In Which Geneva Lets Herself Forget

January 29, 1156

Like any ordinary little girl, Geneva of Bandera had always enjoyed playing dressup, whether with her sister and their friends, or just on her own if no one else was available. Unlike most little girls, however, the earl's daughter had never been one to pretend to be above her station, even in play; while Eudocia and Medea and Athalia had always wanted to be princesses, Geneva had been much more eager to be their servant. Princesses were only to be looked at, cooped up in their castles with their fathers and mothers until they were married off to the heirs of dukes and earls; servants, however, were free to do as they pleased when they were off duty.

At twenty-three, her fondness for costumes and fantasy remained, although she took care only to indulge herself in this guilty pastime when no one else was around; Roderick, she knew, would not be particularly pleased to find her dressed in an outfit she'd stolen from one of the maids, and even Medea would think her terribly immature. Geneva found herself looking forward to when Leara was old enough to appreciate the joys of dressing up--then, she would have an excuse to do it herself.

She cringed at the sight of her nose. Sure, it looked passable on her, a woman, but she'd seen it on her father; she was beginning to fear for Ietrin and any future sons she may have. Leara too would be better off with Roderick's nose, for the sake of her own future babies.

Lady Alina had a perfect nose--a perfect everything, as Geneva had been reminded at the feast at Dalston's castle only a few hours earlier. That woman did not have the figure of a woman who had given birth less than four months prior, that was for sure, and from what Geneva could tell, Alina's husband was considerably less of a prude than Roderick was. Even her baby was prettier than either of Geneva's; shame the Roderick would never allow Ietrin to marry Raia, really, seeing as she would make a beautiful queen one day and produce very lovely children.

Oh, but to be valued for more than just her children! That was what Geneva truly desired. Not just by Roderick, mind, but by any man, every man; monogamy was just not a part of her nature. She sighed dramatically--if only she were once again young and unattached...

"Well, your highness! I see your queenly grace remains even with that servant's dress."

Embarassed, she recomposed herself as Aldhein entered the room, brushing his silky auburn hair out of his eyes. "I thought my husband gave you the day off," she whispered softly.

"But you didn't give me the night off," he pointed out. "Come here a minute."

Unable to resist, she turned around and ran to him, flinging her arms around his neck.

"You're very lucky my husband drank too much and passed out at Armion Keep," sighed Geneva.

Aldhein smiled. "You're very lucky, you mean."

"Well... maybe a little."

"Your eyes match that dress perfectly," he purred, "but I still think a lady such as yourself looks best without any dress at all."

Geneva giggled. "You're terribly unromantic, you do realize."

"Yes, but seeing as you're as willing as I am, there's no need for romance."

She pushed herself free of his embrace and stepped away, turning her back so he could not see her smile. "You shouldn't be here. This is wrong."

Chuckling to himself, Aldhein placed his hand on her shoulder and spun her so they were once again face to face.

"Oh, your tongue says 'no'," he whispered seductively into her ear, "but your smile screams 'please'."

And then, he nipped her earlobe.

"Oh!" Geneva exclaimed, failing to hide the excitement in her voice. "Why you naughty boy! I am a married lady, and a queen, and you are merely a steward!"

His grin didn't fade. "Take your dress off, and this mere steward will have you calling him God Almighty."

"It sure would be easy to confess to you," she agreed as he gently stroked her face.

"If I shall see your soul, I'll have to see your body first."

Geneva was the Queen of Naroni. She was the wife of King Roderick, and the mother of his two children. But right now, she had forgotten that. Now, as she slipped out of the stolen dress, she was simply a woman.

"Oh sweet Blessed Mother!" the steward cried as he took her in his arms once more. "If your soul is as perfect as your body, you must be the Virgin Mary herself!"

"You foolish man!" Geneva laughed. "You know for a fact there's no way I could be!"

"If I am a fool, than I should put my mouth to more practical tasks than speech."

And that he did.