In Which Aydelle Is Robbed of a Reply

March 8, 1170

Aydelle drew her exposed legs into the protective shell of her graying nightgown, too tired to cope with the coarse, scratchy texture of the blanket beneath her. She'd once had such soft skin, but she doubted that was the case anymore. She hadn't felt any degree above disgusting since she'd married Eblor and gone to live in this dismal hellhole. To think, she'd only picked him because she'd figured that a steward would be able to provide her with a half-decent home; turned out that the man had a serious gambling problem and couldn't afford any niceties other than simple day-clothes.

This whole marriage had been a mistake. She'd gotten two daughters out of the man, but as much as she loved them both, she missed her freedom. She missed not having to get up in the middle of the night to tend to crying babies while the lazy git beside her pretended to sleep. She missed inhabiting a body free of stretch marks and excess flab gained from two pregnancies. Most of all, she missed having sex with other people. Eblor, on the off-chance he could get it up and she could actually stomach the thought of him long enough to let him touch her, was clumsy and careless; she missed sleeping with men who knew how to please a woman, or women who knew how to please a woman. She supposed her only fortune was an ample supply of memories on which to rely while enduring those agonizing sessions.

She frowned as the rank scent of cheap wine wafted into her nostrils. What a disgusting pigsty in which she dwelt! It was bad enough that she herself had to live here; she didn't want her girls growing up in a dump like this.

Someone knocked on the door. Aydelle rolled her eyes--if it wasn't the whining babies or her awful husband, it was the nagging, useless excuse for a housekeeper. "What do you want, Nell?"

"Who's Nell?" came a refreshingly familiar voice from the other side of the door; it seemed that she did remember how to smile. "That fat housekeeper downstairs?"

"Ah, Cammie!" She pressed her hands to the pathetic excuse for a mattress and pushed herself upright. "You can come in if you like, but be warned that this room is just as much of a mess as the rest of the house."

The young princess stepped inside, all silky skin and fur-lined purple cloth and gossamer veils. She was the only trace of color in the barren room of brown and gray; Aydelle had grown unused to such vibrancy. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

Camaline giggled--it was a sound Aydelle normally found annoying, but somehow, the girl made it seem cute. "It's not that bad."

"Yes, it is." Aydelle pulled herself to her feet and sighed. "You might want to put your cloak and hat in that chest over there, since it's bound to pick up grime anywhere else. I'll put on a fire."

Nodding, Camaline stepped toward the trunk while Aydelle hurried to the hearth and lit it with the old flint. She glanced over her shoulder at the younger girl, who had removed her crispinette and diadem, her pale hair falling as usual over her left shoulder. She took off her cloak and folded it with care, placing it atop Aydelle's own assorted garments and shutting the chest before scurrying to the short stool by the foot of the bed.

"Thank you--it's rather chilly out there today."

"I'd imagine." She leaned forward, resting her head on the mantel; only minutes prior, she might not have cared if she'd fallen into the flames. "Thanks for visiting, Cammie; it does get lonely out here."

Camaline sighed. "I wish you would move back to the castle."

"I would if I could," Aydelle admitted, watching as the fire wreaked havoc upon the lifeless logs. "I doubt your father would care to have my babies around, though--besides, it isn't as if I wouldn't have to see any less of my husband."

She turned around and faced the younger girl, who frowned. "I thought you wanted to be married to him."

"So did I, at one point." She shook her head, then locked eyes with Camaline; that piercing violet always made her own brown eyes seem so bland. "Never get married, Cammie--you'll hate it."

Camaline shrugged. "Well, my father says I have to marry Sparron."

"Then you should run away before the ceremony." She waved her hand in front of her face; she had half a mind to tear off her wedding band and hurl it into the fire. "All you'll get for your troubles are a hoard of snivelling brats to keep you on your feet all day and a snoring man to keep you up all night."

Frowning, the princess clasped her fingers together and stretched her arms in front of her. "I suppose it's some time away, in any case; I haven't even started my courses yet."

Aydelle laughed. "Believe me, you're not missing anything."

"That's what my sister said--but she did say I'll probably have to fake it if it doesn't start before I'm fourteen." She twirled a lock of silky blond hair around her finger as she stood. "I don't think I will, though; it might buy me some more time before I have to marry Sparron."

"Lucky."

Camaline grinned, partly thoughtful and partly resigned. "I suppose. Still, I imagine I'll be tired of living with my parents soon; they never let me do anything, whereas Sparron's would let him get away with murder if he had the balls to try."

Aydelle sighed. The poor girl really had no idea what was in store for her, regardless of who she married, regardless of how permissive her in-laws were. "I still think you'd be better off running away."

"Oh, I don't know," Camaline mused, swaying back and forth as she considered the idea. "It might get a little lonely, though--unless maybe you came along too?"

She opened her mouth with the intention of replying; before she could, however, a crying baby from the next room took the initiative to answer on her behalf.

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