In Which Searle Is Shown the Extent of the Worst

January 17, 1167

There were many attractive young ladies in the employ of Lord Severin, and since that fateful day he had woken up and discovered women, Searle had enjoyed the privilege of one or two of their company. Never before, however, had he had the pleasure of a private audience with the lovely Michela, the prettiest maid in the castle. He'd tried--oh, God, he'd tried--but it was only today that she'd given him a second glance.

And oh, what a great day it was going to be!

"Oh, Searle!" Michela moaned between kisses. "You're so good with your hands!"

Well,

I would know, he thought to himself, though he would never admit it aloud. "Why, thank you, darling. Care to see how good I am with some of my other body parts?"

He hoped she didn't notice him cringe; in his head, it had seemed like a suave thing to say, but now that the words were out of his mouth, they were anything but. Fortunately, she only giggled. "Which parts do you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know... his earlobes, maybe?"

Horrified, Searle jerked away from Michela and glared at his smirking cousin. "Raia! Wha-- wha-- how long have you been here?"

Raia crossed her arms. "Long enough."

Searle scowled. He liked his young cousin, and usually tolerated or even encouraged her antics, but she had just crossed the strictest line he could have drawn. "Damn you!"

Sending an apologetic look Michela's way, he slipped off the bed and stormed toward the intruder. "What the hell, Raia? I know you're a curious little scamp, but voyeurism? You're an eleven-year-old girl! What would your parents say?"

Tossing her head back, Raia rolled her eyes. "Relax, Searle, I'm not here to watch you get laid. My father sent me to get you; you're needed in his study. The baron's here, and he wants a word with you."

Searle raised an eyebrow. "The baron? What does he want with me?"

"Doesn't a baron have the right to demand a word with a humble squire if he sees fit?" Raia laughed; Searle felt a vein in his forehead bulge. "Maybe it's about his niece--you know, your betrothed?"

"Betrothed?" piped up Michela from the bed--as if the situation hadn't been bad enough.

Frustrated, Searle shoved past Raia and pulled the door open. "Thank you so much for the cock-block, cousin!" he hissed, slamming it shut behind him. God, of all the horrible luck--he'd finally caught the eye of the most beautiful girl around, and it happened to be the same day that the third most powerful man in the kingdom required an audience with him and his idiot cousin didn't even have the courtesy to knock. What ill star had he been born under?

Struggling to hold back his bitterness, Searle pushed open the door to his uncle's study and stepped inside. "Raia said I was needed, Uncle Severin?"

His uncle nodded to him over the baron's shoulder; he wished he could grin back. "Searle. We were just talking about you."

"Anything good?" he ventured out of indulgence, but after his humiliation at the hands of Raia, he wasn't really sure he wanted to know.

Frowning, his uncle turned back to the baron. "Humble, isn't he?"

"He must get it from his father's side," the baron mused. "His mother doesn't have an arrogant bone in her body."

"Yes, but have you not met her fourth brother? He wrote the book on arrogance."

Searle flexed his knee and kicked lightly at the floor. "I'm not arrogant..."

"Oh, we're just kidding around," the baron assured him, turning around and meeting his eye. "Anyway, I have some news for you, Searle."

Well, that certainly told him all he needed to know. "What sort of news, my lord? Judging by your good spirits, I'm disinclined to think it a death."

"Ah, but perhaps it is a death," ventured Searle's uncle slyly as he made his way to his desk and straightened a stack of books, "and perhaps we're in good spirits because it was someone we hate."

"You two don't hate anyone."

"Are you sure? For all you know, we could be very gifted actors and we might actually hate everyone."

Searle rolled his eyes. "I'm sure, Uncle Severin."

The baron laughed. "Searle, I'm never sure whether or not you intend to be humorous. Anyway, I'm here to tell you that I received a letter from my brother this morning. It concerned his daughter--a certain young lady named Valira. I trust you know the name?"

Indeed he did. He grimaced, the corners of his mouth pulling so tightly that his mouth ached. God damn you, Raia. "Yes, sir."

