In Which Evaleith Sticks to the Unappealing Situation

September 3, 1180

"So, you broke out of prison."

"Sure did."

"And commandeered one of the navy's ships."

"That too."

"And then lived off village after village of chumps by selling bogus aphrodisiacs."

Evaleith's father smirked. "Brilliant, wasn't it?"

Ceidrid's mouth wormed its way into some mockery of a smile while Evaleith fought back a biting comment. Not that she wasn't glad to see her father after all these years... but she'd sort of hoped that, if he did show up, it would be while her husband was out of the house. Much as she loved them both, the chances of them ever getting along were somewhere along the lines of discovering she was actually a long-lost princess.

That was to say, practically none.

"Seems like a method of... dubious legality."

Kind of what you'd expect from a pirate, really, she wanted to say. But there was enough semi-subtle contention in the room without a third party getting involved, so she compromised with a whisper to little Honora. "Grandpa's probably going to want to stay at the inn."

Her daughter just shrugged. It might have been cute if she'd reacted, but it hardly could have been expected. She'd known Grandpa for all of five minutes--and since Ceidrid's father had been dead long before he'd ever met Evaleith, the girl probably had little concept of grandfathers at all.

"So, what do you do, kid? Just farm? You wouldn't happen to grow any of the good stuff, if you know what I--"

Evaleith let out a sigh of relief. Thank God for knocks on the door. "It's open."

It was Nora. So much for hoping to at least keep her father separate from Ceidrid's side of the family. "Sorry. I didn't realize you had company."

"Company? Nah, I'm just her father." Nora's brows arched. She knew perfectly well who and what Evaleith's father was, but any comments were decidedly withheld and for that, Evaleith was grateful. "As for you, I do hope you're not the reeve."

Ceidrid shook his head. "Adwyn, this is my sister, Nora. And she's not the reeve, but she is the lady of this shire."

"I'm thinking she's too pretty to be your sister. Could've guessed lady, though," Evaleith's father added with a wink. "I take it you've heard nothing of me."

"Oh, I've heard that you're a pirate and a fugitive and a swindler. But that probably means you'll fit in just fine around these parts." Nora pulled up the chair opposite him and wasted no time sweeping him up and down, going straight for the eye contact. Evaleith thought she saw her father fidget. Her father never fidgeted. "Relax. I'm not here to arrest you, though I daresay it would be fun to try."

"Well, you'd be the prettiest face to ever put this body behind bars. Not that the competition was much, mind, unless scraggly beards bring the little colonel to attention." Her daughter glanced at him, puzzled. With any luck, she'd just drop it and forget about it like Evaleith wished kids would do more often. "But if you're not here to lock me up, might I ask why you've come?"

"Hmm. It's not as if I'm family or anything." Ceidrid snorted. But Nora, apparently not in the business of snickering at her own jokes, turned her eyes on Evaleith. "Evaleith, please take a seat. You've probably been on your feet all day."

"Eh. I'm used to it." But regardless, she placed Honora on the floor and took the seat beside her father. She watched her daughter toddle off toward the stairs, no doubt bored with all the adult chatter. It must have been nice, being at the age when one could just walk away from unappealing situations and not think anything of it.

But alas, for Evaleith herself, that age was long gone. "Perhaps you might be interested in the ship he stole. One of the ones Devidra had marked for King Roderick's 'navy', apparently."

"Yes, and a shitty little thing it was." Her father sighed. "Oh well. Served its purpose. And it's not like this kingdom needs a navy anyway. You're landlocked, for God's sake."

"That's what we've all been trying to tell the king," agreed Nora with a roll of her eyes. "Not that he has the listening capacity of an average three-year-old. He currently has my husband working on a crew for the first vessel. Most of the people who answered the announcement only showed up to laugh in his face."

"Can you blame them?" Of course, the chorus of smiles about the table said nobody did. "The whole thing is pretty funny."

Nora flashed a thoughtful twinkle of the eye. "Care to make it even moreso, Captain Ladell?"

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Evaleith Copes with the In-Laws

December 8, 1170

Rifden Wythleit may have been one of the most distinguished and highly skilled tradesmen in the area, but regardless of his successes, he was no more mature than any other young man his age--which was, to be precise, eighteen and a half. "So... when do we eat?"

