“Come here,” he’d said, as if commanding a dog. She’d stayed where she was, on the edge of the bed.
“I was sound asleep,” she’d protested.
“And now you’re not, and we’re both here, so let’s make a fine fat baby to make my father’s heart rejoice, shall we?” His tone was bitter. “One is all we need, darling Alise. So cooperate with me. This won’t take long, and then you can go back to sleep. And wake up in the morning and spend the day giving my money to scroll dealers.”
It had all fallen into place. He’d been to see his father, and been chided yet again for his lack of an heir. And yesterday Alise had bought not one but two rather expensive old scrolls. Both were from the Spice Islands. She couldn’t read a word of either of them, but the illustrations looked as if they were intended to depict Elderlings. It made sense to her; if the Elderlings had occupied the Cursed Shores in ancient days, they would have had trading partners, and those trading partners might have made some written record of their dealings. Lately she had turned her efforts to seeking out such old records. The Spice Island scrolls had been her first real find. Even she had blanched at the cost of them. But she’d had to have them, and so she had paid.
And tonight she would pay again, both for their childless state and for daring to expand her research library. If she had not stayed up so late poring over her latest acquisitions, she might have simply accommodated him. But she was tired and suddenly very weary of how he treated this portion of their married life.
She said something she’d never said before. “No. Perhaps tomorrow night.”
He’d stared at her. In the darkness she’d felt the anger of his gaze. “That’s not your decision,” he said bluntly.
“It’s not your sole decision either,” she’d retorted and started to leave the bed.
“Tonight, it is,” he said. With no warning, he lunged across the bed, seized her by the arm, and dragged her back. With the length of his body, he pinned her down.
She struggled briefly but as he dug his fingers into her upper arms and held her down, it was quickly apparent that she could not escape him. “Let me go!” she whisper-shrieked at him.
“In a moment,” he replied tightly. And a moment later, “If you don’t struggle, I won’t hurt you.”
He lied. Even after she had acquiesced, her head turned to one side, her eyes fixed on the wall, he’d held her arms tightly and thrust hard against her. It hurt. The pain and the humiliation made it seem as if it took him forever to accomplish his task. She didn’t weep. When he rolled away from her and then sat up on the edge of her bed, she was dry-eyed and silent.
He sat in the quiet dark for a time, and then she felt him stand and heard the whisper of fabric as he donned his robe again. “If we are fortunate, neither of us will have to go through that again,” he said dryly. What had stayed with her the rest of the night was that she had never heard him sound more sincere. He’d left her bed and her room.
Unable to sleep, she’d spent the rest of the night thinking about him and their sham of a marriage. He’d seldom been so rough with her. Sex with Hest was usually perfunctory and efficient. He entered her room, announced his intention, mated with her, and left. In the four years they’d been together, he’d never slept in her bed. He had never kissed her with passion, never touched any part of her body with interest.
She’d made humiliating efforts to please him. She’d anointed herself with perfumes and acquired and discarded various forms of nightdress. She had even tried to instigate romance with him, coming to his study late one evening and attempting to embrace him. He had not thrust her aside. He’d risen from his chair, told her that he was quite busy just now, and walked her to the door of the room, and shut her out of it. She’d fled, weeping, to her room.
Later that month, when he’d come to her bed, she had shamed herself again. She’d embraced him when he mounted her, and strained to kiss him. He’d held his face away from her. Nonetheless, her hungry body had tried to take whatever pleasure it could from his touch. He hadn’t responded to her willingness. When he had finished, he had rolled away from her, ignoring her attempt to hold him. “Alise. Please. In the future, don’t embarrass us both,” he’d said quietly before he shut the door behind him.
Even now, her face reddened as she recalled her failed attempts to seduce him. Indifference was bad enough; but last night, when he had proven that he not only could but would force her if he wished to, she’d had to recognize the ugly truth. Hest was changing. Over the last year, he’d become ever more abrupt with her. He had begun to deploy his little barbed comments against her in public as well as in private. The small courtesies that any woman could expect from her husband were vanishing from her life. In the beginning, he had taken pains to be attentive to her in public, to offer his arm when they walked together, to hand her up into her carriage. Those small graces had vanished now. But last night was the first time that cruelty had replaced them.