Night, Mother, [Sven]

[Astraea Winterborn]

"Enough!"

That one word from the queen was enough to draw attention from anyone who might have been passing by the library, and Kato certainly heard it, loud and clear. Yet the old librarian paid no obvious attention to the conversation, despite the queen's mother's startled step back and the fact that Astraea didn't stop there.

"I have played the hospitable hostess to the best of my ability thus far, but I will not tolerate these games being played in my castle on my island. Your condescension is absolutely insufferable! If you find it so difficult to tolerate me and my childless marriage, you and your husband are more than welcome to go back to Kyha now and secure your own passage to the Mainland," the queen stated, each word venomous and much too loud, given that the person for whom they were meant was only two steps away.

Closing that distance one step, Astraea eyed her mother darkly, letting the minimal light cast strong shadows on her face. Lowering her voice, she said, "I'll hear no more of this. Nothing more today. Go run to your husband. Cry at his feet and hope he'll hear you this time."

Her expression took on some small measure of disgust.

"Goodnight."

Her mother didn't seem to know to take that as her cue to leave. She was frozen in place, her lips parted and her eyes wide, staring up at her daughter's face with little recognition. For some reason, Astraea paused before leaving the library herself.

Some distance away, within sight, the old librarian just continued to flip through a massive book on an ornate table lit with a candle.

[Sven Winterborn]

Kato came to Sven. The King had intended to spend the night in his own room, mostly because Astraea seemed to be on edge due to her family's presence, and he didn't want to be yet another nuisance in her path that night. But the old librarian's words drove those thoughts away.

You see, Kato had known Sven as a child and young Sven had always been both kind and very respectful of the old librarian. A child who enjoyed books was valued by a man who cared for them.

"Thank you for letting me know, old friend," Sven said, with a smile, placing a hand on the old man's shoulder. The latter bowed his head low, weary body not allowing him to do much else.

"It is my duty, Your Majesty."

"Speak to no-one else about this," Sven then instructed, gently.

"I swear upon my life!"

"Let's not get drastic now," Sven muttered, eyes twinkling as he left the room. Without hesitation, he headed for his wife's chambers and let himself in, quite swiftly.

[Astraea Winterborn]

Astraea had already broken a vase by the door into her chambers and chosen to leave the pieces on the floor by the time Sven entered. She was in the bedroom, alone since she had sent everyone away immediately upon her arrival, which had only preceded her husband's by a few minutes at most. She had stormed out of the library soon after her dismissal of her mother, after all . . .

Her cheeks were an unexpected shade of pink as she stood facing one of the windows overlooking the garden. She was still wearing the gown chosen for a meeting earlier in the day, despite her lack of comfort. The thing was resistant to movement, heavy and stiff. It made her much too well-aware of the great depth of each breath she took into the stained leather of her bodice. At least her hair, done up so tightly that it made her scalp ache, was off her neck, allowing for some release of the heat in her skin from one of the few uncovered parts of her. Although the air in the room was quite cold, she most certainly was not (in the most literal sense).

Her fingertips were white against the windowsill.

If she had heard the door upon Sven's entrance, she showed no sign.

[Sven Winterborn]

Blue eyes scanned the floor. Oh, dear.

Sven closed the door silently and tip-toed around the shattered pieces, making his way to the centre of the room. There, he stopped, uncertain if she should interrupt her. If he knew anything about Astraea, it was that she could hate him for anything he did - good or bad.

In the end, he walked slowly up to her and remained a couple of feet behind her, silent.

[Astraea Winterborn]

Her awareness of him was like an awareness of needles in the skin down the line of her spine, one stuck in each cross of laces at her back. It made her tense, unwilling to move. It was pain, an annoyance, yet not agony. . . and she wasn't sure if it would be better to address it now or wait until she could prepare herself more.

There was a long pause for a few more breaths, slow and deep and unsatisfying, before she thought to speak. Turning her head slightly, not actually moving to see the king over her shoulder, she asked lowly and with some hostility, "Who told you?"

Who could she try to blame for this?

[Sven Winterborn]

Someone wiser than you.

Sven picked his heavy ringlet from his head and threw it on the bed. His fingers then crawled along his scalp. Much better. Being a king meant constant head strain, it seemed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, relentlessly, despite knowing the outcome.

