In Which Roderick Sees the Last

December 31, 1181

"You know, Roderick, I'm quite glad you talked me out of throwing that New Year's Eve party." Laralita let her head fall to Roderick's shoulder in a deliberate, practiced slouch befitting of a queen, the crown on her head not slipping in the slightest. Roderick could not have asked for a better end-of-year companion than a woman who made poor poster so regal. "Who would we invite, really? Severin and that peasant he married and their undisciplined mob? I'm sure you would have loved to see your older daughters, but Camaline would have brought Sparron and Octavius, and of course Leara would have had Lorn's entire family come. Celina is lovely, of course, and Ovrean is my own dear brother, but I never know what to say about that undead son of hers. And of course I haven't spoken with Tarien since that woman was so rude with you.

"Besides." A charming giggle chimed from her lips. "If they all have their little separate New Year's Eve parties, then we get to host a magnificent New Year's Day. Oh, Roderick! Everyone will be trying all year to top it, and none of them will--until we outdo ourselves at Christmas!"

Christmas? That did leave several empty months. "An excellent plan, dearest... but what about Midsummer?"

"Oh! I forgot about Midsummer. Perhaps we will let someone else try and fail with that." She laughed, and he did the same. If his count was right, it was Severin's turn to host Midsummer. That would be a spectacular failure, to the point where it would be painful if it weren't so horribly amusing. Severin ought to have known better than consorting with the help, or he might have landed a wife who could throw a decent occasion--not that every man could be lucky enough to find a Laralita, of course. "It will make Christmas even grander."

"It will be the best party yet--even better than tomorrow's." Roderick kissed her on the forehead, just in time to look up for the knock on the door. "Who is it?"

"Master Finessa, your majesty. Your son wishes for you to sample his choice of wines for tomorrow before you retire."

Ah! Good! Ietrin knew little about wine and Roderick wasn't sure he could trust his choice blindly. He'd been generous in allowing the boy to have his pick in the first place. "You may enter, then."

The wine master--and thank God tonight was his last, as he was surely no expert!--entered, a curt-yet-respectful nod in place of a bow; Roderick assumed that was only due to the bottle he carried. "Your majesties. Would you care for a sip too, my queen?"

"Thank you, but I couldn't. I prefer not to drink so soon before bed." How ladylike! The Arydaths and Noras of the world would not have abstained from the fine wine they'd coveted as peasants, Roderick was sure of it--even if it was wasted on their palates. "Is it true that you are leaving us tonight, Master Finessa?"

"It is, your highness." He crossed the study floor and placed on the table the two goblets he'd brought, then uncorked the bottle and took to filling one cup. "I have an aunt in Italy who is very ill, and I'm the only family she has left; the decent thing would be to go and care for her, wouldn't you say?"

"Admirable," Roderick agreed. And not just because it paved the way for him to hire someone better, though that was in truth his main concern. "Your aunt is lucky to have you."

"You flatter me, your majesty." He sealed the bottle and took the empty cup in hand. So that was it--the last that Roderick would see of yet another servant. It never did get any more difficult. "Best of luck in the New Year."

"You as well," Laralita bade him, out of politeness rather than obligation. "Safe travels, Master Finessa."

"Thank you kindly, my queen."

And with that, he'd shuffled out of the room, shutting the door behind him, leaving Roderick once again in more pleasurable company.

"Well." Laralita propped herself onto his lap and planted a peck to his lips. No doubt Ietrin's choice of wine would not taste so sweet. "I believe I shall retire now, but I'd like for you to join me before I fall asleep. I don't plan on dreaming before I've had my last kiss of this year and my first of the next."

"And I shan't have you greeting your dreams without my granting that wish." He eased her off of him gently and watched her trim figure as she rose. All those children later and still with the body of a maid of eighteen. The Lord had owed him after Geneva, and He'd certainly delivered. "I'll be with you after my wine."

"I'll hold you to your word."

Oh, that wonderful, wonderful woman! "My dear, I am a king; I always keep my word."

*

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Roderick Is a Man of His Word

November 6, 1181

"So." Arydath--for all she'd stolen the title upon marrying Tarien, Roderick refused to anoint her with the word 'lady'--strode from the study door right up to the edge of the desk, no regard for a proper show of a subject's respect at all, not even a 'your majesty'. This was in no small part why he'd never liked her. Even Severin would at least greet him with a quick nod and a muttered instance of his name.

But in regards to certain matters of womanly health, there was supposedly no one better, and Roderick had promised his son the best. And damn it, Roderick would have the best too. He did have other sons, but thrones weren't meant to be passed from brother to brother; even if he didn't outright object to that alternative, he did prefer that the throne pass to a grandson via Ietrin. It was the proper and kingly thing to wish. "You've finished your examination of my daughter-in-law, I presume?"

"This will go better for both of us if you don't interrupt me again. But if I hadn't, I don't see why I'd be here instead of there." Hmph. To think, his own brother-in-law had deemed this vulgar woman worthy of a marriage! It was a small wonder that Tarien and Laralita's parents never visited, even if they had both Celina and Roderick himself to make up for the unfortunate rotten limb on the family tree. Arydath made Severin's jumped-up servant girl look like an empress in comparison.

"I'm a king. I can interrupt whomever I please." But he couldn't be firmer with her because he doubted she was above withholding the coveted information. "Just tell me what the problem is."

She sniffed. "There is no problem."

"Sorry?" Roderick frowned. He'd figured that any issue Jedaline might have had wasn't as severe as it could have been, given the existence of her daughters, so he'd been optimistic in the sense of not assuming the worst. Surely, though, after ten years of marriage and only two children to show for it...

"There.Is.No.Problem." A lock of loose, unruly hair bounced as she raised and lowered one scrawny shoulder. "Not one that I can see or feel or otherwise sense, at least. Her womb is healthy. Her tubes are healthy. Unless there's an issue on some higher level we lack the means to detect, she shouldn't have any difficulty conceiving or gestating."

"Then there must be some higher level." There must have been. Arydath had said so herself, hadn't she? Not that Roderick liked to think they agreed even in the slightest. "A woman of her age, married as long as she's been, only two daughters to show for it. Perhaps you missed something."

"Missed something? I ran the exam four times!" Her fist slammed his desk with a force unbefitting of its size. Roderick's own hand shook. If she hadn't been someone else's wife, he might have hit her. "The poor girl was in tears by the end! How would you feel if I shoved my hand up your ass and poked around because your father-in-law demanded it?"

Had she... had she just... Bitch. That had to have been the rudest thing anyone had ever said to him. This woman was hardly fit to be knee-deep in barnyard mud delivering piglets, much less... that. "How dare you. How dare you speak to me that way! Especially when you didn't even do your job!"

"I did do my job! More than once! I get that you want a grandson, but your daughter-in-law is fine!" After the last belt, she took a couple breaths and tried to calm herself. Furious, Roderick struggled to do the same; he would not have it said that this woman was better composed than he was. "If you ask me, everyone is coming at this from the wrong angle. If it isn't an issue with Jeda, perhaps your son has a problem."

...what? "Is that even possible?"

She shrugged. Of course she couldn't commit to an answer. Not worth her fee in the slightest. "Not having one of those things myself, I'm hardly an expert. But if there's been a virgin pregnancy since or before Mary, no one told me about it; if a cock has something to do with it, a malfunctioning cock won't do."

"Interesting." And yet... not. Surely there wasn't anything wrong with Ietrin? He was a prince, after all, a specimen of... well, not perfect breeding, but it wasn't as if his whore of a mother ever had a problem getting pregnant, and Roderick himself had more children than he knew what to do with. Ietrin must have been above such woes, if there were such woes. Princes did not have... malfunctioning cocks, as she'd so crudely put it. And to think, she kissed her mother with that mouth. "But I don't remember paying you to talk about my son's genitalia."

"And I don't remember you agreeing to my usual half before and half after--kings being men of their words and all." Hmph. A lucky thing that was for her, or she wouldn't be getting a single coin. "And since I did technically examine her more than once, a truly honorable king would adjust the fee fittingly."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Ietrin Is Told to Wait

October 2, 1181

"Why are you even asking me this?" Ietrin's father was not known for being the cleverest of men, so it was never a good sign, finding himself on the receiving end of that grey-eyed 'you're an idiot' glare. "Do you have any idea how absurd you sound?"

And that was why it was never a good sign. It meant his father had misunderstood. "I don't see what's so absurd about wanting my son for my heir."

His father sniffed. "Your bastard son."

"Clearly I wouldn't be here if I had a legitimate son." A legitimate son would have been a given. A legitimate son would have been a non-issue. He wouldn't have had to ask to let a legitimate son inherit--that was just the way things were. "But I've been married ten years now and I'm not getting any younger and my wife isn't getting any fatter--or, she is, but not in the desired sense." He shuddered in distaste as he considered the flab of her thighs during their more recent bedroom ordeals. If Jeda couldn't give him a son, would it kill her to at least keep her figure under control?

"I've noticed that, and you have my condolences. But if Jeda never gives you a son, you do still have younger brothers. I shan't scorn them, and their mother, and the kingdom--and myself!--by giving your bastard a higher place in line."

"Do you really think any of my brothers would make a halfway decent king?"

"Would your bastard? He's still a child. They all are. Give your brothers a chance." That was so easy for his father to say. His father didn't have any younger brothers. "I'm sorry, Ietrin, but unless you can divorce Jedaline for infertility--which I don't see how you could, given your daughters--all you can do is wait for her to give you a son, and to accept that your brothers will inherit if she fails to do so."

Because he hadn't waited long enough, apparently, hadn't agonized over the future of his kingdom, hadn't seen the other heirs with their sons, their secure futures. Lorn had been married as long as Ietrin to the day--about half an hour less, perhaps!--and he'd had a son in his arms within the year. Jadin and Xeta's little accident had been a girl, but sure enough, it hadn't been long before Xeta's waistline had increased once again, this time to the effect of a boy. Even Sparron had a son--Sparron, Jeda's brother, a man from a family where near-sterility must have been the norm!

Of course, Ietrin did have a son. The problem was that he wasn't Jeda's, but it was only a problem because his father refused to let it be otherwise. "I'm not content to wait any more, Father. If there's anything I can do--"

"Well... I suppose you could increase the frequency of your marital duties."

Of course. The one thing he'd already done. Long ago, in fact.

Thanks a lot, Father.

"And if it's any comfort, you have no immediate need of an heir anyway. I do plan on living for a long while yet."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Roderick Delights in the Formalities

September 9, 1180

Roderick's wife panted as she stepped back, a little flushed and a little flustered, smoothing the front of her dress as if the velvet dared wrinkle. But he couldn't fault the lapse in composure, not after what he'd just done. He and Laralita were not above occasionally falling prey to their more animalistic instincts--not as prone to it as some, thank God, but hardly immune--but they at least had the decency to restrict such impulses to the bedroom, after hours, and usually under at least the guise of wanting another child. So who was he to blame her for being caught off-guard when he'd greeted her with a dip toward the floor and a persistent open-mouth kiss?

"Well. Whatever I thought you'd summoned me to your study for, I hardly expected that!"

"My apologies, love." He wasn't really sorry, nor he did think she felt he ought to be, but it was a formality. And Lord knew they both adored formalities, almost as much as they enjoyed the sunny glow of good fortune's smile upon them--which he, for one, certainly felt in full after that meeting. "I couldn't help myself. I have wonderful news."

"Oh?"

"Indeed! Severin and Octavius finally managed to find a suitable captain for our first ship." And about time too! Damn it, he'd already had to delay taking advantage of Devidra's side of the bargain long enough, especially when he'd more than fulfilled his own; Devidra would be a grandmother in February, after all, courtesy of Roderick's daughter. "But while they did take more time than they ought to have, I'll give them credit for picking well. Carvalli fellow, captain of his own ship at one point--merchant sailor of some sort. But even better than the experience is that the appointed will infuriate that wretched Devidra to no end."

"Oh?" Laralita's lips pursed in interest. She'd never met Devidra, but like any good and dutiful wife, she loathed her husband's adversaries on principle. "How so?"

"Funny story. You see, the man has an identical twin brother who happens to be a drunk, and this drunk..." He shuddered. He'd had enough of bar shenanigans to last a life time, but this man had it much worse. He hadn't even been the drinker! And he hadn't even gotten a kingdom out of it! "Well, it's not really a story fit for a lady's ears--probably the same sort of filth Severin dreams up in his spare time--but suffice to say he paid her great offense. One unfortunate case of mistaken identity later, and our man is at the top of her personal most wanted list." He shook his head. There was nothing quite so tragic as the needless plight of a good man. At least the tale had now taken a happy turn. "But, seeing as he will be serving under me, he's under my official protection. Why, Devidra couldn't arrest him even if he took up piracy!"

Laralita smiled, an understanding in her face he'd scarcely seen on anyone since his own dear mother's passing. Whatever cruel trick God had played when He'd given him Geneva, He'd surely repaid tenfold. "Oh, Roderick! You've done this man a great favor; he'll serve you well in turn."

She stepped forward for an embrace and a kiss to the cheek. Roderick returned it before cementing his agreement. "Of course he will, if he knows what's good for him. I am a king, damn it!"

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin Isn't Impressed

January 1, 1180

"All right, first things first." Roderick picked up his stylus and scribbled something on the sheet in front of him. Or scribbled anything on the sheet in front of him, more like; even among the closest the man had to actual friends, it was all about appearances. "Where the hell is Octavius?"

For all there couldn't have possibly been cause for worry, Severin had to be relieved that Octavius himself had not been here to hear that. "Still in Dovia, I would assume." What with his daughter's funeral and all.

"I knew that!" The king shot him a glare that he no doubt meant to be threatening. As with anything else Roderick did, the logical course of action was to ignore it. "I just figured he would have returned by now. It's been nearly a month now since she passed."

A month. Considering the time it had taken for the news to arrive, plus the time it took to travel to Dovia and back again, a month was barely any time at all. And while Severin himself didn't know--and never would, God willing--what it was to lose a child, it didn't sit well to hold that kind of a grief to a schedule. "He may be on his way back, for all we know. But I'll remind you that he never said when we might expect him back."

"Camaline said it would be some time this week," Lorn offered as a thinly-veiled compromise. It did seem to satisfy Roderick. Lorn might have had the makings of a diplomat, at least so far as Severin could tell, if only he could have learned in a country where competent rulers discussed things that actually mattered.

Then again, that was the beauty of a small backwater country with lackluster resources and barely any influence to speak of. Internal affairs--barring the not-quite-odd-enough bizarre calamity of whatever sort--were rarely of a scale to require any higher authority than the direct lord. For all it was a pointless waste of time to discuss other people's travel plans, it wasn't as if there was a more pressing matter waiting. "There you have it, Roderick. The week's not out yet."

Roderick cleared his throat. "'There you have it, your majesty.'"

"Roderick, how many times do I have to ask you not to call me that?"

On the other bench, Lorn fought back a smirk. Roderick only glowered. "Moving on--you're probably wondering why I called this meeting."

Severin wasn't. An exchanged glance with Lorn said he wasn't other. A couple decades later and still the vast majority of Roderick's meetings were thrown for the sheer vanity of saying they'd met at all. Nevertheless, Severin had made a fairly solid career of knowing when to humor the man. "Do tell."

"Well." A smug smile pressing against the edge of his beard, Roderick leaned back in his seat and adjusted his crown. "I believe congratulations are in order for us all. Today, gentlemen--this very day--marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of the founding of this kingdom."

Outside, a cricket chirped. "Well? Wouldn't you say this is cause for celebration? That's no small feat, keeping a kingdom afloat for a quarter of a century--just the three of us."

Lorn cringed--apparently having the same couple thoughts as Severin. "Actually, I haven't even been alive for a quarter of a century."

"And you're forgetting about Octavius." Who does a hell of a lot more around here than you do. "And Dalston." Who probably does too, for all he's been dead a decade and a half. "And all our ladies, past and present. And the workers, for all you can never seem to remember their existence."

Roderick waved back one hand, swatting away those details as he might have some airborne pest. "The point stands."

"Hardly." What were twenty-five years in the scheme of all history? Barely a blink, if even. Looking back, Severin's own past twenty-five didn't seem much longer. "Twenty-five years isn't such an impressive age for a kingdom, and this one practically runs itself." Somehow.

"Well, I'm impressed." Of course he was. "And I'm the king, damn it; if I'm impressed, then you ought to be as well. Now, how do you think we ought to commemorate the occasion?"

Lorn shrugged. The gesture more or less summed up the past few minutes of Severin's life, a precious few minutes he would never see again. "I think we ought to end this meeting early."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Mona Is Given Her Part

October 9, 1178

At fourteen, Mona had no delusions about her father. She knew what people thought of him, what people said about him when they thought no one could hear, and she knew it wasn't far from the truth. She knew he was pompous, pretentious, and excessive. She knew he was arrogant and self-serving and more than a tad incompetent. She knew what little right he had to call himself a ruler, and how he wasted every last bit of it.

But his eyes were the hard steel grey of kings come and gone, and if her father knew one thing, it was how to use them. When Mona was sitting and her father was standing, those eyes made damn sure that she listened to every word the mouth beneath them had to say--no matter how ridiculous or downright stupid they were.

