In Which Sparron Is Unscandalized

June 8, 1171

"All right, let's get this over with." Camaline's pacing came to an abrupt halt as she spun around to face Sparron. They had been in the room for several minutes of awkward coexistence and it was about time that one of them broke the silence, but Sparron wasn't sure he wanted to hear what she had to say. She was a princess--not to mention, King Roderick's daughter and Ietrin's sister--and she had expectations, and there were bound to be a few that he could never meet. He could lie to her--he would lie to her--but he did not think he wanted to start doing so before it was necessary. There would be plenty of time for deception after they were married.

A strand of flaxen hair fell across his betrothed's flawless-yet-soulless face; annoyed, she flicked it to the side, then stared down at him. "I don't like you, and you don't like me, but we're going to have to live with each other--and come September, my problem will be yours as well, so I suppose it would be wrong of me not to give you fair warning."

She took a quick breath, then glanced toward the door, as if afraid to be overheard. Sparron pulled himself out of his slouch; not only was it ironic that she was the one making a confession, but he doubted she'd speak in much more than a whisper. "I'm fourteen years, five months, and nine days old--and I've yet to have a single monthly course."

It took him a few seconds to process the statement; all he could muster in reply was a blank stare. Camaline, however, didn't seem to be looking for a response. "I've deceived my father and stepmother into thinking otherwise, and I plan to keep playing that little game with them until I'm safely married and such things are no longer their concern. Your stepmother will be sympathetic, since she herself didn't start until she was older than I am, but I figured that you and your father may feel cheated; if that is the case, then you have my apologies, but you must understand by now that my parents aren't exactly bearable."

Well, that went without saying. Camaline sniffed, then frowned at him. "So I hope you aren't expecting a child any time soon after we get married--for all I know, it could be years before I finally start."

Sparron looked up at her and squinted. It must have been awful to be a woman; everything in a girl's life revolved around popping out baby after baby until she finally dried out, and woe to any woman who couldn't do that. A girl like Camaline surely didn't even care to be a mother in the first place--why couldn't she just live as she wanted to live? Hell, why couldn't he just live as he wanted to live, all guilt and fear of judgment forgotten? What a stupid world. "I don't care. I don't think I want to be a father at fifteen anyway."

"Well, good--you probably won't be." She stepped to the side, then fell back onto the couch, just to Sparron's right. "But what if I never get my courses? You wouldn't send me to a nunnery, would you?"

Was that the cruel fate reserved for women who didn't produce children? A slight distaste in his mouth, Sparron shook his head. "If you never get your courses, then I suppose my brother will be baron when I die."

"In that case, thank you." Camaline's slender finger traced the piping on her dress and picked at a stray thread. Sparron raised an eyebrow; it wasn't like his betrothed to fidget. "This is ridiculous--I don't even want children."

"I wouldn't mind them." He took his eyes off her fiddling hand and shrugged; in truth, he might have wanted at least three or four, but then again, that did require bedding a girl. "Then again, I don't feel as though I absolutely need them. Tell you what: if you get your courses, then we'll try for an heir, but that's it."

"Deal." She folded her arms against her chest and scrunched up her nose, her scowling lips laced with a hint of disgust. "I hope you won't take offense, but the thought of sex with you is nauseating."

Regardless of everything, that did sting a little; figuring he'd been enough of a gentleman already, he glared at her. "I can assure you, the feeling's mutual."

"Hmph." Camaline sunk further into her seat and pouted. "Ah, just as well--if you must know, I don't much care for men at all."

"Oh, well who do you care for, then? Wom--?"

...Wait a minute. He'd meant to be sarcastic, but now that the thought had entered his head... could that possibly...?

Camaline's brow arched. "Excuse me?"

"I'm serious." He edged closer and slung his arm around her shoulders; she seemed startled by the contact, but didn't shy away. "If you could have anyone in the world in your bed right now--be honest with me--would it be a woman instead of a man?"

She gaped at him for a moment, then smirked. "You seem quite unscandalized by that idea."

"Is that a 'yes'?"

She leaned against his body and sighed--much more like his sister would have done than Searle might have in the luxury of a locked room. "Why would you want to know?"

He rested his head against hers and smiled. Finally--after all these torturous, lonely months--he'd found someone who understood. "Because, your highness... I think we might have quite a bit to talk about."

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