[Astraea Winterborn]

Oh, that was funny.

Astraea scoffed, but then she inhaled deeply and took a moment to consider the question. She felt like she had run at least a mile under the summer sun, despite the fact that she had simply walked from the library to her chambers in winter, during the evening, under the roof of her castle.

"No," she decided firmly. "I don't want to talk. I want to strangle someone."

Really, she wanted to break something else- perhaps her mother's neck- but there was only so much she could safely say, and that was probably too much already. Her judgment was clearly less than perfect at the moment.

Being very aware of this, she thought to add that she also wanted to drown herself in wine.

Not actually thinking about the next desire she voiced, she added, "I want to get out of this damned dress. . ."

It was practically suffocating her, she thought, and she almost wished she had forced one of her servants to help her out of it before sending everyone away. . . but she wasn't about to just invite the girls back in. Instead, she reached behind herself and tried to find the ends of the laces of her bodice at the small of her back.

[Sven Winterborn]

He watched her, feeling helpless.

She was his wife, yet he did not dare walk the two steps that required him to be in the needed proximity to help her undo the back of her dress. Ridiculous, but very real.

"I shall call the handmaidens in," Sven softly said, turning to walk to the door.

[Astraea Winterborn]

"Don't you even dare," was Astraea's response, with each word increasing in volume until she thought to shut herself up. She turned toward him just enough to reveal her face in part, but she barely glanced at him for more than a fraction of a second.

That glance was more like a glare, unfortunately. He hadn't actually suggested that he meant to do any harm, but he might as well have insulted her or threatened her with something other than help.

She managed to pull part of one of the laces out of the bottom of her hopelessly tight bodice, which might as well have been a corset, frankly, but she continued to struggle with the damned thing enough to make the pink shade of her cheeks deepen even more.

Never again with this dress. It was going to be burned once it was off of her. Granted, it was already strangely hot because it was being worn by her at the moment.

[Sven Winterborn]

The King stopped and turned only to watch her struggle more.

It took him several moments, but eventually he approached her, hesitantly. Then Sven very quickly untied the back of her dress and made a beeline for his chair again, sitting down and gripping his forehead with his fingers, elbow propped against the armrest.

[Astraea Winterborn]

He touched her, and for a moment she was livid. Heat surged beneath her skin and bled into it. Yet she didn't make some animal-like noise of fury or attack him. Instead she tugged at the back of her bodice to open it just a little. She then let out a harsh sigh before taking a deeper breath than had previously been possible.

It didn't do her much good.

Tugging at fabric here and there to try to get this horrendous cloth-prison off of her, she finally set her eyes on Sven sitting so dignified in his chair- her chair . . .

"Why did you even come here?" she asked as if she was making an accusation. "What do you want? To enjoy my anger?"

Sadistic idiot . . .

[Sven Winterborn]

"Yes. It is quite enjoyable to see you torture yourself. I asked for wine and snacks." His index finger busily scratched at his eyebrow as he spoke.

[Astraea Winterborn]

"Gods, you idiot. Why would I torture myself?" she asked incredulously, making a face as she pulled her gown off one shoulder, stretching the fabric and letting it push painfully against her upper arm while the tugged at her bodice again.

"Do you think I like this?"

How many kinds of stupid could he be? She had to wonder.

[Sven Winterborn]

"I believe the essence of torture is that it is not enjoyable," Sven muttered with eyes closed.

[Astraea Winterborn]

Her jaw clenched. She tried not to say anything, but-

"Why would I want to torture myself, then, if I get no sick satisfaction from it? Enough people enjoy torturing me. They don't need my help!" she snapped in a huff. "Why are you even sitting there? I ought to strangle you for your insolence!"

This method of getting her gown off was just not working. So, she gave the fabric over her other shoulder a strong tug, tearing it . . . and probably bruising her opposite arm in the process. At least the heavy thing fell down to her waist at that point. A tug to her skirt got it to slump down to the floor in a heap, leaving her in a pale-colored under-dress of sorts.

Of course she didn't really feel any freer. She just felt like something was weighing down on her, crushing her. She hated it.