In Which Camaline Distinguishes the Want and the Need

August 15, 1177

Camaline's fingers had no reason to linger on the drawer now that her dress had been folded away and her nightgown hugged the curves of her body but as she thought to push, they hesitated. She tried to tell herself that it was because Sparron had just seen her naked, but no--it wasn't as if they hadn't seen each other naked before, or if it was suddenly a big deal for either of them. They were well beyond that awkward newlywed phase, mystified by each other's bodies, a little curious but ultimately unaffected and a bit guilty over the fact. There were no mysteries anymore, and certainly no lingering hope of ever finding each other appealing.

No. She was stalling. She had something to say but it was stupid and she didn't want to, so she stalled.

Back on the bed, Sparron sniffed. "Trying to pick a dress for tomorrow?"

"No." She slid the drawer shut and stared at him. He was dressed for bed, which was fine. He could spend the night if he wanted to; the occasional sleepover was the only reason their coitus was any more frequent than it had to be.

The bed was still made, untouched until Sparron had reclined upon it. It always was. They made love on the floor. Well, that wasn't quite true. She didn't know what they made--tolerance, friendship, parental appeasement, some idiotic hope that they might conceive--but it wasn't love. Still on the floor, though. She didn't want to sleep in sheets drenched with their fluids, even if they never managed much. "Move over. I need to tell you something."

Shrugging, he did as he was told--not to the extent she'd wanted, but he had obeyed. That might have made it even tougher. A nervous lump sat in her throat as she settled beside him, swelling as she met his eyes. "I'll need to borrow some of your clothes in the morning. I'm going to some brothels tomorrow."

"And here I thought you had standards."

Camaline glared at him. "Not for that, you idiot. Girls born to whores are raised in brothels and grow up to be whores themselves; you know that, right?"

Her husband's eyes narrowed. Good Lord, how was it still so odd to think of him as her husband? He was her friend--her friend she fucked on occasion, her friend who needed a son. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, your uncles must have seen every whore in the kingdom's history by now. And let's face it: your mother was frigid as an icicle and your father had to take care of his urges somehow." Sparron shuddered. Camaline understood, but ultimately ignored it. "What if one of them fathered a daughter with a whore? And what if there was an obvious resemblance?"

"Then I pity the poor girl."

Was it that strange a leap? She'd hoped she wouldn't have to come out and say it. "Look, I'm just saying--what if there's a young prostitute around here who looks passably like you? What if we kept an eye on her, bribed her to keep off the herbs, had her tell us if there was any news. I could stuff my dress--"

"No." His stare was not only disbelieving but vexed. In hindsight, she could have expected that. It was a stupid idea, and Sparron was not a stupid man. "Camaline, I can't believe I have to say this to you, but we are not buying a baby off a whore. Fuck--I thought we agreed that we didn't want one."

"We don't, but we need one." They needed one, and she couldn't give it to him. The whore idea left much to be desired, but after long and hard thought it was still the best she could do. It wasn't like she could reach in there and open the front door of her womb. At this point, how could she know she even had a womb? "A whore with your look could produce a child with your look."

"Or it could favor its father--who could be some dark-haired, dark-eyed foreigner for all we know. Or some notorious cad like Jadin. We get enough whispers without accusations of adultery." Even if that was already true on both their parts and neither of them even cared. "I have two little brothers. Maybe I'll have a third come October. I'm fine with them being my heirs."

But oh, that was so easy for him to say. She knew for a fact that it was her if not both of them, but all the same she felt a little bitter. Nobody ever pinned these matters on the man. "Our parents will be displeased."

"My parents have other things to worry about--and yours are too ridiculous to even count." And yet, they did. The king and queen always counted. "If you're tired of listening to your father and stepmother, just stop visiting them."

Camaline sighed. If only it were that easy.

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