In Which Octavius Reads Another Sign

August 11, 1158

Octavius was not particularly surprised to find Medea alone in the sitting room as usual, but the fact that she was wearing only her nightgown did puzzle him slightly. Ordinarily, Medea was not one to leave her own bedroom in anything less than her typical brocaded, straight-laced perfection, far beyond modest and into the realms of frigidity. Had it not been for her severe hairstyle, he might have thought she had simply not bothered to dress for some reason or another, but seeing as not a single blond strand was out of place, it seemed more likely that she was entirely unaware of her attire.

"Uh... Medea?" he addressed her, unsure of whether or not to comment. "Are you... feeling all right?"

Her stony eyes fell upon him unblinkingly. "Of course. Why would you assume otherwise?"

"No reason," replied Octavius quickly, taking a seat beside her on the couch.

Medea rolled her eyes. "I see."

For a moment, they sat in a strained silence; Octavius half-expected her to ask him to leave, but she seemed oddly content to merely forget about his presence and stare into the space directly ahead of her. He might have thought it a nice change to her usual screaming and nagging had he not been questioning her very sanity.

"Sparron was asking for you," he ventured at last.

Medea shrugged. "So? He knows I have better things to do than to be at his every beck and call."

"He's two years old, Medea."

"And...?"

Perhaps he'd been better off just keeping his mouth shut. He didn't want her talking about their children like this; he had to change the subject.

"Oh, did you hear? Alina had her baby yesterday," Octavius informed her.

His wife only blinked. "Another one? Good Lord, that woman has babies like a hen lays eggs. What kind is this one?"

"A little girl. They named her Viridis, for Severin's stepmother. Funny thing is, they're both blond and brown-eyed; quite the coincidence, is it not?"

"I'll say. Three fair-haired babies in a row? Either Severin turns a blind eye or he's a complete idiot; obviously, Alina's sleeping around. Oh well, at least he can be certain that Rahileine is his--unfortunate girl."

So it seemed she was just as ready to insult his friends and their children as she was to insult him and his own. Was no one immune to her disdain and judgment? Surely there was someone of whom she could speak no ill...

Ah! Who better than the person of whom none could speak ill?

"I recieved a letter from your cousin this morning," he declared. "She was fairly ill for a while, but she seems to be recovering quite nicely."

Medea bit her lip. "Which cousin?"

"Princess Holladrin."

"The princess?" she parroted; had he not known better, he might have thought she sounded confused.

Octavius nodded. "Indeed. She sends us all her love and hopes that you are well."

"Don't be ridiculous, Octavius! Why on earth would the Princess of Dovia be writing to you?"

Well, that had certainly been unexpected.

"Because she's family, maybe?" He shouldn't have had to explain this to her.

"If you're trying to make me laugh, it isn't working," she scolded. "To call a princess one's family is near blasphemy. You shouldn't voice such falsehoods."

"Falsehoods?" Octavius repeated, silently praying that she was only playing some sort of joke. "She's your cousin. Her father the King is your uncle; you never miss an opportunity to remind me of that!"

Shaking her head, Medea stood. "Really, Octavius, if I had a King for an uncle, I would know. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some important things to attend to."

And with that, she was gone; in some ways, he felt as though she'd never even been there to begin with.

NEXT CHAPTER: