In Which Celina's Heartache Deepens

March 3, 1157

Celina didn't feel as though she should be here, in her husband's study, while he was working. Why should she? It wasn't as if he liked having her around, was it? Would he have slept with Geneva if he did? She doubted it.

But for some reason, he'd asked her to come; she didn't feel right about it, but if nothing else he was the father of her children, and she did owe him for that much. If he wanted her to sit with him while he worked, and she had nothing better to do, then why not?

They rarely saw each other anymore. As unwifely as it might have been, she made a point to avoid him whenever possible; if he did not love her, then why should she subject him to herself? She spent most of her time in the nursery, sewing gowns for the new baby while Lorn played on the floor. Sometimes, Alina would bring Raia over to play, and while their children squabbled over who got to be the giraffe, the two women would just sit in a comforting silence. Alina was fully aware of what had happened--in fact, she had been the one to discover it--so she felt no need to press Celina any further, and for that, she was grateful.

She loved this man, and for a time, he had led her to believe that he loved her as well. But perhaps she had been kidding herself; what could this Olympian of a man possibly see in a plain little thing like her? She could only take comfort in the fact that he had not exercised his passions within the home they shared... or had he?

A faint, feminine knock resonated from the door.

"Who is it?" Dalston inquired of the visitor, suddenly looking up from whatever it was he was doing.

"It's me," replied an all-too-familiar voice; Celina couldn't help but feel slightly nauseous.

Her husband sighed. She wondered why--perhaps he would have rather his mistress called while his wife was otherwise occupied?

Geneva's violet eyes flickered in Celina's direction as she strode into the room, then settled on Dalston with intent--as to what that intent was, Celina had no doubts.

"Dalston, there's something you should know," she muttered darkly, continuing to send sidelong glances Celina's way; naturally, the duchess felt rather uncomfortable.

Dalston nodded, seemingly keen to avoid that piercing violet gaze for some reason or another. "All right. Tell me quickly, and then I would appreciate it if you left; I'm quite busy."

There was a curt note in his voice that Celina had never heard before. Perhaps he was angry; perhaps she should leave.

Geneva seemed to be of that same opinion. "Celina, dear, maybe you should go check up on Lorn--"

"Anything you have to say to me, you can say to my wife," snapped Dalston. "Now, out with it, Geneva; I don't have all day."

She spoke in barely more than a whisper, but Celina heard both words as though they had been heralded by a chorus of angels... or demons. The first word, she knew from her grammar lessons as a girl, was a contraction--namely, a pronoun combined with a verb. The second was an adjective, one which she normally saw as a wonderful word, but at that moment, was vulgar as a curse.

At the sound of that adjective, her heartache only deepened.

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