In Which Gennie Thinks Beyond the Reprieve

May 6, 1196

"Sorry, kiddo. You'll need a stronger jail cell than that if you want to hold the evil wizard count."

His toy castle of course not equipped with a stronger jail cell, Rickard stuck out his tongue. Wolf chuckled the whole while and patted the kid on the head. Wolf was good with kids--Gennie would give him that. He was good with kids, while Dalston had always been so skittish around them, practically afraid of them.

Gennie had always wanted a ton of kids. Six or seven, at least. If she were to have six or seven kids, then one of her top priorities in a man had to be excellent fatherhood potential. Wolf had that in spades. Dalston had next to none.

Why, after all this time, did that still make her so... sad?

"He really likes you." From her arms, Sparron shot Wolf a toothy little grin. Both of her brothers loved Wolf. Her new twin sisters, once they were old enough to expand their social focus beyond their mother, would probably love him too. Gennie made a point to take that as a sign in Wolf's favor, but she hated that it would have to be a conscious effort.

"What's not to like?" Wolf smirked, his eyes alight as they always were when he looked at her. If there was to be a day when she could look back with the same way, then it couldn't come soon enough. "Hmm. Maybe if we found something we could shackle the count with..."

"You could take the lace from his tunic. He's always pulling it out anyway." Eyes rolling, Gennie shook her head at the little brother on the floor; Rickard squirmed, guilty but not sorry. "It drives Mother up the wall."

"Well, we can't have that. We'll use one of my bootlaces instead. Care to help me with that, Rick?"

Eager to indulge himself with his favorite habit of tugging on strings, Rickard crawled over to Wolf's outstretched boot and got to work, laughing as the lace left each fret. In Gennie's arms, Sparron bounced with glee. He was in an odd phase where discarded shoes were more enjoyable than any toys in his nursery. Wolf, knowing this, would be quick to nudge the boot in Sparron's direction while Rickard busied himself with the lace.

"All right, all right. I'll put you down so you can play with your boot." Gennie nuzzled her brother's nose and set him on the floor. With both boys under Wolf's watchful eye, she could go and check on her mother and the twins, run and fetch anything any of them might have needed, maybe sing to babies to sleep if need be.

But then, after that reprieve, she'd have to return. If she wanted Wolf to be the one, then she had to do a better job of convincing herself.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Octavius Allows for Optimism

November 22, 1192

"Ta-da!" Gennie wasted no time between bursting through the nursery door and depositing the sturdy pink infant into Fred's arms. "Mother is doing very well, and this little fellow stopped fidgeting just long enough for us to get him cleaned up and swaddled."

Octavius indulged himself in a private smirk. With no one putting pressure on Jeda, the hope for this baby had been the basic, altogether sufficient happy and healthy--but it was a delicious irony that the one time with a man other than Ietrin had been enough to make the son that asshole had never gotten.

"He looks just like her," Fred sighed, though Octavius struggled to see it. Hollie and Gennie had both looked far more like Jeda when they'd been born; this baby, from what he could tell, seemed to take after Fred's side more. "Did she name him?"

"Not officially, but she said that since he's your first child, you can name him after your father if you like. Her only condition is that if you have another son, she wants to name him for my Uncle Sparron."

"Of course." Fred kissed the baby's brow and bounced him a little, just enough to his feet stirring in his blankets. "Hello, Rickard. Some day, your mother and I will give you a little brother named Sparron--or a little sister. Or perhaps both!"

A little optimistic, at Jeda's age--but then again, Renata had birthed Clia at the ripe old age of fifty-one, and it seemed that Ietrin had indeed been the problem where reproduction in Jeda's first marriage had been concerned. "Provided sufficient breaks between births, I think Jeda would like that."

"On our wedding night, she told me she wanted ten! So... here's hoping the next one is twins?" Fred laughed. "Come and see your grandson."

Happy to oblige, Octavius rose from the couch and waved to the little fellow. "Hello there, little Rickard."

Rickard gurgled--probably the closest a newborn could really come to smiling.

"He has your eyes, Fred." Yet another reason it was so lucky a thing Ietrin was dead and buried.

"Maybe, but he wears them better." Fred gave his son one last loving look, then handed him over to Octavius. "I think he gets that from Jeda."

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