In Which Farilon Must Ask

January 28, 1157

King Farilon of Dovia was trying to pay attention to what his daughter was saying--he really was--but for some reason, his mind was elsewhere. The recent wedding had been a wonderful opportunity to reunite with all his distant relations and fellow nobles, as well as the perfect chance for a well-deserved break from his royal duties. The bridegroom also happened to be his only nephew by blood, and that generation's wedding years were passing quickly; after Holladrin married, and the Sadiel brothers, there would likely be no more marriages for several years, and he himself probably did not have that much time left.

He had enjoyed himself, of course, but not quite as much as he should have, he felt. Why hadn't he, though? What had gone wrong?

"Father, are you all right?" asked Holladrin concernedly, pulling him back into the here and now; oh, how she read him like a book, just as her mother had before her! "You seem rather distant."

What would he say to her? She was his daughter, one of the few sacred things he held dear in his advancing age, this embodiment of all he loved in the world... the last thing he wanted was to hurt her, worry her. "I'm fine, Holladrin," he lied--what else could he do?

As he could have expected, she didn't seem convinced. "Father..."

Farilon shook his head. "I'm just... a little melancholy today, my dear. I'm sorry if you feel obliged to sit with your old father--after all, a young lady such as yourself might have more fun conversing with all assembled bachelors, hmmm?"

She was delicate, and rather sickly, just like her mother had been; as a result of this, he had deemed it cruel to find a husband for her. Holladrin would marry whoever she pleased, so long as he would treat her well, and as Farilon fully understood, she deserved both that freedom and that security.

"If you wanted to be rid of me, Father, you only had to say so!" she scolded playfully as she daintily rose from the bench and began to glide away from the table.

"I am thinking only of you," he assured her, "and how bored you will be during the ride home, with only me to talk to. I am giving you the opportunity to amuse yourself with people your own age."

Holladrin giggled, an amaranth hue blossoming on her pale cheeks. "Oh, Father! You truly don't realize just how silly you are, do you? Oh... hello, Geneva."

"Hello, Holladrin," her approaching sister-in-law replied. "Good to see you out of bed. Feeling any better?"

Farilon's daughter nodded. "Very much so, thank you. I think it's done me well, seeing everyone here. I heard you just had another baby a few weeks ago?"

"A daughter," Geneva confirmed. "Camaline, for my mother. Farilon, our next son is yours," she assured the old king with a wink.

"But I already have a grandson named Farilon," he insisted.

"So? Searle of Valcria has three grandsons named Searle--before you know it, he'll have four, seeing as I highly doubt Severin will be keen to name his next son Lonriad."

Farilon sighed. "It is possible to come up with original names, you know."

Geneva seemed to ignore him. "So, Holladrin. How did you find the selection of bachelors at this wedding?"

"Well, the only bachelors here are the Sadiel brothers, really," Holladrin surmised.

"Are you saying that there's something wrong with them?" demanded Geneva. "Are they not your third cousins, Holladrin?"

Holladrin's eyes widened in horror; she would never say a word against anyone on purpose, Farilon knew, and Geneva was well aware of that as well. Why was his daughter-in-law being so vicious all of a sudden? "Oh, they're charming, Geneva, yes, but I don't think I could see myself married to any of them."

"Oh, but if you married Koradril, you'd eventually be a countess," Geneva pointed out. "A countess is certainly not the worst you could become--much better than, say, a baroness. Good thing all the barons we have now are already safely married, is it not?"

"Geneva..." Holladrin trailed off, but the other woman ignored her.

"Besides, Koradril is a bachelor. Much safer to flirt with a bachelor than, say, a married man, correct?"

"We were just talking..." sighed Holladrin, clearly tired of explaining that to everyone.

Farilon didn't know how much more of this he could take. Here she was, his fair young flower, and this woman had the audacity to pluck her petals. "That's enough, Geneva," he commanded sternly, without moving at all; at that moment, he could not bare to look upon the face of his son's wife. "Holladrin, Geneva and the rest of the party from Naroni will be leaving soon; perhaps you would like to say goodbye to your cousin Severin?"

"And your friend Octavius," Geneva added snidely.

Nodding, she sent one last hurt glance Geneva's way, then hurried off.

"Holladrin, don't run," her father called after her. "You still haven't fully recovered..."

Ah, there was no use; he could he repress such spirit without crushing her as Geneva seemed intent on doing?

Geneva. Somehow, the king was always the last to know about certain things, and Geneva was no exception. He vividly recalled her wedding to Roderick, during which many a Dovian noble had been forced to stifle a giggle or two in the pews. Of course, none would tell him why, but the servants did have a tendency to hear things, and another to divulge such information for the price of an extra day's wage, or a week of leave. Immediately he'd regretted marrying his son to such a woman--but as the deed had been done, all he could do was pray that Roderick would remain blissfully ignorant of exactly what sort of bride he had taken.

Oh, for Christ's sake--that was it! That was why he hadn't enjoyed himself as he should have liked!

Mentally cursing himself, Farilon leapt to his feet with a youthful urgency that had abandoned him long before and strode toward his daughter-in-law; he just had to ask.

"Geneva?" he addressed her quickly, carefully weighing each word of his question several times over in his head. "Uh... how is my son?"

NEXT CHAPTER: