In Which Severin's Morning Gets Worse

September 1, 1169

The weak morning light might as well have been a charging ball of fire; Severin squinted, but his lashes were an insufficient shade. Groaning, he grabbed hold of the blanket and attempted to pull it over his face, but something was pulling it away. Neither his leaden arms nor aching head had the strength to compete with the opposing force, so he instead slid along the stiff, scratchy linen sheets into the depths of the bedding. It was only then that he noticed the small, naked figure to his left.

Nora! The name ricocheted off the curve of his skull and bounced about on the surface of his brain. How much wine had they had the night before? He wasn't sure he could trust his own self-control with that amount of alcohol, but surely she would have protested had he tried something--and surely he would have stopped. Oh dear God--what if he hadn't? What if she'd kicked and struggled and screamed to no avail, and he'd just ripped the dress off of her and had his way with her? His throat overflowing, Severin rolled over to the edge of the bed and hurled over the side; he did not think he could live with himself if he had done that to her.

He pushed back the blankets and pulled himself out of bed, careful to avoid the pool of vomit. His clothes lay strewn about the floor, overlapping with Nora's; he picked them up and dressed quickly, then took a towel from the wardrobe and draped it over the upchuck. One of the maids--definitely not Nora--would tend to that later.

Nora! He'd tried to be careful around her. So many times had they been talking when his eyes would slip downward from her face, and so many more had he watched with hypnotized reverence the swaying of her hips as she walked away, but he'd spent minutes upon minutes upon hours telling himself that nothing would ever happen. He couldn't afford to let it happen. She was his employee, and--more importantly--his friend. He cared for her. He respected her. She was not just some notch waiting to be added to his bedpost.

And yet, he had taken her and done just that. Damned if he could ever look her in the eye after this. She'd probably want to find work elsewhere and never speak to him again. He didn't blame her if she did; she would be much better off.

Still asleep, Nora shivered. Severin hauled his lethargic form to the other side of the bed and repositioned the blankets around her--it was far short of the least he could do, but to ignore her discomfort now would have been to spit in her face. Still, it hurt to look at her, all cold and frail and tired, so very different from the vivacious woman he knew. He braced himself, then reached beneath the linens and took hold of her hand. To his great relief, she squeezed back--he didn't know if she was aware of his presence on any other level, but if she hadn't recoiled at his touch, then he must not have done anything to hurt her.

At least, he hoped that was the case.

He let go and stepped back, watching as she rolled onto her back. She looked lonely, all by herself on that big bed; he might have crawled back in beside her if he could have known for sure that she wanted him there. Instead, he opened the cabinet door of the beside table and pulled out a scrap of parchment, along with a quill and an inkwell. He scrawled a quick apology and a promise that they'd talk later if she wanted to, then set it on the table's surface and stepped out of the room.

What a day this was shaping out to be. He doubted he could salvage his relationship with Nora after this, even if she had been a willing participant. It was also the first of the month, and he'd failed to find a wife out Roderick's harem from hell; Roderick would then choose one for him. Knowing his luck, it would probably be that God-awful Antonina woman. At this point, the best case scenario seemed to be Nora and her relatives slipping him some poison or stabbing him in his sleep and unceremoniously disposing of his corpse.

"Severin!"

He looked up to see Roderick standing in front of him--arms crossed, teeth barred, livid. Severin cringed; as if his morning needed to get any worse. "Roderick?"

"Don't you 'Roderick' me!" his cousin spat, his gray eyes filled with all the ferocity of an offended griffin. "Now, I think it goes without saying that you have a lot of explaining to do..."

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