Embarassed, Evaleith slouched in her seat. The boy's sister and brother-in-law--who were also his lady and lord, he might have done well to remember--had gone through all the unnecessary trouble of throwing a nice family gathering for Falidor's birthday and he couldn't even sit and make small-talk for twenty minutes before asking about supper. And he called himself a gentleman?

Not that it mattered, seeing as everyone else called him such.

The Wythleit siblings had been born peasants, but of the five of them, Evaleith's husband was the only one who still retained that lowly status. Not that she'd ever expected to marry a gentlemen--Lord knew she was twice the peasant Ceidrid was--but she was a little tired of feeling like an impostor. She'd come to the castle in her best dress, only to find that it paled in comparison to both Alsina's lacy red semi-formal and the kirtle Nora wore to accommodate the vast-approaching baby. Of the men, Ceidrid was the only one who'd even felt the need to dress up at all; the rest of them were wearing the same sort of clothing they wore every day! How was it that they were the only ones here who weren't fancy enough for some stupid family dinner?

And to think, it wasn't even as if Severin hadn't meant to make Ceidrid a gentleman years prior! Ceidrid had declined the offer, saying he would not call himself a gentleman until he felt that he had earned the title on his own merit. It was honorable of him, Evaleith knew--honorable, but stupid.

Ah, but maybe she was being too hard on the poor man. Peasant or not, she did love him, and it wasn't as if they were impoverished--far from. Their sons were well-fed and they never had any trouble making ends meet. She'd made such a social leap when she married him that she had likely grown unused to maintaining the same status years on end--yes, that had to be it.

"I'm a little hungry too," Alsina whined from her husband's lap--how on earth did she feel comfortable hanging off of the man in front of her siblings?

Aldhein groaned. "Well, if you are, the children probably are too."

By Nora's end of the couch, Severin's eyes narrowed into a pair of dark slits. He must have thought his in-laws somewhat immature--not that Evaleith could blame him, really. "It won't be much longer, I'm sure. Anyway, Falidor... how does it feel to be all of thirty? It's been so long since I was that age that I can scarcely remember."

Nora glanced up at her husband and snickered. "Yes, because we all know that eight years is a lifetime."

"It's not--and that's the scary thing," piped up Aldhein as Alsina pressed a daring kiss to the side of his neck--she must have had something to drink before they'd arrived. "Enjoy whatever you have left of your twenties, children."

His sister-in-law flashed him a devious grin, then cast a side-long glance toward her brother beside her. "All right, knock it off; I think you're scaring Falidor."

Privately, Evaleith had to disagree; however Falidor looked, it wasn't 'scared'. Indeed, she found it doubtful that he was even paying any attention to the conversation around him. He didn't seem to be quite all there--hadn't all evening, now that she thought about it. She wondered why that was--had his marriage declined even further than they'd thought?

Seeming to sense something similar, Ceidrid left his post at the fire and headed toward his brother. "You all right, bro?"

"Hmm?" Falidor took a moment to come to his senses; by the time he'd snapped to the here and now, every eye in the room was upon him. "Oh. I'm fine, thank you, just... thinking."

"Ah, he probably just needs to get laid," chuckled Rifden from the corner. Evaleith glared at him, but he only smirked--stupid child.

But to her surprise, Severin also laughed. "Perhaps you might take him on a tour of the local inns later tonight? Falidor on the loose--fathers lock up your daughters and all that."

At the sound of the word 'daughters', Falidor buried his face in his hands and whimpered, leaning forward as his elbows met his knees. Evaleith raised an eyebrow; had Riala or Maddie gotten into some sort of mischief earlier?

"Mama!" a small voice Evaleith recognized as Nora's daughter Ceira's rang from the corridor. "Mama, Papa, everybody! Supper's ready!"

"We'll be right there!" Severin took Nora by the hand and hoisted her to her feet, then glanced around the room, his gaze finally resting on Falidor. "Falidor, we shall let you have the pick of seats; if it makes you feel any younger, you're welcome to sit at the children's table."

If possible, Falidor slouched even further. "That... won't be necessary, thank you."

"Very well, then." He wrapped his arm around his wife's waist and pressed a kiss to her cheek before leading her out of the room. "Come along, everyone--dinner is served!"

Rifden scurried along after the pair of them, and Aldhein and Alsina after him. Ceidrid locked eyes with Evaleith and smiled. "Hungry, love?"

"A little," she admitted. "Yourself?"

He frowned. "More than I could say without encouraging Alsina and Rifden, anyway. Falidor?"

Evaleith watched from the corner of her eye as Falidor pulled himself upright, relieving himself with the heavy sigh of a man twice his age. Ignoring his brother's question, he rose to his feet with a distracted struggle and began the long, labored trudge toward the banquet hall.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Florian Proves a Slight Intoxication

March 23, 1167

"...so the troupe leader stares and blinks rapidly for a minute, then says 'All right then, what do you call yourselves?', and then the father says 'The Aristocrats!'" Florian wrapped up the joke, prompting an annoyed glare from Seoth the innkeeper--of course, that wasn't a bad thing.

Nora snickered, as did Seoth's wife. Meanwhile, Falidor turned back to his ale. "I don't get it."

Well, that figured. Florian rolled his eyes. "Never mind, then; you know it's not funny if you have to explain it."

"What is there to explain, though?" Laureina mused from behind the counter. "It's anti-humor; it's funny because it's unexpected."

"Sweetheart, what did I just say about explaining jokes?"

Visibly frustrated, Seoth ran his fingers through his hair. How did he do it? The man just invited agitation, and Florian had never been one to refuse such an obvious request. "Florian, have you ever considered frequenting some other inn? You know... anyone else's inn? Maybe one that's actually within a reasonable distance of your house?"

"Why would I go anywhere else? Of all the innkeepers in the kingdom, you're the only one with a pretty wife," Florian told him, sending a wink Laureina's way. Beside her, Seoth scowled; satisfied, Florian cast a sidelong glance at his friend's sister. "Besides, it's fun coming here and watching little Miss Leonora here flirting with all the eligible bachelors."

"What eligible bachelors?" Nora laughed rather forcefully, scanning the room before her gaze settled on Florian. "All I see are my brothers, two women, and a bunch of grouchy old married crows like yourself."

Over her shoulder, Florian watched as a young man he recognized as Lord Severin's squire turned his head. "I'm not married!"

"But you will be soon!" Florian gleefully reminded him.

Searle's pouty mouth curved into an almost comical snarl. "Shut up!"

Florian dismissed the kid with a wave, then turned back to Nora. "Anyway, how many drinks have you had? Four? You can't tell the difference between bachelors and brothers and women and crows with all the alcohol you've had."

"Oh, I don't know, Florian," sighed Falidor as he pushed his own pint aside. "You'd be surprised just how much liquor her little body can take."

It was true--all those drinks and Nora barely even seemed tipsy. Florian was impressed; his Thetis, bless her soul, had never made it through more than one drink without any obvious sign of intoxication. Of course, he'd've been lying if he said he didn't like it. "Well, then we'll just have to get her some more. Seoth! The lady wants wine!"

He looked over to the innkeeper to make sure he was pouring a glass, then placed his hand on Nora's arm; he wasn't often serious, but he figured there was no better time than three drinks in to tell the woman what he thought. "But really, darling, you're going to have to start looking a little harder; those kids of yours aren't going to father themselves, you know."

Nora snorted. "Florian, I don't know what sort of cock-and-bull story your mother fed you, but I can assure you that my children have already been... fathered, as you say."

Smiling, Florian tossed his head and looked back at Seoth; to his great delight, the man was as tense and irritated as ever. "Oh, are we talking about sex now? I thought we were talking about you trying to land a man."

"Don't the two go hand-in-hand?" she sneered. Nora was usually good for handling Florian's antics, but all of a sudden, she seemed as much of a killjoy as Seoth.

Florian shrugged. "You said it, not me. Now, who is there? You know, I think the baker's still free..."

Nora cut him off with a curt yawn. Florian flinched; no one had ever yawned at him before! "Look, Florian, I appreciate the gesture, and when I want to start looking for a man, then I'll let you know, all right?"

Well, that was certainly blunt. "No need to be rude, Nora; damn, you can't blame a man for trying to help out a damsel in distress, can you?"

"I'm not in distress," she insisted, a cringing emphasis on the last word. "Believe me, I'll manage on my own, and I don't expect to just fall in love with the next man someone tries to set me up with. Do you honestly think no one's tried by this point? I just don't connect to people easily, and if anyone could understand that, I would've thought it would be you, Florian. I mean, Lord knows I've only ever had even remotely serious feelings for two men in my entire life--"

Florian raised an eyebrow. "Two?"

Shaking her head, Nora brushed past him on her way to the door. "Maybe I am a little drunk."

"Who's two?" demanded Falidor as Nora stepped outside.

Florian nodded. "Yes, Jothein and who?"

She cast each of them a parting glare before closing the door behind her. "Idiots!"

Women! Thank God his Thetis was an open book--Jothein must have been an exceptionally clever man if he could decipher a language as cryptic as Nora. But alas, it seemed that even Nora could not go so many years without one little slip. "Who do you think this other man could be?"

Falidor's head cocked to one side as though he were trying to crack his neck. "Don't look at me; I didn't know anything about this until just now."

Florian bit his lip, wracking his brain for any man he knew whom Nora might have been ashamed to admit her feelings for. "Do you think he's too old or too young or married or something?"

Falidor didn't even seem to be listening, but Florian figured it was his loss. "Or maybe he's a criminal, or a madman or--"

"Look, if you're going to make light of a lady's personal affairs," uttered Seoth, who had somehow appeared right in front of him, a bizarre power that seemed to occur in only the gravest and most severe of men, "then it seems to me that it's only common courtesy to cover the tab she happened to leave."

...Women!

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin Meets the Other Side of His Coin

October 14, 1165

There were many activities that could be enjoyed with large groups of people, but so far as Severin was concerned, horseback riding wasn't one of them. He'd always enjoyed going for rides on his own, or perhaps in the company of his wife or some of his children or maybe even one or two of his friends, but it was a quiet, thoughtful sort of pastime; he found that the presence of too many people ruined that, making it more of a chore than anything else.

Or, perhaps it was more a matter of context than anything else. Parties on horseback rode to battle. Parties on horseback rode into exile. Ten able-bodied males between the ages of eighteen and thirty-seven who lived in three different shires never just went for a leisurely ride or an afternoon hunt together; there was work to be done, likely of the unpleasant sort.

About a week or so prior, he and Raia and a handful of guards had ridden to the fringe of the forest to meet with her friend Tavrin, who agreed to arrange for this audience with his grandfather, the apparent leader of these forest-dwellers. The next day, the boy had led Severin and Dalston to the exact spot and had given them the date and time--this date, this time.

A handful of men had volunteered to come along, just in case the negotiations didn't proceed as peacefully as planned. Falidor, Aldhein, and Florian were among their number, as were Adonis, Ceidrid, Halford, and Seoth. They had met at the armory at Severin's castle that morning, where they had all been properly fed and equipped, then they had proceeded into the woods, Dalston in the lead, with Octavius to his right and Severin to his left.

After about an hour's ride, they drew near the assigned meeting place and halted. Severin fiddled with the reigns of his horse, knotting and unknotting the strap of leather with the obsessed intensity of a child fighting to find the trick to a difficult riddle. For the first time in his adult life, he wished his father could be with him. He was a lecher and a cad and an altogether dishonorable man, but Lonriad could hold his own in a diplomatic exchange. He gave people what they wanted while achieving his own ends. He steered conversations while convincing the other party to believe himself in charge. He found loopholes that allowed neither side to come out of a situation feeling cheated or looking like an idiot.

And yet, of all his skills, the only one he had managed to pass on to Severin was an enhanced tendency to mentally undress attractive women--go figure.

Dalston swung his leg to the other side of his horse and eased himself to the ground. "Deian? Are you there?"

"Yes," replied a voice from further into the forest. It was a silky baritone of almost aqueous quality; Severin recalled a semi-repressed memory of a drop of clear poison rolling off the rim of a glass phial and into the cup of wine below. "And you, my good sirs, are late. Fortunately for you, I feeling patient today."

Severin dismounted his horse and stared in the direction of the voice, scanning for a silhouette of a humanoid figure; he was unsuccessful. "Sorry."

Wherever he was, Deian laughed the sort of laugh one might have expected to be greeted by in Hell. "I have no need for your apologies. The three of you, simply come hither; leave your men where they are."

Exchanging the briefest of glances with Octavius, Severin nodded, then followed the other two toward the origin of Deian's voice. He repeated Tavrin's description of his grandfather again in his head; tall, white hair, silver skin, all-seeing eyes...

But what he saw was not what he had been told to expect. There were sights, he was well aware, that rendered men speechless, and others that summoned screams from even the most stoic of champions. Some caused people to freeze in their tracks, while some sent their witness leaping backward and running in the opposite direction.

And some, like this one, merited stupefied, slack-jawed gapes accompanied by blinks of disbelief.

It was an orb--a hovering, cloudy orb.

Octavius raised an eyebrow. "You're Deian?"

"Indeed," Deian's voice answered from the orb. "For the sake of your comfort, I decided to contact you from afar using this artifact of my ancestors; I figured you might be somewhat uneasy in the presence of a man who has spent the past few years slaughtering your people at random. I hope this isn't an inconvenience."

His speech was laden with a demon's oily taunting, falsely considerate and even mock-patronizing. It was the sort of voice that was only used to provoke an angry response; Severin resolved not to give him one. "Believe me, it's no trouble. Anyway, I imagine you're a busy man, and you've waited long enough, so we shall be blunt--why are you murdering our people?"

That toxic laugh resounded once more; the poison met the wine and diffused throughout the chalice, undetectable save for the ripples remaining from the drop's impact. "I shan't bore you with the details; all you need to know is that I need your people out of this valley. Since you don't seem to have any intention of heading back to your native Dovia any time soon, I've seen fit to commence in your extermination. Is that a satisfying enough answer for you?"

"In all honesty, no," replied Octavius, the toe of his boot furrowing into the ground. "Why do you want us to leave?"

An annoyed sniff could be heard from the orb. "I am not at liberty to discuss that--particularly not with men who make adulteresses out of their own queens, men who lock their mad wives in filthy dungeons, and men who are so deeply bound within tightly-controlled personae that they no longer even recognize themselves."

By process of elimination, Severin had to place himself as the third. He stared at the orb and frowned, trying to process the words, but failing to make sense of them. "Sorry?"

"You heard," insisted Deian with the hint of a cackle. "You know, it really is a pity that we have conflicting interests, because I imagine under better circumstances, you and I might get along splendidly; we're two sides of the same coin."

Severin scowled. "You're mocking me."

"And if my mocking isn't the truth, then why should it hurt you?" the voice teased. "I like you. I believe I shall kill you last--of course, a man such as yourself would probably rather die before having to live without his precious wife and children, correct? I imagine that woman is the only thing keeping you from some rather self-destructive vices, and it would be a shame to see someone so outwardly honorable descend to such behaviors."

"And now you're just stalling," he concluded, turning to his companions in hopes that the subject would be changed.

Dalston came to the rescue. "There must be some way we can stay here without further inconveniencing you."

"Actually, that is not the case," Deian insisted, "but I would be willing to perhaps stall my quest for your destruction--if you do something for me, that is."

Severin glanced back at the men and their horses. At this point, moving the whole kingdom back to Dovia was almost out of the question. Florian was an exile. Aldhein was up to his eyeballs in his father's debt. Adonis, Halford, and Ceidrid had all established themselves here for more firmly than they ever could have in Dovia.

Perhaps Octavius might be given a title and some lands as a result of his marriage to Holladrin, but Dalston would hold no rank higher than that of a knight in the old kingdom, just like any other second son. Severin himself would probably not even achieve that; he did not think he could raise seven children on a gentleman's income. None of the assembled cared to leave, he could tell from the unease with with they clenched their fists and gripped their reigns--if there was a chance that they could stay in Naroni for however long, they would take it. "Obviously, just 'stalling' your planned genocide doesn't benefit us in the long run, but I suppose we have no choice but to hear you out."

The other two nodded in agreement, then peered expectantly at the orb. Deian allowed a second or two to pass before he spoke. "I want the three of you to play a little game with me."

