In Which Jeda Is Not Demanded

August 3, 1173

In spite of the seeming accusation in the air--as if it could have been Jeda's fault that she'd had a daughter instead of a son--life at the castle had become more bearable since Dea's birth. It was a relief to feel useful, needed. It was a comfort to be loved so unconditionally and to love like that in turn. With her little girl's arrival, Jeda was made to feel like more than just a walking womb that wasn't popping out heirs at the ideal rate. The queen's nagging and the king's expectant looks and Ietrin's indifference didn't matter. At least she had her daughter.

And what a sweet baby she was! The princess was somewhat small and sickly for her age, but she was a fighter. She slept well, fed regularly but not excessively, and loved to cuddle. She almost never cried or fussed, and she had the most adorable smile, a hybrid of Leara's and Sparron's with her own precious spark. It was a grin that rarely strayed from the face--and it had a habit of bringing one to Jeda's too.

A light, almost reluctant tap! rang from the door. It wasn't her father's knock or her brother's knock or even her stepmother's, and the fact that she couldn't identify it otherwise was not a hopeful signs. The royal knocks all sounded more or less than same. "Yes?"

The door with a slug-like laziness as her husband stepped inside, insufferably blase as ever. His hair was mussed and she could smell Ellona's perfume even from across the room. It was a lucky thing that her father didn't know just how much of Ietrin's time was spent at his mistress's castle. Then again, maybe it wasn't. "Jeda." He nodded toward her with a diplomat's reserve, then glanced at the baby somewhat more warmly. "Medea."

"Ietrin." She lowered Dea to her middle and turned her eyes toward Ietrin. The sooner he said his piece, the sooner he would leave. "Do you need something?"

"Yes, actually." He shut the door and shuffled toward her with more than a trace of obligation in his step. Jeda frowned; he usually preferred to linger in the doorway and leave. "Medea is five months old today."

That she was. Frankly, it was astounding to think that Ietrin had remembered. "And?"

"And I'd say I've been rather generous about giving you your space." His hand rose and wove itself into her hair, perhaps intending to be indulgent but coming off as more insulting than anything else. Jeda held Dea to her shoulder and shifted to the side; Ietrin's fingers dropped back to his side, but his firm gaze remained. "You're sleeping in my bed tonight."

It was not a request, but it wasn't a demand either. A demand would have required the consideration that she might have resisted; this was simply an expectation. She might have been less offended had he threatened to drag her kicking, screaming form to his tower. "Dea's crib is here, though."

Apathetic as always, Ietrin shrugged. "All right, I'll sleep in your bed."

"I'm still nursing."

"I thought I told you to get a wet nurse." He crossed his arms, a slight tick in his eyebrow. In all honesty, it was just a relief to finally get a reaction out of him. "Ah, fine. I see how it is. I'll take care of that myself--but you have bled since she was born, correct?" Jeda nodded. Satisfied, Ietrin's posture relaxed. "Then my decision stands. I'll be here tonight, and I don't want any protests from you. Is that clear?"

"Very." She hugged the baby tightly, planting a kiss on her soft little cheek, partly to calm herself and partly for an excuse not to look at her husband. The sweet scent of her daughter's skin and the brush of her wispy blond hair were an insufficient comfort, but they were all she had. Whatever the future held for her baby, she hoped that it would be better than this.

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