In Which Arydath Needs More than a Minute

July 28, 1172

Tarien strode into the room in his usual faux-confidence, the door swinging shut behind him. Arydath responded to his presence with nothing more than an annoyed glare; he smirked. "I thought you said you couldn't read."

Shrugging, she let her eyes drop back to the book. "I can't. I just find the symbols aesthetically-pleasing."

"Speaking of aesthetically-pleasing things--" he took a few further steps and stared at her; frustrated, she willed herself to focus on the illegible page. "--I thought you'd planned on wearing that other dress to the wedding? Not that you don't look stunning in this one, but you did surprise me."

Of all the useless things he could have been pestering her about. She flipped the page and stared at the next set of characters. "I'm allowed to change my mind, am I not?"

She kicked at the floor with her slippered heel; in reply, Tarien tapped his foot. "Of course you are--but you had that other dress made specifically for the wedding the week Had proposed."

"Technically, you had it made--you're the one who paid for it, after all." Somehow, these symbols looked a little plainer than the previous ones, so she turned the page once again. "It was a last-minute decision; I thought the colors better suited to the occasion."

"Really?" There was something in Tarien's voice that caused her to look upwards; for such a joking, irreverent man, he looked unnervingly grave. "Because it seems to me that you thought the fit better suited to your waistline."

Within its confines, her stomach lurched. A silent swallow in her throat, she stared up at him as she snapped the book shut. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She watched in private anxiety as Tarien's green eyes thinned. "I'm not an idiot, Arydath. You've been in my bed nearly every night for months now--hell, you were in it last night! And don't try to feed me some cock-and-bull story about being fed too well, because Lord knows it's about time we talked about this."

"Talk about what?" She heaved herself upright and shuffled to the front of the bookshelf. Three months now she'd been crawling into bed with him, only to sneak back out before he woke and spend the daytime hours acting as if nothing had ever happened. She'd thought that had been working for them. "Yes, we fuck--regularly--and yes, we don't talk about it. I thought most men enjoyed such arrangements."

"Most young men, perhaps." Whatever that pained expression was, she didn't want to look at it; she turned away and slipped the book back into place as he let forth a groan. "I'm forty-three years old, Arydath--forty-three! Can you imagine the chaos of all my legions of nephews squabbling over everything I own? Excuse me for liking to think that my estate will instead be going to a child of mine."

"And what," she began, the ice in her voice leaving a chill across her tongue, "makes you so sure that this is yours?"

Perhaps she shouldn't have said it, the thought occured to her a second too late. Perhaps that had been below-the-belt. She felt his fingers snap around her wrist in an iron grip, her body falling limp as he spun her toward her. The passion in his eye was of an unknown variety--surely he would not strike a pregnant woman?

He didn't. Instead, he kissed her--long, hard. Incredible, really, that he could cast so powerful a spell upon her lips without even using his tongue. At last, he broke away; his breath was velvet on her cheek as he leaned to whisper in her ear. "That is what makes me so sure."

It was rare thing for her, being at a loss for words, and she had never found the experience pleasurable. This time, however, was somehow different; perhaps words had become simply insufficient.

"Look, I don't want to make you do anything you don't really want to do." He reached for her hand and squeezed, although mindful of her wedding band. "But I don't want to watch this baby grow up from afar as some sort of honorary uncle. I want him to know who his father is. I want him to know that his father loves him."

"Then you may tell it that yourself." She wriggled her hand from his grasp and pulled down her sleeve as if to hide it in shame. "And you may tell the world, for all I care."

Tarien shook his head. "I wouldn't do that to you."

Wouldn't he? Skeptical, she flicked a fringe of hair out of her eyes and flexed her aching neck. "And why not? Didn't you just say you wanted an heir?"

"Not at the cost of your reputation." He reached forward and placed his finger at the base of her jawline, dragging it downward to her chin; she indulged him by not pulling away. "I'd like to think that my child will be provided for when I die, but a man's got to have priorities. I just want to be the best father I can be while I'm still alive."

How very touching. Arydath sniffed. "I don't doubt it."

A small smile formed upon his face--and not one of his usual staged, obnoxious grins. A real smile. "Thank you. Anyway, if you want to keep doing what we're doing now, then you know I'm too madly in love with you to argue. But if you decide that you want something a little more... well, the offer always stands. Think about it?"

She took a minute to consider, only to realize she'd need a little more than a minute. "I'll think about it."

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