Page 28 of The Second Marriage

“You’ve hardly said a word to me all day. And I thought—well, but I’ll take you at your word that nothing’s wrong.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Taral said. “I’m perfectly well.”

* * *

Sejun knockedon the door of Taral’s office and pushed it open without waiting for a reply. Taral was there, as he had expected, in that horrible room, hunched over his lap desk with a cup of tea at his side.

Taral looked up as Sejun opened the door. No surge of guilt passed through the bond, only a sense of mild irritation. “Yes?” he asked, brush poised over paper.

His nonchalance deflated Sejun’s indignation. Taral didn’t think he was doing anything wrong, and—well, he wasn’t, really. Sejun had hardly seen him since their return from Barun two days prior. He had spent all day yesterday shut up in his office, and was ready to do so again, but who was Sejun to say that he couldn’t? Sejun could want to spend time with his husband, but that didn’t mean Taral had to assent. They had been away from Tadasho for ten days, and Taral no doubt thought he had neglected the kingdom’s business in that time and was frantic to get back to it. He seemed alert and rested, far more so than Sejun, whose eyes were tight and dry from not quite enough sleep.

“I didn’t know where you were,” Sejun said.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” Taral set his brush down on its rest. “You had a bad night, I take it.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Still, I’m sorry to hear that.” Taral looked at him for a moment, then picked up his brush again. “I have some work to do. I’ll see you this evening. It sounds like Iniya is planning some dancing.”

Sejun wanted Taral to come back to their room with him so they could both get back into bed. He wanted to eat his breakfast in Taral’s company, as they talked about nothing of importance. He stood in the doorway, certain that Taral could read his hopes, wishing that just this once Taral would set aside his work. After their sweet time together in Barun and the intimacy of Taral’s recent heat, he couldn’t bear the thought of simply going back to their usual routines.

But if Taral cared what Sejun was feeling, he gave no sign. He wrote something in his ledger, then dipped his brush in the inkwell. He glanced over then as if surprised to find Sejun still standing in the doorway and said, “Was there something else you needed?”

“No,” Sejun said. “No, there wasn’t anything.”

Sejun was not inclined to strolling, rambling, taking the air, or any other form of enjoying the outdoors on foot, but he left the fortress and went for a walk along the road a short way toward town and then down a winding footpath that led to the river. He sat there in the shade of a tree and watched the green glacial water flow over the rocks.

He should have asked Taral to come with him. Taral could tell him what kind of rocks they were. But Taral wouldn’t have accepted his invitation; Taral was busy. He had more important things to do than spend time with Sejun.

The bitterness of Sejun’s own thoughts shocked him. They had only been married for a month, and they had been strangers to each other before then. Everyone had warned him that they would both need time to settle into their new roles. But Taral wasn’t even trying, protested the small, hurt voice inside Sejun’s heart. Taral drew away again after every time he drew near, and each time was more painful for Sejun than the last, because his hopes were so raw and bruised.

Taral had quarreled with Gurratan, maybe, or received some form of unpleasant news; Sejun couldn’t guess at what. Perhaps his recent behavior was only a reflection of whatever had happened on their final day in Barun. But Sejun couldn’t truly bring himself to believe that. More likely, Taral regretted that he had softened toward Sejun during their trip, and now he was trying to remind Sejun of the state of matters. They were married, yes, but they weren’t even friends, really, much less anything more.

An insect bit Sejun’s ankle. He slapped at it. This was exactly why he preferred to stay away from nature.

He walked back to the fortress, sweating and cantankerous. Daxa brought him lunch not too long thereafter, which did improve his mood some, but Taral didn’t come back to their room to eat, which lowered it again.

He could do nothing about his circumstances. He had done everything he could. He had courted Taral as best he knew how. He could do nothing now but wait and hope that time and familiarity would warm Taral’s feelings.

He went out to the balcony after he ate. In the book he was reading, the princess was finally preparing to declare her to love to her devoted maidservant, and Sejun ached to know love like that, to have someone choose him above all others: to love specifically him, Sejun, in all his silliness and frivolity, to think of him longingly when they were apart and rejoice to see him once more. He ached to be permitted to love Taral like that, to stand beside him and kiss his cheek, to hold him all night instead of lying beside him but apart, listening to him breathe in the quiet.

He closed his book and set it aside. He had no taste for romance right now.

There was indeed dancing that evening, but Sejun had no taste for dancing, either. He volunteered to hold Iniya’s baby so that she could dance herself. The baby was a fat little thing and still too young to be suspicious of strangers, so he sat contentedly enough in Sejun’s lap and watched the dancers, at least until he decided he was hungry again and began to squirm and fuss.

“My first two didn’t eat nearly so much or grow nearly so fast,” Iniya said when she came over to collect the baby. “He’ll be half my height by his naming day.”

“I’m sure,” Sejun said, too distracted and heartsick to produce a more useful response. Iniya frowned at him but said nothing as he rose to give her the seat beneath the tree.

He went upstairs then instead of staying to dance. His head throbbed steadily and he was ready for the day to be over. He would feel better in the morning, he was sure.

The room was dark but not quiet, as the sounds of music and laughter from the courtyard below floated through the open window. Sejun closed the shutters, and that helped somewhat. He lit a few candles and took off his outer robe. With a sigh, he sat on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes. Yes, he would feel better after getting some sleep.

The door opened. He looked up. Taral came into the room and closed the door. “There you are.”

Sejun didn’t know what to make of Taral noticing his absence and coming to look for him. His headache pulsed behind his eyeballs. “I thought I might go to bed early.”

“You aren’t feeling well?” Taral joined him on the bed, sitting at arm’s length like an acquaintance. “I know you slept poorly.”