That wasn't to say that she had qualms about arguing. "I can't say I see the problem. Lady Leonora wears her hair a similar way."

Her father's lip twitched, as it always did when Lord Severin's wife was brought up. It might have been nice not to get such a guilty pleasure out of such things. "That vassal slut is not a lady; you're well aware of my stance on the validity of that marriage. Besides, a glorified commoner in that hedonistic cesspit of a shire is hardly the same thing as a future queen. I won't have you sent off to Carvallon looking like less than a princess. What would Queen Devidra think if you showed up with all those uneven lengths and flyaway strands?"

From what Mona had heard of Queen Devidra, she had no doubt that the woman wore her own hair chopped hastily to chin-length like some salty old sea captain. But her father's idea of a queen was her mother, and all other queens would be measured with that stick. It was precisely why Mona had never desired a crown, and it figured that of all her siblings, she would be the first to don one, possibly the only one aside from Ietrin. All those years of wishing to get away had backfired. "Would she care? The Carvalli are a bit--"

"Savage?" She'd meant to say 'fancy-free', but it was a synonym so far as her father was concerned. "Well, yes, but that's part of it. The Carvalli haven't had a real princess in decades; they ought to know what one looks like."

"Then perhaps you should have sent Riona."

And oh--how he would have, he couldn't deny it. Her perfect older sister would have been, in his mind, the queen every queen aspired to be. Pity she couldn't have gone instead. "We've been over this. She wanted to marry sooner than Devidra would agree to, and your mother and aunt wanted her to marry one of your cousins--"

"Yes, a cousin who's a father and two brothers and two nephews away from the throne." And while she knew little else about her cousin Lonriad, that one thing would have made him perfect for Mona herself. It was tiresome enough to be a princess; it would only be moreso, being a queen.

Her father glared at her. "I should hope you won't talk back like that to your husband."

"If he dares talk forth to me in the first place. He's supposed to be some sort of stuttering bookworm, isn't he?"

"And it will be up to you to make a king of him." He folded one arm beneath the other, matter of fact, as if someone had once bothered to do the same for him. "That is part of what a queen does."

Then it was a pity for Adrius that Mona was no queen.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Ietrin Regrets Asking

March 20, 1178

"Drowned in a ditch, you say?"

At least he wasn't angry? For all Ietrin's father didn't care much for the parish priest, it hadn't seemed likely that he'd take the news well--if only because suitably pious replacements were so woefully hard to come by. "Indeed. Damn rains."

"Hmm." His father leaned back in his chair as he stroked his beard. His crown might have slipped right off his head if not for the meticulous locks holding it in place. "That is problematic, given how Rome doesn't seem to care much for our souls. Do you think Carvallon would add a priest to their end of the deal if we threw in a basket of pastries?"

Did they need to throw in a basket of pastries? "Father, we're giving them my sister. They ought to give us a dozen priests."

His father sniffed. At least Roderick was good at looking like a king so long as he kept his mouth shut. Was Ietrin a horrible son for thinking that? Probably. But a horrible son was not necessarily the worst crown prince, was he?

"You don't seem to understand the value of the ports we will be able to access."

Perhaps I would if they were being put to some sort of reasonable economic use. "Father, we don't need such a large navy."

"And why not?"

Oh dear God. "We're landlocked, Father."

Ninety-nine out of a hundred men would have left it at that. It figured that his father wasn't one of them. "We have rivers, don't we?"

"Small, shallow ones--and poor farmland, and no important resources to speak of." But perhaps it was asking too much for the man to see that. Ietrin was not a king--yet--but he would be one who saw things as they were. His father was a king who saw things as he pleased. "We don't need to waste resources building a proper military because we're not worth the trouble of attacking. Everyone knows you can't make a profit from conquering a kingdom whose primary export is syphilis, for Christ's sake; as long as we hand out some knighthoods every once in a while to make it look like we might put up a fight, we're fine."

A marble gray glare struck him from his father's seat. "Our primary exports are our spices."

"Yes, which we 'borrow' from Spain." Ietrin sighed. The coat of arms on the wall would have been a more receptive listener, no doubt. "The ports are hardly part of it, are they? You just want Ramona to be Queen of Carvallon."

"Well, you have to admit that Learianna could have done better--and certainly Camaline would have had your mother and her friend not insisted on having things their way." Well, that was a given. Ietrin might have done better too. "And who all would have to die for Riona to be Queen of Dovia? Oswald and Prince Farilon, and then Prince Sparron and his sons? That's five right there, and that's assuming they don't breed any more than they already have. I'm a king, dammit--I should have at least one daughter with a crown on her head."

