In Which Severin's Fear Is Realized

WARNING: The first part of this chapter might be somewhat ooky (and poorly written). If you wish to avoid ookiness, you may want to scroll down to the bottom, then scroll up to where the scene changes from the lighter room to the darker room. The first part isn't particularly important anyway.

January 16, 1157

Severin had been alive for exactly twenty-four years, three months, and ten days, and not once in all that time had he ever come across such an unusual sight, nor had he ever expected to if he lived to be a hundred.

His father and stepmother were being affectionate. Not just the ordinary suggestions spewing from his mouth and her blatant refusal--they were actually kissing and touching, rolling around on the bed in the very same room Severin had caught his father and Geneva in earlier.

The nerve of that man, taking his wife to the very same chamber in which he had met that whore of a queen mere hours before. Never before had Severin felt his father so unworthy of even the slightest glance from Viridis--and that was saying something.

And then there was the cuddling. Lonriad had never cuddled anyone or anything in his life, Severin could have sworn it--and yet, here he was, his arm around his wife's shoulder, resting his head against hers. Severin couldn't decide what shocked him more; the fact that Lonriad was actually bothering with this precursor to sex, or the fact that Viridis was allowing it.

But as he ventured further into the room, he saw that the woman on the bed wasn't Viridis at all.

It was his mother.

He should have been relieved. Anyone else he knew would only ever want their father touching their mother. Of course, he loved his mother, and if Lonriad had to be sleeping with anyone other than Viridis, he did feel more comfortable knowing that it was her... but Viridis had raised him, and Lonriad's other son. All of those kisses and cuddles should have been reserved for Viridis and Viridis alone.

Then, to his utmost horror, he realized that Lonriad's mistress wasn't his mother.

Oh, his sweet Alina! His darling, his princess, in the arms of another man--his father, no less! How had this happened? Did she no longer love him? And of all the men in the world, why had she chosen this one to run to?

The way she smiled at that old lecher... hadn't those smiles been reserved for him once? Why must she flutter her lashes at such an unworthy creature? The sight was nothing short of heartbreaking; There is no possible way, Severin decided, that this could be any worse.

He was wrong--not only did it get worse, but it also got downright sickening. Did Lonriad not have a single decent fiber in his entire being? Did he not have any discretion when it came to choosing sexual partners? Clearly, age was nothing more than a number to Lonriad--and blood was also meaningless.

Grown women, young girls--even his own granddaughter! To Lonriad, they were nothing but holes, all of them, and would never be a thing more. This was beyond wrong, beyond disgusting--even beyond blasphemy and sacrilege. There was no word that could begin to capture even the idea of this; what Lonriad was--and how strongly Severin loathed him--could never be voiced, or even thought. No, they could only ever be felt.

Oh, those eyes! Since the day she was born, he'd always known it was only a matter of time before those eyes would gaze upon man with such fondness; if only that gaze would fall upon someone--anyone--else!

Patricide was suddenly not such a horrible crime--not compared to this. He was take his father by the throat and squeeze until the man was begging him to stop, wheezing, gasping for that final breath... but oh, it would be too quick! He would kill him slowly. Perhaps he would hang him, or set him on fire, or...

On second thought, he would murder him quickly; he would not wait a moment more than necessary to see that man dead.

They sure as hell weren't making a fort under those blankets.

"You monster!" Severin shouted. "You vile monster! Don't you realize just how terribly wrong this is, you disgusting old pervert?"

"Sorry, son!" laughed Lonriad from beneath the covers. "It's just my nature, that's all!"

He had to act now. He would storm over to that bed, tear them apart, and rip that despicable old satyr to shreds.

Yes, he was unnarmed, but it was suddenly clear to him that one didn't need a weapon when one had such anger. Emotion was the most powerful weapon in the world--no man in the world was as well-equipped as he. All he had to do--

"Severin!" called Alina's faraway, panicked voice. "Severin! Oh, God... Severin! Wake up!"

"Princess!" he addressed her as his eyes flickered open. "Raia... my father..."

"Raia's in Naroni with your mother, stupid, and last time I saw your father, he was feeling up a maid in the wine cellar, but... oh God! Severin! It's--it's horrible!"

It had only been a dream. Thank God; Alina was still his, Raia was a year old and safely away in another kingdom, and his father was not--as far as he knew--an incestuous pedophile. Never had Severin imagined that he would one day be thankful that his father was exactly what he had always been--at least he was not any worse.

Struggling to calm himself at the sight of her distraught state, he pushed back the blanket and stepped firmly onto the wooden floor. "Alina, are you all right? Did someone hurt you?"

Clearly trying to hold back tears, she shook her head, her lower lip quivering until she caught it between her teeth.

"It's not me," she insisted, "but he--she--they..."

She couldn't dam her tears any longer; from her eyes spouted the beginnings of a flood.

"Now, Princess," breathed Severin as he gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders, "do you want to tell me what happened? Or should I not bother you about it?"

"Just--just one second," Alina choked.

Severin nodded. "As long as you need."

"Oh, poor Celina!" she gasped suddenly, jerking slightly backwards. "That woman never did anyone any harm a day in her life, and now--now--"

She was cut off by her own sobs. It worried him, seeing her so beside herself--never in her life had the usually collected Alina been so hysterical. Whatever had happened was something significant--and something disturbing.

"What about Celina?" he inquired, unsure as to whether or not he could remain calm for the two of them. "Princess...?"

"I'm sorry!" squeaked Alina, burrying her face in her hands once more. "I'm sorry. I'll tell you, just..."

"I know," Severin assured her. "You need a moment."

"Yes..."

He raised his hand to her face and softly brushed away the tears from her eye; he thought that for one brief moment, he saw a faint hint of a smile on her face. "Alina..."

"All right," she whispered. "I'll tell you."

Slowly, she leaned closer, her face level, but her eyes turned downward. "When I was coming back from Renata's room..."

"Yes?" he acknowledged, hoping he wasn't prying.

"Well," continued Alina, "you know how the hallway outside is also a balcony that looks into that bedchamber?"

He nodded once more. "That always struck me as strange. It seems like the sort of thing only my father would have in his castle. Anyway, go on."

She took a deep breath, then locked eyes with him, tears wavering in that brilliant blue once more. "Well... it turns out that's Dalston's room, and he was in there... with Geneva..."

That name told it all. After mentioning Celina, all Alina would have had to say was that woman's name, and he would have understood entirely.

"I thought Celina was her friend," he growled; did that woman have any sense of decency? If his father had a soulmate, then surely it was Geneva--each deserved only the other. "And Dalston... how could he do this to her? All that sweet girl ever did to him was love him--a hell of a lot more than he deserves, it turns out!"

"He's my cousin," Alina whimpered. "I thought I knew him, Severin; I never thought he'd do something like this. I know what she's like, but he... and Celina..."

"Alina?" he addressed her. "I have to ask you something."

She was a woman--she would know better than he what was best for Celina. He only hoped he could find the right way to ask her.

Alina nodded. "Yes?"

Oh, how would he word this? "Alina... if I ever... er, did to you what Dalston did to Celina--"

"Oh, you wouldn't!" she exclaimed in protest. Then, a fearful look on her face, she met his eye and mouthed the question "Would you?"

"No!" he immediately answered, attempting to reassure her with an embrace. "No, Princess! Never!"

At least, he hoped he never would. Maybe it was in his blood to be that sort of man, he realized suddenly. Occasionally, he did catch his gaze lingering on the hips of a passing woman, his eyes drawn to the partially-exposed cleavage of the landlady at the village inn... was that natural? Or was it only he who did that?

No... there was at least one other who did, one other who walked this path, many years ahead of him. Perhaps it was an animal instinct, a migratory pattern known innately for generations to come... was it possible that he too would end up in that same final resting place?

This was his greatest fear--becoming his father.

"Never," Severin repeated in a whisper, desperately praying that he would not be lying to her. "Just... if you were Celina right now... would you want to know?"

She raised her head slightly, then lowered it once more--a yes.

"Then I shall send a messenger to Celina first thing in the morning," he promised. "Now, you're very upset, and I don't doubt that you're tired, so--"

She didn't give him a chance to finish.

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