In Which Alina Doesn't Know

August 29, 1162

Alina pulled her knees to her chest as she heard the door creak open, her husband's footsteps echoing throughout the room; she could clearly picture the sound waves as they sprung from the union of boot and floor, swelling away from their point of origin and proceeding to bounce off the walls and objects, amplifying themselves before funneling into her ears. She had been hoping to be asleep before he returned--well, so much for that.

The sounds continued to weave in her mind a visual sequence; he shut the door behind him, undressed, put away his clothing, and commenced to the empty side of the bed, all as seen through her closed eyes.

Cautiously, she allowed herself to squint as the footsteps stopped. There he was--as flawlessly bare-chested as any other night. Something inside of her stirred; she mentally chastised herself for peaking.

However, he was clutching his forehead, as though he had a headache. This was a good thing, she realized; what better excuse than a headache? And all the better if she herself were not the one using it!

She rolled over in haste as she felt his form upon the mattress. She might have preferred to avoid his scent if possible; it had been so long, and she did not wish to be tempted. She almost would have rather he came in sweaty and unkempt.

And then--to add insult to injury--he didn't even snore! Honora's husband snored. Laralita's husband snored, and Holladrin's husband snored. Hell, even Celina's husband snored, or so she'd heard (though she never would have suspected it had she not been told by Celina herself). But her own husband... of course not. Heaven forbid he should do anything that might make her desire him less; how difficult it was, being married to somebody so damn perfect!

It wasn't long before she could feel his warm breath on her neck, his hand upon her waist. His fingers then proceeded to etch letters upon her side; P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S.

After finishing the word, he started drawing hearts. Big hearts, little hearts... hearts all around. God damn. All she wanted to do was turn around and wrap her legs around him, shove her tongue down his throat and spiral it about. It had been so, so long!

And yet, she could not. Doing as she pleased would be to tell him that she agreed with this notion of not having any more children--rather ironically, she mused--and even if she could not explain everything, she did not wish for him to think that he had won.

"Darling?" she addressed him, opening her eyes and peering over his shoulder. He stopped immediately; she never called him 'darling'.

"Mmm?" he breathed in reply, as though not entirely sure that she was talking to him.

"Please," she insisted, "just... don't do that, all right?"

Severin's dark eyes flickered shut, then open again. "Sorry. I thought you liked that."

Alina sighed. "I do, just... not tonight. I'm sorry, but I'm... tired."

She wasn't--and she had a nagging feeling that he knew it.

"Sorry," muttered Severin once again. His sketches ceased, but his hand remained; it was far too gentle a remnant for Alina to bear.

She couldn't take it any longer--another second and she would be all over him. Hurriedly, she sprang from the bed, accidentally kicking Severin's shin in the process. "I'm going to go check on the children."

"Alina..."

At the sound of her name, she froze. Never before had she heard that tone from him; above all things, he sounded simply lost.

"Princess... just go sit on the couch for a minute, please? I think we need to talk."

Nodding, she did as she was told. Severin sent one concerned glance her way, then grabbed the nearby flint and lit the fire.

"I just don't get it," he began solemnly as he prodded at the planks, the small flames bursting into showers of tiny sparks. "Is it really so horrible?"

She did not want to lie to him; she hadn't seen him so tense since his mother had been accused of murdering his stepfather, eleven years ago now. "No."

"Then what's going on, Princess?" he asked, taking a seat beside her. "Am I putting on weight or something? My breath not what it used to be?"

"Both your body and your breath are fine," she assured him.

"Ah. So you want me to shave, then."

"Don't be an idiot. You'd look ridiculous if you shaved."

"Then what is it? Don't you love me anymore?"

Never had he hurt her until that moment.

"How could you?" Alina demanded, a small tear welling up in the corner of her eye. "How could you think for a second that I don't love you?"

Frowning, Severin's gaze met Alina's own. Then, he lifted his hand to her face and gently brushed the tear away with his thumb. "I'm sorry, Alina. I didn't mean that, I just... I don't know. I just want to know what's wrong."

And she wanted to tell him--but could she? Would he understand? Or would he just think she was going mad?

"What's wrong is..." she trailed off, lost in a desperate search for the right words, "is..."

Severin nodded. "Yes...?"

Alina opened her mouth once more... then shook her head. She couldn't tell him; she didn't even know how to tell him.

"...I don't know," she muttered at last. Then, as a delayed plea, she added, "Make it better. Please."

He slung his arm over her and gently pulled her toward the center of the couch, rubbing her shoulder in a comforting manner. "I will, Princess--but it would really help if I knew exactly what I needed to deal with."

"I don't know," repeated Alina, her eyes tracing the scattered dance of the flames in front of her; it was almost as if she was peering into her own mind. "I'm sorry, but..."

There was no 'but'. She did not even know that.

She rested her head against his and sighed, a few fleeting moments of silence commencing. Then--

"It's because I'm getting old, isn't it?"

Alina couldn't help herself--she had to smile. "Severin, we've been over this--you are not old! You're not even thirty for another month."

"A month and a week, I'll have you know," Severin corrected her promptly. "Now, kindly refrain from using the T word in my presence."

"Thirty," she teased. "Thirty, thirty, thirty."

"Rather bold from a woman who's dreading twenty-seven," he scolded her as he placed his free hand beneath her knees and hoisted her onto his lap.

Alina cringed. "Don't remind me."

"See? Case and point."

What was wrong with her? Try as she might, she just could not stay angry with him! Granted, she was still mildly annoyed about his not wanting another child, but... was that really enough to punish both of them this way?

"At least we're doing what we set out to do," she told him with a smile. "Growing old together."

"I can't think of any other way I'd rather do it," he agreed, placing his forehead against her own, his eyes pouring into hers.

For a few seconds, Alina waited, but it wasn't long before her impatience took over.

"This is where you kiss me, stupid."

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