed during the late hours.

Medea did not stop when she reached the study. No, there was another room beyond it, and it was this room that was her true destination. She felt as though her body was operating independently from her mind--she had sworn to herself that she would never set foot in this room.

She slammed the bedroom door shut behind her, waking the sleeping Octavius. She did not take her eyes off of him as he sat up, or even as he slid off the bed; she would not bear the shame of flinching at the sight of him.

Not wanting this to last any longer than it had to, Medea hastily undid her laces and slipped out of her nightgown, kicking it toward the wall in a rather undignified manner. She knew that such actions were unbefitting of a lady, but she could not have him thinking that she wanted this.

Unfortunately, it seemed he already did. His smile was that of a man who flattered himself by thinking he would merely be obliging her, all the while oblivious to the fact that he could not possibly impress her if he tried.

"Well, this is certainly an unexpected surprise," Octavius greeted her, his foolish grin remaining on his bearded face. "Judging by your state of undress, there's only one possible reason why you could be here, but I find it a little hard to believe, if you don't mind me saying."

"Octavius?" she addressed him impatiently.

He nodded. "Yes, Medea?"

"I'm not doing this for you," she assured him. "I'm doing this for Geneva; she wants my little girl for Ietrin. I'm not doing this for you, and I don't want you to delude yourself into thinking I am."

Surprisingly, his smile did not vanish as he removed his loincloth. "Whether or not you're doing this for me, I'll still end up a father, won't I?"

"Unfortunately, that is the idea."

He didn't need any more of her preamble. Gently, he took her in his arms and carried her to his bed, about to lay her down upon it for the first time since their wedding night. She would not grin and bear it, she decided then and there--she didn't have to grin in order to bear it. Grinning would make it unbearable.

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