Dalston tilted his head to the side. "What sort of game?"

"The sort of game that all three of you could potentially win," Deian assured them, "and it isn't possible for just one person to win; either you all win, you all lose, or two of you win and one of you loses. For each one of you who wins, I will hold off on the further slaughter of your people for a whole year, so even if only two of you win, that should give you plenty of time to decide whether or not your half-imagined kingdom is worth dying for, and for you to plan your evacuation if you decide that you value your lives over your delusions."

Octavius frowned. "And suppose we lose?"

The venomous laughter rang once again; Severin's hand flew to the hilt of his sword. "I suppose there's no sense mincing words; any man who loses this game dies."

Severin ground the lining of his cheek between his teeth. "So if we all lose, then not only will you continue to burn villages and maul travelers, but three shires will be left be lorded over by children?"

"Well, you can't expect me to offer to postpone my plans and therefore seriously inconvenience myself and my family without making it into some sort of wager," mused the voice of Deian. "That would be rather unfair, don't you think? Anyway, make your choice--will you play, or will you not?"

Dalston sighed, his eyes darting back and forth between Octavius and Severin. "What do you two think? I think we can risk it; the boys were better groomed for the task of ruling than we ever were, we have to remember."

Severin nodded. "True. It seems to me that it's only responsible of us to accept this wager; better one of us than God knows how many of our people."

"Florian!" Octavius called to his steward. "If none of us survive, tell the king to evacuate the kingdom as soon as possible; he won't like it, but even he's not dense enough to stay in such a situation."

"Yes, my lord," Florian responded from atop his horse.

After sending what might have been his last ever glance to the brave men who had agreed to accompany them, then to Dalston and Octavius in turn, Severin faced the orb and nodded. "All right. We'll play your game."

"Excellent," hissed Deian as a white light burst from the orb, fast engulfing the trees, the sky, Severin's own body. "Best of luck to all of you, my lords; it is always a shame when men such as yourselves meet untimely ends."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Aldhein Wakes a Sleeping Hatred

February 5, 1165

It had been Aldhein's hope that all the guests would have been gone by now, but it seemed that Lord Severin had other ideas. Admittedly, it was better he than a less agreeable personage, but in all honesty, Aldhein wanted nothing more than to just get this whole damn day done and over with.

Florian took the initiative of acknowledging him before Aldhein did--not that it was much of a problem. "Did her ladyship leave without you, my lord?"

Pulling himself from the chair, his lordship shook his head. "She knows better than to go riding alone these days. No, she'd scarcely put on her cloak when she was overwhelmed with sudden bout of nausea--Aldhein, I hope you don't have too strong a personal fondness for those bushes by the side of your house."

"Not particularly," he replied, staring at the wall as he resisted the urge to gnaw his own tongue off. He'd managed two words--that was enough for now.

Of course, Florian was not of the same school of thought. "Nausea, you say? Is she pregnant?"

Lord Severin shuddered. "Dear God, I hope not."

Florian's elbow met Aldhein's side with a sharp jab, as though cuing him to some witty remark, but Aldhein was not in the mood to joke about matters such as pregnancy. Instead, he chose to simply let his eyes fall to the wooden floor, the rough grain as foreboding as a labyrinth of thorns. "I understand your sentiments, my lord."

He watched as the toe of Lord Severin's boot lifted and fell. "Aldhein, might I request a favor of you?"

With some difficulty, Aldhein raised his eyes to meet those of the other. "Yes, my lord?"

"Just... be gentle with her, all right?" Lord Severin advised, with all the seriousness of wary father. "You're well aware that she still hasn't told anyone exactly what happened that day, so for all we know, she may have endured a horrific ordeal. I realize that you're used to a, uh... wilder sort of woman, but Alsina's in a very delicate state right now, and I doubt she has the resilience of someone like Thetis or Nora. If she doesn't feel comfortable with what the two of you are supposed to do tonight... well, don't force her into anything. Don't become the one who did this to her."

He didn't need to be told all this; all Lord Severin had done was put Aldhein's own fragmented thoughts to sensible words. "I'll be good to her."

"I'm relieved to hear it."

If he had anything more to say, he chose to withhold it. The room fell into an uneasy silence, untouched by even the softest of breathes. Aldhein fiddled with the foreign band on his finger. He'd never expected so tiny a thing to be such a weight; it was a hundred pounds if it was an ounce. How did men carry such burdens for so many years? Would this Promethean binding truly continue to tether him all the way to the grave? Beyond, even?

"Don't worry, Aldhein," muttered Florian, interrupting his troubled thoughts. "I didn't catch most of what he had to say either. It's his own fault, really; sometimes, I swear that man only talks because he likes the sound of his own voice."

Frowning, Aldhein sent an apologetic glance Lord Severin's way. The other man's brow twitched, but he refrained from commenting, no doubt accustomed enough Florian's general lack of manners that he deemed it useless--or even harmful--to put him in his place. Fortunately, his wife bounded through the front door and straight into his arms, relieving the room's tension as only an exceptionally pretty face could.

"Feeling better, Princess?" he asked as the pair of them released each other.

Lady Alina nodded. "Much, thank you. No need to worry--I probably just ate something funny."

"Or maybe you're eating for two," suggested Florian offhandedly.

Her ladyship laughed--somewhat forcibly, at that. "Florian, I've had seven babies; I know when I'm pregnant. Anyway, congratulations, Aldhein," she added, pulling him aside and wrapping her arms around him.

Aldhein returned the embrace with a grimace. He hadn't thought about whether or not to put up with the whole fidelity notion just yet, but regardless, this was likely the closest he would get to a grown, fully-developed woman for quite some time. "Thank you, your ladyship."

She pecked him on the cheek, then spun away, her dainty fingers interlocking with those of her husband. "Oh, but don't mind us--we won't keep you any longer, will we, Severin?"

"Not at all," he agreed, placing his arms around her waist and pulling her away from the crowd. He nudged the door open with his elbow, then flashed Aldhein and his groomsmen a parting grin. "So long, children! Have a nice night."

Lady Alina winked. "I know we will."

Lord Severin responded with a laugh, then ushered his wife out the door, closing it behind them. As they left, three women emerged from the bedroom; Aldhein's veins constricted to what must have been their smallest possible diameter.

Evaleith and Thetis at her heels, Falidor and Alsina's sister Nora glanced toward the men with a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "Well, we're ready. It's your turn now."

"Is she all right?" asked Ceidrid, frowning.

Evaleith shrugged. "Fine as she'll ever be, I guess. Might want to catch her before she falls asleep, though."

"She did seem quite tired," agreed Thetis.

"We'll be quick," Florian assured them. "Oh, and Falidor, kindly take your eyes off my wife's breasts. Thanks."

Falidor went as crimson as his sister's dress while Thetis struggled to hold back a giggle. She then took Evaleith by the arm and led her to the couch; Nora, meanwhile, turned to Aldhein. It seemed to him that every time her blue eyes met his own, they looked even more broken. Her young life had held far too many tragedies for the number of years it had thus far spanned; he might have pitied her if he had any pity left to spare, or if she was the sort of girl who cared for pity in the first place.

"Thank you for doing this," she muttered as she embraced him, the bulge of her child pressing against his core. "I let her put on the nightgown, as you requested. Please... be gentle with her, all right?"

Aldhein pressed his lips to her brow, then nodded. "Don't worry about it." There was no need for her to do that; he was already worrying enough for the both of them.

Nora drummed her fingers across his back, then stepped aside, joining the other two women on the couch and allowing Florian to push him around the corner and into the bedroom. Ceidrid and Falidor followed closely, Falidor shutting the door as quietly as he could.

Florian brushed past the bed, turning his head for the briefest of moments. "No peeking, Alsina."

She didn't reply; in fact, Aldhein suspected she was already asleep.

She lay with the stillness of a glass figurine; she may as well have been a corpse in a coffin. Her flaming hair was not so shiny as he remembered, and the shadows that pooled beneath her eyes served to prove the paleness of her flesh.

When he had first met her, she had been a feisty, spirited little thing, as full of life and potential as the sweetest of spring blossoms. In time, she'd grown--taller, older, but no wiser--into a restless, perhaps reckless young woman, ravishing and fiery as the summer sun. He had married her mere hours ago, hours which she had endured as a silent, trembling creature, troubled and skeletal and exposed as a tree that was fast shedding its autumn leaves; now, here she was, set with an eerie stillness, frozen in the wake of winter's Judas kiss.

Florian needn't have told her not to look. She had no intention of looking. She had no intention of ever sensing anything again, whether it be the sight of her naked husband or the song of a morning bird or the touch of whatever demon had come upon her that day she undoubtedly wished she could forget.

Gnawing at his lip, Aldhein forced himself to turn away from her. The last thing he wanted to do was look at her, but as always, it was difficult to stop once he began.

Behind him, Ceidrid shifted audibly. "Are you all right?"

Aldhein grunted in reply, not fully sure as to whether it was a yes or a no. If Ceidrid had a clearer insight, he did not share it.

In front of him, Falidor gestured for him to turn around. "All right... now we have to get you out of those clothes."

"There's something Falidor hasn't said to any effect in quite some time," jeered Florian as Aldhein hesitantly complied. Under any other circumstance, he might have found Florian's joke at Falidor's expense amusing, but this was a different case. He felt more comfortable with as many barriers between himself and Alsina as possible; any clothing he wore constituted a barrier.

He tried not to struggle as Falidor pulled the shirt off of him, then removed his boots and proceeded to his pants. It was an alien experience... when had been the last time he'd been undressed by a man? Before he'd been capable of undressing himself, he was sure of it.

Finally, Falidor tossed the slacks aside and pulled himself to his feet. "Done."

Florian sneered. "Not quite."

"I can take it from here," Aldhein sighed. "Just... go home, won't you?"

None of the three of them budged; he rolled his eyes. "All right, think of it this way--do any of you honestly want to see any more of me than this?"

He'd never seen a room's population halved so quickly; if only it hadn't been such a bittersweet victory.

Once he had heard the last of the footsteps making their way from the house, Aldhein swallowed and faced his bride once more. She hadn't stirred since he'd last laid eyes on her--not that he had expected otherwise.

The sight of her pulled forth a chain of old memories, one he preferred not to think about, but always found himself dwelling on in the event that it was summoned. He'd been about nine at the time, maybe ten, and every morning, a girl would walk by the house on her way to the well. She'd been a few years older than he was, a small and blond, a pretty little thing. They'd never spoken--to this day he didn't know her name, and he doubted she'd ever known his--but if he happened to be outside when she passed, she would be sure to flash him a smile.

Then, one day, she stopped smiling. She shrunk away into gloom, her pace slowing, her skip fading into a dull trudge. Her stomach swelled, her dresses diminished; her golden hair fell from her scalp and her lovely face became a waxen skull. One day, Aldhein had looked to the old cemetery and caught sight of a few men digging a fresh grave. Innately, he had known it was for her.

After her death, he heard fragments of the story from various villagers, piecing it together after a few days of sorting through twisted secondhand gossip and seemingly common opinions. She'd had some sort of altercation with a man--consensual, rape, too drunk to even remember, he didn't know--and had become pregnant as a result, and the bastard wouldn't marry her. She'd had a weak father and a cruel stepmother, the former failing to find her a husband and the latter insisting she be cast out as a result of this. No one had helped her after that; she had slowly perished in the streets, the baby with her.

Whatever the circumstances, he hated the man who had done that to that girl. He hated the man who had done that to Alsina. Most of all, he hated himself. He'd lusted after her too, this little girl, this mere child; secretly, he was no better than the brute who had inflicted his spawn upon her in the first place.

He must have been breathing too loudly, he realized too late; her eyes briefly flickering open, Alsina rolled over, facing him. "Aldhein?"

It was the first word she had spoken all evening, save the obligatory oath of 'I will'. Shaking his head, Aldhein made his way about the room, dousing every lit candle with a pinch of his fingers. He then shut the window and allowed himself one last parting glance at his cadaverous young wife. "I'll sleep in the guest bedroom tonight. Good night, Alsina."

"Wait," she rasped as he stormed out of the bedroom. "Wait, don't..."

"Good night!" he snapped once more, slamming the door behind him and proceeding to the stairs. Something told him that this would be far from the last night he spent alone.

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