"Anyway, it seems that her parents are eager for some grandchildren and want her to be married before she turns seventeen," the baron continued, "and your parents wouldn't mind a few themselves. She'll be sixteen in early February, so that leaves little more than a year. Since you're here in Naroni, and you plan on being knighted here instead of in Dovia, Tertius and Nearina have decided to send Valira here. She'll be arriving in April."

He felt his eyes bulge; he'd prepared himself for the worst when his betrothed had first been mentioned, but it appeared that he had been unable to comprehend the full extent of the worst. "They want me to marry her as soon as she gets here?"

The baron shook his head. "No, your mother doesn't want you getting married before you turn fifteen, and even that seems somewhat early for her--I think she's a little wary after seeing how your cousin is these days. Valira will be living at my castle until whenever the two of you get married."

"Which will be some time between August and next February, then?" That time sounded even nearer now that he had voiced it. A cold, frenzied pulse surged down his spine; how was it that his bachelorhood had barely begun and was already drawing to an end?

"Yes. In any case, don't trouble yourself about it; if I know Tertius, he'll have everything taken care of himself. Besides, I imagine you won't even see that much of your betrothed when she comes--I don't doubt that my wife and daughters will be keen to monopolize her every waking moment."

Searle allowed his lips to droop into a frown; perhaps his disappointment would be attributed solely to this last speculation. "What a pity."

"Indeed." The baron's mouth twitched into a parting grin. "Well, I'd best be off--if I leave Florian alone for too long with nothing to do, he starts rearranging all the books on my shelves so that the letters from the titles on the spines spell dirty words horizontally. Have a nice day, Searle, Severin."

"Likewise, my lord," sighed Searle.

His uncle nodded. "Octavius."

The baron made his way past Searle and out of the study, closing the door behind him. His uncle also turned as if to leave, but Searle stopped him by stepping between him and the door.

"Uncle, you can't let them do this to me."

Shaking his head, his uncle sighed. "Searle, you know my opinion on arranged marriages, but I'm afraid I'm powerless where your own is concerned. If it's any consolation, I saw Valira on my last journey back to Dovia, and she is quite the young lady. I imagine you'll like her."

"Well, it's no consolation," Searle huffed, his hand balling into a fist; how was it that even the man who had practically raised him was against him in this matter? "She might be the most wonderful woman in the whole world and I may love her very much one day for all I know, but it's the principle of the thing! Aren't I entitled to a little freedom and variety before I'm forced to settle down? From the sounds of it, I'll be married before my older brother, even."

"I understand your sentiments," his uncle stated. "It seems to me that you're disadvantaged by the fact that your betrothed is older than you yourself. Unfortunately, most members of your class have the idea that the only purpose a woman can serve is to marry young and bear as many children as she possibly can; therefore, they marry their daughters as early as possible. Most men of your station are betrothed to women younger than themselves, and therefore are allowed a brief period of gallivanting before--and, let's face it, often during--the marriage. In this instance, however, the view seems to be that making Valira wait for you would be a waste of some of her most fertile years--utter nonsense, in my opinion, but we all know just how valued my opinions are among the Dovian aristocracy."

Searle couldn't help himself; he smiled slightly. "I don't see why they don't listen to you, Uncle Severin; anyone who's ever observed a married couple would know how comparatively useless we men are in all aspects."

"Precisely. I'm glad that you understand that, at least--though bear in mind that it does tend to get rather lonely at the top."

"We just discussed this. We're men--we can't be at the top."

"Point taken. Allow me to rephrase: it's lonely at the top of the bottom."

"Yes, but there's always the bottom of the top conveniently near."

"Watch your tongue; I'll have you know that your aunt is the absolute pinnacle of the top."

"Then why the hell did she marry you?"

"She could tell from the mere sight of me that I'm great in bed."

"I didn't need to know that."

"Yes, but it's fun to watch you squirm."

Searle sniffed. "Go to hell."

"Already been--not sure I'd care to return any time soon," he uncle replied with a chuckle. "Oh, Searle, don't you dare tell me you're too big to give your old uncle a hug."

Relenting, Searle threw his arms around him and groaned. "All right... but just one last time!"

"Liar."

"Shut up."

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