In Which Jeda's Soft Spot Is Struck

November 26, 1181

"I hate this sitting room."

The thought had lurked in Jeda's mind since her first day at the castle and only now had it leaked out of her mouth. She hated the white walls and the way they assaulted the eye on bright days. She hated the cold floor tiles and the sharp edges between them, and she hated that the queen wouldn't even let her drape a rug over the part of the floor where her girls played. She hated the furniture. The couches were close to reminiscent of the ones at home, but nowhere near so comfortable, designed to punish the slightest slouch with an ache. She even hated the stained-glass window. She loved stained-glass windows, but she hated this one, just because it had the sheer misfortune to be a part of the sitting room.

And then she felt guilty about hating it, because she too was out of place, stuck where she didn't belong, strapped down to insignificance when she'd once hoped to be something.

But it was odd how the words had slipped when Rick had arrived. The need to say something, she supposed. She'd known him little more than a month and already he was the closest thing she had to a friend in this castle, so apparently if thoughts like that would spill, he'd be the one around to catch them.

Poor man. He'd probably only sought her out to ask which wine she'd prefer with supper.

"I don't much care for it either. It tries so hard to be perfect and therefore fails spectacularly." He winked and she tried to stifle a laugh. If only she had the guts to say just that to the queen! "But I suppose you can improve it when you're queen, right?"

"I suppose." It seemed that every time they talked, he made a point to remind her that she would--providing that she outlived her father-in-law--be queen one day. He might have wanted to lift her spirits, or perhaps he was just pragmatic. "I'd love a green sitting room. Everything in my childhood home is green; I grew so tired of it as a girl, but now..."

"It's home."

Such a perfect word. "Exactly. Though I suppose a true queen would name her own castle her home."

"A true queen does what is best for her people. Where she calls home is her own business." In theory, she liked to think he was right. A pity that it was rarely so simple in practice. "But I get the sense that you don't much want to be queen, though between you and me, I think you'd be a vast improvement on your mother-in-law."

And she should hope for at least that! "Being a better queen than Laralita wouldn't necessarily make me a good one. You're right, though; if I had a choice, I'd prefer not to be queen." And not just because Ietrin would be my king.

"Royal life seems quite stifling. I hope you get a chance to stretch your wings." He sighed, something in his voice telling her he'd never had that chance himself. "If you could do anything, what would it be?"

"Oh." Jeda blushed. She had thought of that, actually--if only to keep her sane--but she'd never thought someone would ask! She might have chosen something less embarrassing. "Oh, no. You'll think I'm silly."

"Try me."

"I couldn't."

"I'll tell you mine." His spine straightened, the rest of him pulled upward along with his lips. Whatever it was, it must have been some fantastic lost dream. "I always wanted to be an architect."

"An architect?" It took Jeda a second to realize that the foreign tug in her mind was interest. It was the sort of job the king and queen would be prone to dismiss ('Just another way the gentlefolk serve our comforts'), but surely there was no more practical an art--no more necessary an art--than the art of structure and support, be it a tiny cottage or a grand castle? Was this castle not the work of an architect? "That's fascinating."

"I think so too. I never got the chance, though." She doubted he wanted to talk about the reasons. He proved her right with a hasty smile. "Your turn again, though. What would you like to be?"

Jeda sighed. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"I promise."

"Fine." She inhaled, the first few words catching on her throat before she could string them in the right order. How strange it was, a thought she'd played in her head time and time again, so unwilling to leave the mind from whence it came. The opposite of the sitting room thought. This one was perhaps too personal. "I always wanted to make..." She swallowed. "...stuffed animals..."

She trailed off and forced herself to meet his eye, bracing herself with a bite on the lip. He didn't laugh, though. He only smiled. "You should do that! Everyone loves stuffed animals."

"Well, my girls seem to like them," she admitted as a compromise, though she wouldn't tell him that Ietrin thought their collections were the work of toymakers. She never had shaken the memory of Ietrin catching her working on the toy rabbit, shortly after Dea had been born. He'd ripped it from her hands and torn the head right off of it, demanding that she not waste time making toys for a mere daughter when she ought to have been preparing for a son.

She'd fixed and finished the rabbit, gifting it to Dea by proxy of Sparron. It had been her first subtle act of defiance. Dea still had that rabbit.

"Your girls have good taste. Every child ought to have dozens of stuffed animals. I know I would have loved one."

"One?" The word struck a soft spot on Jeda's hidden heart, a sting like a barbed arrow. It would not do to pull it out and toss it aside lest the barbs remained. "You never had one?"

He shook his head. "Not that I remember, no."

On some underlying level of awareness, she'd known that not every child had. It only made her want to change that. "Rick, that's so sad."

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