And no doubt feisty, impish Ramona who still laughed at fart jokes and couldn't stop fidgeting if she was bound in ice would be delighted that the honor had fallen to her? "By the way, when exactly were you planning on telling her?"

Almost immediately he regretted asking. Nothing good could come of the look in his father's eyes.

"Ietrin... will you recall that I prefaced this meeting by saying I needed a favor?"

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Camaline Isn't So Lucky

August 19, 1176

"My daughter!" Her father's arms were outstretched and his eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas morning; Camaline supposed it would be cruel of her not to get off the couch and give him a hug, even though she'd never cared much for unnecessary touching. Being the favorite could be a mixed blessing sometimes. "Dear Lord, when did I last see you? Shame on you for not calling on your old father often enough."

And yet, her distance was precisely why she'd always been the apple of his eye--and they both knew it. "My apologies, Father; I was under the impression that kings had little time for idle visits."

"True, but a king can always make time for his little princess." He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead. Camaline struggled not to duck to the side; she loved her father, but above all else, she needed her space. "How have you been?"

All things considered... not as he wanted to hear. Not with Holladrin's declining health and Sparron's ups and downs and Octavius folding under the pressure of trying to keep everyone else from falling apart. But there was nothing her father could do, so there was no sense troubling him. "Well enough, thank you."

Her father's eyebrow arched. Dreadful gossiping servants... "I heard your husband was ill."

"Rumors," Camaline dismissed automatically. "Sparron is fine."

"If you say so." He didn't look quite convinced, but he wouldn't press if he knew she didn't want to talk about it. This was one of the luxuries of being his pet; none of her siblings would have ever been given that courtesy. "Have a seat."

She obliged. He waited until she found a comfortable position, then joined her. "So. Have you seen your sister lately?"

"I take it you mean Leara?" It seemed like an obvious guess; if she hadn't seen him, then she probably hadn't seen her half-sisters on his side, and it wasn't like he cared to hear about Eilyssa. But when it came to her father, it was usually best to clarify. "Yes, I saw her earlier this week. She brought the children to see Aunt Holladrin."

"Ah, yes--the children." Well... it seemed she wasn't the only one who could make his eyes light up anymore. "Strapping young lad, isn't he, that Roderick? Not that I'd expect anything less from a boy named for my own self, of course. And little Celina! She looks more and more like her mother every day. She'll be the pretty one, unfortunately for Ietrin's girl. Then again, Medea's the clever sort--not unlike you yourself."

Camaline sniffed. She was not and never had been the maternal sort, but there was a certain pride that came with being an aunt, a certain fondness--particularly since she wasn't the one who actually had to take care of the creatures. "I did always think it better to be the clever one than the pretty one."

"Of course, you had the good fortune of being both." Her father smiled, or at least attempted to do so. It wasn't a strength of his, but it was nice to see that she was still worth the effort. "But anyway, speaking of my descendents... any news for me?"

Camaline sighed. Why he and Laralita still bothered with that question was beyond her. Perhaps the next time she called, she'd wear a sign on her front--'No!' "Not the sort of news you seem to be hinting at, Father."

"Still?" He was past the point where even sounded surprised. In his voice there was only disappointment. Her reign as favorite was likely drawing to a close; she supposed Leara and her children would fill that spot before long. "Camaline... you do realize that you've been married for almost five years now?"

"I wasn't aware that you had been counting, Father."

"Well, I have been." She should have figured. She'd heard him and Laralita muttering about Jeda on more than one occasion, and Jeda had one child; Camaline did not. Stupid! "Camaline, be honest with me: does he not find you attractive?"

Of all the things he could have asked. "Don't be ridiculous. Sparron finds me very attractive."

"Do you not find him attractive, then?"

A bit of queasiness had welled in her stomach. It was uncomfortable, but then again it was probably the only thing keeping her from laughing--that and her pride. "Of course I find him attractive. We're all over each other. Every night. Sometimes twice a night, even."

Had that been overkill? She nearly cringed. Oh, you idiot... you do protest too much.

But there were certain admissions that people had to make about their own parents. Luckily, it had occurred to her many years ago that her father was not among the brightest of men. He believed her.

Then again, maybe it wasn't a lucky thing after all. "Well... it's even worse than I feared, then."

NEXT CHAPTER: