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The past month had felt like some sort of surreal dream to Timaeus. However, it was far from the good kind. No, instead this disconnect from reality he had been feeling since leaving the Temple of Hymen stemmed more from the fact that his life now seemed to be one twisted nightmare that he would never wake from. Not that he was now shared his bed with the one woman he hated most in the world. In a turn of events that he still couldn’t wrap his head around, he had found himself married to Nethis of Thanasi.
He was married to a witch.
Clearly, it wasn’t a union he sought out himself. He had been forced into it through a mixture of blackmail and orders from royals that were more powerful than he was. His father-in-law had thought that he would be easy for Nethis to manipulate and the Kotas thought that Timaeus would be strong enough to keep the Snake in check. The whole lot of them were fools, of course. The Baron was not equipped to handle Nethis, but nor was he going fall for her games. The woman had already tried to kill him before. As much as he longed for a simple life and a marriage that was full of love like his parents had had before him, he wasn’t going to let the snake woman use him like a puppet. Not when he had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve.
Riding through the gates of the Valaoritis residence, Timaeus couldn’t hide the angry scowl that crossed his face when he thought of the misery that would be awaiting him inside. He was almost certain that Nethis was beyond cross with him after the restrictions he had set in place prior to him leaving for the provinces. As the Baronness and lady of the house, it was supposed to be the snake’s right to run the manor as she saw fit, but Timaeus had suspected that she would not use this power to ensure that the Baron came back to a peaceful abode draped in colors of white and crimson. No, if she had been given free-reign, Timaeus was certain he would come back to a house covered in black with everything running amock. His favored staff would be gone and replaced with cronies of her own. Seven hells, if Timaeus didn’t know that his not-so-blushing bride held a certain distaste for mess and clutter, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she turned his bedroom into a barn, just to spite him for existing. That was probably the least that Nethis would do given the almost palatable levels of hatred that rolled off her whenever the newly married couple were in the same room. Not that he blamed her for that, of course. He felt exactly the same way in regards to her. The only difference was that at least he wasn’t actively plotting her death.
Talk about wedded bliss.
It must have been a nasty shock for Nethis when she discovered the instructions that he had left his staff when he left for the week. Instead of running the household, she had all the powers of a younger sister as Timaeus expressly left his steward and head of staff in charge of the household. The Baron knew that they would follow his instructions of treating life as if it was business as usual right down to the letter. If she tried to assert any sort of authority, she would have been shut down almost immediately and any decisions she made were overruled. She would be ticked off beyond belief, but Timaeus saw it as necessary. Just like the clear instruction that she wasn’t to privately host any sort of meeting in the halls of the manor. She could have guests, but they all had to meet in the dining room where there were half-dozen servants running about, ensuring that the woman had no privacy. This also extended to meetings outside of his house where a retinue of ladies-in-waiting was told to accompany Nethis wherever she went. She could send them away, but there was no way that word of her desire to meet with someone in private wouldn’t make its way back to Timaeus. Especially as one of the more senior ladies was a cousin from his mother’s side and the same amount of love for the snakes as Timaeus did.
He was also certain that there were a thousand other things that dug beneath Nethis’s skin while he was gone, but these were the main things that Timaeus had specifically put in place before leaving for the week. After all, the Valaoritis man knew his wife well enough to know that she would not idly spend her days sitting at a loom as she waited for her husband to return. No, she was far too brilliant and prideful to allow for that. She had the cunning of her father and the manipulative instincts of all the coven witches that came before her. Timaeus would have been a fool to think that she would not use this time to undermine him or utilize this time to further whatever schemes she had started before the pair were forcefully brought together through matrimony. In an odd sort of way, Timaeus actually admired this trait of hers. She was easily the most intelligent person that he had ever met and if women were allowed to take positions of political power, Nethis easily could have outsmarted them all decades ago. Not that he would ever admit it. Nethis could never know that Timaeus was fully aware that he was outmatched in this union… or at least until the Baron could cease her desires to undermine the Kotas family and seize the throne for her own. However, he also knew that he was likely not powerful enough to pull her from this course, so it was a secret that he would probably take to his grave.
He tried to not dwell on the possibility that this could be sooner than Timaeus intended as he dismounted his horse and made his way into the manor. Almost as soon as he was over the threshold, he was bombarded with different members of his staff, all reporting what had transpired while he was gone. Not that he could understand them anyway with his advisors chattering in one ear and the head of staff in the other. Timaeus tuned them out momentarily as he peeled off his riding gloves and cloak that were not needed now that he was out of the bitter chill of the winter winds. Timaeus didn’t really need to hear their reports anyway. The house was still standing so clearly everything was okay and honestly, everything sort of seemed dull in comparison to the elephant in the room.
“Where is she?” He asked bluntly, bringing all the chatter to a halt as the Baron made it clear that he wanted to see his wife. Not that he missed her, but he wanted to deal with whatever chaos that she would unleash first. Otherwise, he wouldn’t put it past her to interrupt him as he was trying to work to deal with these ‘injustices’ and he just didn’t want to deal with it. A nearby maid was quick to inform the Baron that the mistress of the house was in their shared chambers. That didn’t surprise him too much as it was still a fairly early hour. She would likely still be going about her morning routine if Timaeus remembered correctly.
Not wishing to waste his time, Timaeus was quick to dismiss the retinue back to their tasks as he made his way through the house to the bedroom. With this being his house and his room, the Baron held no qualms about just simply walking in, offering no warning to the woman within that her husband was home. Timaeus was lucky that the woman was already up and not in the midst of anything that would require absolute privacy. Not that she probably wouldn’t complain about the rude entrance anyways. The Valaoritis was sure to shut the door behind him as he entered the space and sat down at one of the chaises’ in front of the fire in order to warm himself as he stripped off his shoes and outer garments, thick and heavy with moisture from the rain.
“Good morning, wife. I trust that you had a good night’s rest?” Timaeus asked coldly, clearly not giving a rat’s ass about how the Thanasi woman had slept the night before. It was just forced polite chatter that nobles like them relied upon when they did not enjoy the company that they were in. By this point, Timaeus had gotten all the wet garments that were gross from the seven hours of travel it had taken him to come back to the capital. This left him in light undergarments that he needed to wear for warmth while on the road as he walked over to the chest where his clothes were stored, quickly pulling out a flaming red chiton. All the while, he continued to speak, showing just how little he cared for how she had been while he was gone, “The meeting with the jeweler’s representatives went well. They even gifted us some beautiful necklaces for you, but they’ll be waiting in Eubocris for when we return at the end of the month. I do hope you spent this week working with the stablehands to prepare for the journey as the roads will be too thin for carriages.” His tone did not lose its tense quality as Timaeus reminded her that they would not remain in Midas forever. Soon enough it would grow far too cold for Timaeus to make the journey between the capital and his province, so the Valaoritis family would soon relocate to the mountains until the early spring. As Timaeus was not anticipating a return to Midas for several months, Nethis would not be permitted to remain behind. Not when she was capable of committing so much damage if she was left unfettered in the capital.
Timaeus already knew that she would not enjoy her time in the province. Eubocris was the most isolated location in Colchis especially as the Valaoritis stronghold was deep within the mountains. Even house arrest would not feel as restrictive as life in the Gorge would be as there was only one road in and out too small for anything, but a horse. Not to mention, it was heavily monitored by the Men of the Heights. Nethis could try her hardest, but once they were in Eubocris, she would firmly be in Tim’s territory where the Baron would have the upper hand. Timaeus was hopeful that her manipulative games would be brought to an end there. Seven hells, Timaeus had half the mind to just send her there and be done with it, but the Baron knew that her family would throw a fit if their coven leader suddenly disappeared from Colchian society permanently. It was bad enough that there was already one Thanasi in his house, he didn’t need the rest of them banging down his door as well.
By this point, Timaeus had pulled the chiton over his head and was reaching for the fibulae at his shoulder that would secure the garment in place. However, he couldn’t reach them without wincing from the pain. The ride back to Midas had left his joints stiff and his muscles crying out in protest at the slightest jostle. He tried to push through it with a slight hiss escaping him, but he couldn’t even get the first of a half-dozen clasps secured. He needed a little help and unfortunately, there was only one other person in the room with them. “Wife?” Timaeus started to say, having been very purposeful in his decision thus far to avoid using her name, “Would you be a dear and help me with this?” Even though he had managed to make his tone less tense, there was a hardened and frustrated look in his eyes that made it clear that he was pissed that he needed her help with this. He braced himself for the harsh jabs from both Nethis’s words and the pins themselves as he handed the task over to his wife. He was almost certain that she was not going to pass up the opportunity to lightly stab the source of her misery with the pins. As if that will solve anything or relieve her of the animosity that was the defining trait of their cursed marriage that would probably see them both dead within the year.
Though if it did… well, Timaeus was not opposed to exploring all the different therapeutic options that might get one of them out of this alive.
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The past month had felt like some sort of surreal dream to Timaeus. However, it was far from the good kind. No, instead this disconnect from reality he had been feeling since leaving the Temple of Hymen stemmed more from the fact that his life now seemed to be one twisted nightmare that he would never wake from. Not that he was now shared his bed with the one woman he hated most in the world. In a turn of events that he still couldn’t wrap his head around, he had found himself married to Nethis of Thanasi.
He was married to a witch.
Clearly, it wasn’t a union he sought out himself. He had been forced into it through a mixture of blackmail and orders from royals that were more powerful than he was. His father-in-law had thought that he would be easy for Nethis to manipulate and the Kotas thought that Timaeus would be strong enough to keep the Snake in check. The whole lot of them were fools, of course. The Baron was not equipped to handle Nethis, but nor was he going fall for her games. The woman had already tried to kill him before. As much as he longed for a simple life and a marriage that was full of love like his parents had had before him, he wasn’t going to let the snake woman use him like a puppet. Not when he had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve.
Riding through the gates of the Valaoritis residence, Timaeus couldn’t hide the angry scowl that crossed his face when he thought of the misery that would be awaiting him inside. He was almost certain that Nethis was beyond cross with him after the restrictions he had set in place prior to him leaving for the provinces. As the Baronness and lady of the house, it was supposed to be the snake’s right to run the manor as she saw fit, but Timaeus had suspected that she would not use this power to ensure that the Baron came back to a peaceful abode draped in colors of white and crimson. No, if she had been given free-reign, Timaeus was certain he would come back to a house covered in black with everything running amock. His favored staff would be gone and replaced with cronies of her own. Seven hells, if Timaeus didn’t know that his not-so-blushing bride held a certain distaste for mess and clutter, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she turned his bedroom into a barn, just to spite him for existing. That was probably the least that Nethis would do given the almost palatable levels of hatred that rolled off her whenever the newly married couple were in the same room. Not that he blamed her for that, of course. He felt exactly the same way in regards to her. The only difference was that at least he wasn’t actively plotting her death.
Talk about wedded bliss.
It must have been a nasty shock for Nethis when she discovered the instructions that he had left his staff when he left for the week. Instead of running the household, she had all the powers of a younger sister as Timaeus expressly left his steward and head of staff in charge of the household. The Baron knew that they would follow his instructions of treating life as if it was business as usual right down to the letter. If she tried to assert any sort of authority, she would have been shut down almost immediately and any decisions she made were overruled. She would be ticked off beyond belief, but Timaeus saw it as necessary. Just like the clear instruction that she wasn’t to privately host any sort of meeting in the halls of the manor. She could have guests, but they all had to meet in the dining room where there were half-dozen servants running about, ensuring that the woman had no privacy. This also extended to meetings outside of his house where a retinue of ladies-in-waiting was told to accompany Nethis wherever she went. She could send them away, but there was no way that word of her desire to meet with someone in private wouldn’t make its way back to Timaeus. Especially as one of the more senior ladies was a cousin from his mother’s side and the same amount of love for the snakes as Timaeus did.
He was also certain that there were a thousand other things that dug beneath Nethis’s skin while he was gone, but these were the main things that Timaeus had specifically put in place before leaving for the week. After all, the Valaoritis man knew his wife well enough to know that she would not idly spend her days sitting at a loom as she waited for her husband to return. No, she was far too brilliant and prideful to allow for that. She had the cunning of her father and the manipulative instincts of all the coven witches that came before her. Timaeus would have been a fool to think that she would not use this time to undermine him or utilize this time to further whatever schemes she had started before the pair were forcefully brought together through matrimony. In an odd sort of way, Timaeus actually admired this trait of hers. She was easily the most intelligent person that he had ever met and if women were allowed to take positions of political power, Nethis easily could have outsmarted them all decades ago. Not that he would ever admit it. Nethis could never know that Timaeus was fully aware that he was outmatched in this union… or at least until the Baron could cease her desires to undermine the Kotas family and seize the throne for her own. However, he also knew that he was likely not powerful enough to pull her from this course, so it was a secret that he would probably take to his grave.
He tried to not dwell on the possibility that this could be sooner than Timaeus intended as he dismounted his horse and made his way into the manor. Almost as soon as he was over the threshold, he was bombarded with different members of his staff, all reporting what had transpired while he was gone. Not that he could understand them anyway with his advisors chattering in one ear and the head of staff in the other. Timaeus tuned them out momentarily as he peeled off his riding gloves and cloak that were not needed now that he was out of the bitter chill of the winter winds. Timaeus didn’t really need to hear their reports anyway. The house was still standing so clearly everything was okay and honestly, everything sort of seemed dull in comparison to the elephant in the room.
“Where is she?” He asked bluntly, bringing all the chatter to a halt as the Baron made it clear that he wanted to see his wife. Not that he missed her, but he wanted to deal with whatever chaos that she would unleash first. Otherwise, he wouldn’t put it past her to interrupt him as he was trying to work to deal with these ‘injustices’ and he just didn’t want to deal with it. A nearby maid was quick to inform the Baron that the mistress of the house was in their shared chambers. That didn’t surprise him too much as it was still a fairly early hour. She would likely still be going about her morning routine if Timaeus remembered correctly.
Not wishing to waste his time, Timaeus was quick to dismiss the retinue back to their tasks as he made his way through the house to the bedroom. With this being his house and his room, the Baron held no qualms about just simply walking in, offering no warning to the woman within that her husband was home. Timaeus was lucky that the woman was already up and not in the midst of anything that would require absolute privacy. Not that she probably wouldn’t complain about the rude entrance anyways. The Valaoritis was sure to shut the door behind him as he entered the space and sat down at one of the chaises’ in front of the fire in order to warm himself as he stripped off his shoes and outer garments, thick and heavy with moisture from the rain.
“Good morning, wife. I trust that you had a good night’s rest?” Timaeus asked coldly, clearly not giving a rat’s ass about how the Thanasi woman had slept the night before. It was just forced polite chatter that nobles like them relied upon when they did not enjoy the company that they were in. By this point, Timaeus had gotten all the wet garments that were gross from the seven hours of travel it had taken him to come back to the capital. This left him in light undergarments that he needed to wear for warmth while on the road as he walked over to the chest where his clothes were stored, quickly pulling out a flaming red chiton. All the while, he continued to speak, showing just how little he cared for how she had been while he was gone, “The meeting with the jeweler’s representatives went well. They even gifted us some beautiful necklaces for you, but they’ll be waiting in Eubocris for when we return at the end of the month. I do hope you spent this week working with the stablehands to prepare for the journey as the roads will be too thin for carriages.” His tone did not lose its tense quality as Timaeus reminded her that they would not remain in Midas forever. Soon enough it would grow far too cold for Timaeus to make the journey between the capital and his province, so the Valaoritis family would soon relocate to the mountains until the early spring. As Timaeus was not anticipating a return to Midas for several months, Nethis would not be permitted to remain behind. Not when she was capable of committing so much damage if she was left unfettered in the capital.
Timaeus already knew that she would not enjoy her time in the province. Eubocris was the most isolated location in Colchis especially as the Valaoritis stronghold was deep within the mountains. Even house arrest would not feel as restrictive as life in the Gorge would be as there was only one road in and out too small for anything, but a horse. Not to mention, it was heavily monitored by the Men of the Heights. Nethis could try her hardest, but once they were in Eubocris, she would firmly be in Tim’s territory where the Baron would have the upper hand. Timaeus was hopeful that her manipulative games would be brought to an end there. Seven hells, Timaeus had half the mind to just send her there and be done with it, but the Baron knew that her family would throw a fit if their coven leader suddenly disappeared from Colchian society permanently. It was bad enough that there was already one Thanasi in his house, he didn’t need the rest of them banging down his door as well.
By this point, Timaeus had pulled the chiton over his head and was reaching for the fibulae at his shoulder that would secure the garment in place. However, he couldn’t reach them without wincing from the pain. The ride back to Midas had left his joints stiff and his muscles crying out in protest at the slightest jostle. He tried to push through it with a slight hiss escaping him, but he couldn’t even get the first of a half-dozen clasps secured. He needed a little help and unfortunately, there was only one other person in the room with them. “Wife?” Timaeus started to say, having been very purposeful in his decision thus far to avoid using her name, “Would you be a dear and help me with this?” Even though he had managed to make his tone less tense, there was a hardened and frustrated look in his eyes that made it clear that he was pissed that he needed her help with this. He braced himself for the harsh jabs from both Nethis’s words and the pins themselves as he handed the task over to his wife. He was almost certain that she was not going to pass up the opportunity to lightly stab the source of her misery with the pins. As if that will solve anything or relieve her of the animosity that was the defining trait of their cursed marriage that would probably see them both dead within the year.
Though if it did… well, Timaeus was not opposed to exploring all the different therapeutic options that might get one of them out of this alive.
The past month had felt like some sort of surreal dream to Timaeus. However, it was far from the good kind. No, instead this disconnect from reality he had been feeling since leaving the Temple of Hymen stemmed more from the fact that his life now seemed to be one twisted nightmare that he would never wake from. Not that he was now shared his bed with the one woman he hated most in the world. In a turn of events that he still couldn’t wrap his head around, he had found himself married to Nethis of Thanasi.
He was married to a witch.
Clearly, it wasn’t a union he sought out himself. He had been forced into it through a mixture of blackmail and orders from royals that were more powerful than he was. His father-in-law had thought that he would be easy for Nethis to manipulate and the Kotas thought that Timaeus would be strong enough to keep the Snake in check. The whole lot of them were fools, of course. The Baron was not equipped to handle Nethis, but nor was he going fall for her games. The woman had already tried to kill him before. As much as he longed for a simple life and a marriage that was full of love like his parents had had before him, he wasn’t going to let the snake woman use him like a puppet. Not when he had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve.
Riding through the gates of the Valaoritis residence, Timaeus couldn’t hide the angry scowl that crossed his face when he thought of the misery that would be awaiting him inside. He was almost certain that Nethis was beyond cross with him after the restrictions he had set in place prior to him leaving for the provinces. As the Baronness and lady of the house, it was supposed to be the snake’s right to run the manor as she saw fit, but Timaeus had suspected that she would not use this power to ensure that the Baron came back to a peaceful abode draped in colors of white and crimson. No, if she had been given free-reign, Timaeus was certain he would come back to a house covered in black with everything running amock. His favored staff would be gone and replaced with cronies of her own. Seven hells, if Timaeus didn’t know that his not-so-blushing bride held a certain distaste for mess and clutter, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she turned his bedroom into a barn, just to spite him for existing. That was probably the least that Nethis would do given the almost palatable levels of hatred that rolled off her whenever the newly married couple were in the same room. Not that he blamed her for that, of course. He felt exactly the same way in regards to her. The only difference was that at least he wasn’t actively plotting her death.
Talk about wedded bliss.
It must have been a nasty shock for Nethis when she discovered the instructions that he had left his staff when he left for the week. Instead of running the household, she had all the powers of a younger sister as Timaeus expressly left his steward and head of staff in charge of the household. The Baron knew that they would follow his instructions of treating life as if it was business as usual right down to the letter. If she tried to assert any sort of authority, she would have been shut down almost immediately and any decisions she made were overruled. She would be ticked off beyond belief, but Timaeus saw it as necessary. Just like the clear instruction that she wasn’t to privately host any sort of meeting in the halls of the manor. She could have guests, but they all had to meet in the dining room where there were half-dozen servants running about, ensuring that the woman had no privacy. This also extended to meetings outside of his house where a retinue of ladies-in-waiting was told to accompany Nethis wherever she went. She could send them away, but there was no way that word of her desire to meet with someone in private wouldn’t make its way back to Timaeus. Especially as one of the more senior ladies was a cousin from his mother’s side and the same amount of love for the snakes as Timaeus did.
He was also certain that there were a thousand other things that dug beneath Nethis’s skin while he was gone, but these were the main things that Timaeus had specifically put in place before leaving for the week. After all, the Valaoritis man knew his wife well enough to know that she would not idly spend her days sitting at a loom as she waited for her husband to return. No, she was far too brilliant and prideful to allow for that. She had the cunning of her father and the manipulative instincts of all the coven witches that came before her. Timaeus would have been a fool to think that she would not use this time to undermine him or utilize this time to further whatever schemes she had started before the pair were forcefully brought together through matrimony. In an odd sort of way, Timaeus actually admired this trait of hers. She was easily the most intelligent person that he had ever met and if women were allowed to take positions of political power, Nethis easily could have outsmarted them all decades ago. Not that he would ever admit it. Nethis could never know that Timaeus was fully aware that he was outmatched in this union… or at least until the Baron could cease her desires to undermine the Kotas family and seize the throne for her own. However, he also knew that he was likely not powerful enough to pull her from this course, so it was a secret that he would probably take to his grave.
He tried to not dwell on the possibility that this could be sooner than Timaeus intended as he dismounted his horse and made his way into the manor. Almost as soon as he was over the threshold, he was bombarded with different members of his staff, all reporting what had transpired while he was gone. Not that he could understand them anyway with his advisors chattering in one ear and the head of staff in the other. Timaeus tuned them out momentarily as he peeled off his riding gloves and cloak that were not needed now that he was out of the bitter chill of the winter winds. Timaeus didn’t really need to hear their reports anyway. The house was still standing so clearly everything was okay and honestly, everything sort of seemed dull in comparison to the elephant in the room.
“Where is she?” He asked bluntly, bringing all the chatter to a halt as the Baron made it clear that he wanted to see his wife. Not that he missed her, but he wanted to deal with whatever chaos that she would unleash first. Otherwise, he wouldn’t put it past her to interrupt him as he was trying to work to deal with these ‘injustices’ and he just didn’t want to deal with it. A nearby maid was quick to inform the Baron that the mistress of the house was in their shared chambers. That didn’t surprise him too much as it was still a fairly early hour. She would likely still be going about her morning routine if Timaeus remembered correctly.
Not wishing to waste his time, Timaeus was quick to dismiss the retinue back to their tasks as he made his way through the house to the bedroom. With this being his house and his room, the Baron held no qualms about just simply walking in, offering no warning to the woman within that her husband was home. Timaeus was lucky that the woman was already up and not in the midst of anything that would require absolute privacy. Not that she probably wouldn’t complain about the rude entrance anyways. The Valaoritis was sure to shut the door behind him as he entered the space and sat down at one of the chaises’ in front of the fire in order to warm himself as he stripped off his shoes and outer garments, thick and heavy with moisture from the rain.
“Good morning, wife. I trust that you had a good night’s rest?” Timaeus asked coldly, clearly not giving a rat’s ass about how the Thanasi woman had slept the night before. It was just forced polite chatter that nobles like them relied upon when they did not enjoy the company that they were in. By this point, Timaeus had gotten all the wet garments that were gross from the seven hours of travel it had taken him to come back to the capital. This left him in light undergarments that he needed to wear for warmth while on the road as he walked over to the chest where his clothes were stored, quickly pulling out a flaming red chiton. All the while, he continued to speak, showing just how little he cared for how she had been while he was gone, “The meeting with the jeweler’s representatives went well. They even gifted us some beautiful necklaces for you, but they’ll be waiting in Eubocris for when we return at the end of the month. I do hope you spent this week working with the stablehands to prepare for the journey as the roads will be too thin for carriages.” His tone did not lose its tense quality as Timaeus reminded her that they would not remain in Midas forever. Soon enough it would grow far too cold for Timaeus to make the journey between the capital and his province, so the Valaoritis family would soon relocate to the mountains until the early spring. As Timaeus was not anticipating a return to Midas for several months, Nethis would not be permitted to remain behind. Not when she was capable of committing so much damage if she was left unfettered in the capital.
Timaeus already knew that she would not enjoy her time in the province. Eubocris was the most isolated location in Colchis especially as the Valaoritis stronghold was deep within the mountains. Even house arrest would not feel as restrictive as life in the Gorge would be as there was only one road in and out too small for anything, but a horse. Not to mention, it was heavily monitored by the Men of the Heights. Nethis could try her hardest, but once they were in Eubocris, she would firmly be in Tim’s territory where the Baron would have the upper hand. Timaeus was hopeful that her manipulative games would be brought to an end there. Seven hells, Timaeus had half the mind to just send her there and be done with it, but the Baron knew that her family would throw a fit if their coven leader suddenly disappeared from Colchian society permanently. It was bad enough that there was already one Thanasi in his house, he didn’t need the rest of them banging down his door as well.
By this point, Timaeus had pulled the chiton over his head and was reaching for the fibulae at his shoulder that would secure the garment in place. However, he couldn’t reach them without wincing from the pain. The ride back to Midas had left his joints stiff and his muscles crying out in protest at the slightest jostle. He tried to push through it with a slight hiss escaping him, but he couldn’t even get the first of a half-dozen clasps secured. He needed a little help and unfortunately, there was only one other person in the room with them. “Wife?” Timaeus started to say, having been very purposeful in his decision thus far to avoid using her name, “Would you be a dear and help me with this?” Even though he had managed to make his tone less tense, there was a hardened and frustrated look in his eyes that made it clear that he was pissed that he needed her help with this. He braced himself for the harsh jabs from both Nethis’s words and the pins themselves as he handed the task over to his wife. He was almost certain that she was not going to pass up the opportunity to lightly stab the source of her misery with the pins. As if that will solve anything or relieve her of the animosity that was the defining trait of their cursed marriage that would probably see them both dead within the year.
Though if it did… well, Timaeus was not opposed to exploring all the different therapeutic options that might get one of them out of this alive.
Nethis had not wanted marriage for herself and it wasn’t just about to whom she was now married, though that certainly had been an aspect of her opposition. The biggest trouble with marriage was that it felt too much like personal loss; what she had as eldest of the Thanasi with an ailing father had been beyond what she should have been allowed, more than she had once hoped she ever might have and she had liked it.
No. Gods help her, she hadn’t liked it, she had loved it and that made the loss so much harder to bear. On the one hand, she should have been—and somewhat was—grateful that Dionysios had undergone what could only be a god-bestowed recovery, but on the other, there was a great deal of resentment and something that felt like grief for what she was losing to him in giving him back his due.
The dissatisfaction should have been punishment enough for daring to go beyond, but it wasn’t. Instead, there was more. For everything she was, for everything she could predict and foresee or maneuver and manipulate into being, she still didn’t understand how her marriage had become a concession to give, how it had become fait accompli without her knowing it was even a consideration, but there were no answers to be had. When Dionysios had delivered news of the arrangement, she had simply stared at him so shocked she couldn't summon words, and by the time she had any he had taken any opportunity for her to say them.
"You will not protest, you will do as you are told," he had said, "Marry him and manipulate him. It should be child’s play for you and will benefit us."
He wasn’t wrong and she knew that, but it wasn’t that which quieted her, which made something in her unknot. No, that was due to word choice, due to ‘us’.
"Thanasi first," he added, reading her reaction well, the utterance a firm certainty to contrast her not-so-private lack, "Always."
True to the latter sentiment rather than the exhortation to simply do it, she had been difficult from start to finish regarding the arrangements, much to irritation of everyone involved but her. If she was going to suffer this, everyone was going to suffer along the way, and she was not sorry.
Yet somehow, she wasn’t entirely sorry either when the day came and it was done, perhaps if only because there was minimal consolation in the idea that she would get some facet of what she lost back. It wouldn’t be the same, it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying, but as Timaeus’ wife, she’d have control over something, even if that something was just him, his household and the barony.
Or at least she was supposed to.
Nethis had always known that her reputation had the potential to bite her in the ass, but she hadn’t ever quite imagined it would come to form like this, manifesting consequence in the form of a husband who would allow her no freedom whatsoever in his absence. There was a part of her that admired his foresight—especially considering she had been planning to dismiss several members of the household while he wasn’t there to stop her—but it also pricked to be outmaneuvered. She had stewed in it for a day, done what little she was actually allowed to do within a second—which included planning for their eventual departure, even as she dreaded the notion—and then set about pushing boundaries or ignoring them.
In the attempt, she frequented the stables daily for the minimal freedom of an early morning ride, punishing herself but more importantly the ladies he mandated shadow her with pace and the hour; gradually stole a now nearly complete set of household keys and lied about having them nearly a dozen times to Timaeus’ head of staff; snuck into his study on three separate occasions, managing to read through about half of the correspondence and record-keeping left there between those visits; absconded with the household ledger to try and get a grasp on how his house was run at present before being forced to return it without making any progress; made a nuisance of herself in the kitchen daily; and spent a great deal of what time was left completely impaired via obviously disapproved of but perfectly satisfying indulgences courtesy of Mihail and Thea. For both of them, the situation was explained with quirked lips and cold eyes before she had proceeded to get drunk with Mihail and high with Thea without apology in front of his staff; if he wanted them to watch her, then let them see.
Nethis supposed Timaeus would get a report on most—if not all—of this and she wanted to care, but they were stuck with each other, so what did it matter? Still, knowing he was due back today, she had forgone any indulgence last night, figuring whatever happened, it would be better to do it sober, clear-headed and not hungover. And knowing, too, he was likely to return in the morning, she had stayed the course of the schedule she was adopting and gone for a ride of her own despite the weather.
Had she hoped she would miss his return by doing so? Perhaps. Would she admit to that or the disappointment felt when halfway through the process of applying cosmetics he wandered into their shared bedroom, greeted her and began to strip off rain-soaked clothes? Never.
She merely finished the application of kohl to her eyes, and made some kind of noise that could be interpreted as assent to his initial question, fleetingly grateful that he had entered now and not ten minutes ago when she had been undressed; true, she still had to finish with the makeup and do something about her hair, but this was infinitely preferable. In the moments that followed, she contented herself with watching him through the mirror, letting him lead this at his pace, biding her time.
Minimal attention had her noting that he led this interaction with tension, which she interpreted to mean he was predicting this would devolve into near-immediate conflict. Were he less overt in his anticipation, she might have given him that because Gods knew she had sharp words at the tip of her tongue for the week he made her endure, but she had always delighted in violating expectations.
He was prepared for an argument and her temper so she would give him neither. Not today, or at least not so easily. If he wanted a fight, he was going to have goad her into it, just for the sheer pleasure of making him be the one in the wrong and if instead, he decided to interpret her lack of fight to be anything other than a purposeful off-balancing, then all the better.
"Given that they are gifts, I suppose you will expect me to wear them even if they are not to my taste?" Nethis asked the question mildly, gaze on him still through the mirror. With just a little more malice, it would have been fact and accusation all in one, a means by which to goad him into a fight with ingratitude and assumption, but there was too much that sounded like actual seeking in it and too little of a dare for him to say yes. This had been a week of studying set boundaries and subtly—as well as not so subtly—testing them; she wanted to know if he would dare to go so far as to dictate her attire too.
"If you think such preparations ought to take me a week, you underestimate me," Nethis continued before she twisted to glance at Timaeus in full. "And while the topic is raised, I think you forget I learned to run a household in earnest at fourteen"—actually, she had no idea if he even knew when her mother died or if he had even stopped to consider what Ulla’s death might have meant for her in terms of responsibilities and untimely impetus to grow up, but that was neither here nor there—"and that I am not ill-equipped to do so in your absence or otherwise."
In truth, she suspected his refusal to allow her appropriate station and privileges of it had nothing to do with what she could not do and everything to do with what he feared she might, if not to anger her too. Yet, she had gone back and forth over the course of the week regarding how she had wanted to handle this with him and settled on putting it this way. Much as she wanted to lead with something darker and angrier, she was sure it would only make things worse by allowing him the satisfaction of proving him right.
Of course, it might have been better if she could stay her tongue entirely—she suspected that if Ulla was still alive it would be the counsel offered to her—but she didn’t fear advocating for herself. If she didn’t, no one would.
Wife, he said, next, and the word set her a little more on edge. No matter how true it was, the title irked her, serving as a reminder of how she found herself amidst a personal nadir. This was not being a wife, this was more akin to being a prisoner. She wasn’t a good woman and probably more deserved the latter than the former, but that wasn’t the truth of the situation and she didn’t appreciate that his choice in address didn’t match how he treated her.
Only, even on edge, the request took her aback. Perhaps she should have expected it, given the obviously pained way he had been moving since he entered the room, but she had assumed he would struggle rather than hand her what could be a minimal weapon. She certainly had not planned to offer, instead quite content to stare at—and perhaps privately admire, though she would loathe admitting it—the sight of her husband nearly undressed.
Dozens of things annoyed her about this situation but one of them wasn’t so bad: she possessed a very attractive thing. She didn’t have to want him herself—though truthfully, she wasn’t as opposed to the idea of intimacy as she thought he was considering she had done more with people for whom she had felt so much less, even if that feeling was mostly hate—but for public consideration, they belonged to each other in a fashion and she liked the superficiality of what she possessed.
She stood to do as he asked, but while doing so, an edged threat slid from lips, near violating her resolve not to give him what he was expecting because she couldn’t entirely help herself given the irritation. "If you insist on calling me that while treating me as you have, I will stop answering to it."
Not her most hateful work, but considering she wasn’t ready to deliver that yet, it seemed fitting. After all, had she been ready to be more temperamental, she wouldn’t have considered his request or stood, and certainly wouldn’t have done what followed the comment in the form of crossing to him and finding her own path within this.
Yes, she could have taken the pins and hurt him almost immediately. However, there was a certain inelegance that displeased in such a course; if she was going to do this—this being both pinning fabric into place and hurting him in the process—then she was going to do it right. She should have taken the fibulae from him, but doing so meant accepting the premise of the untidiness he had barely managed, so instead, she undid his attempt and ran her hands across his shoulders, in a consciously gentle fashion, to smooth out the fabric.
Afterward, she replaced the first one with little trouble and glanced toward him more wholly rather than his shoulders, only to take the rest of the pins. Instead of going further, though, she paused, glancing at one of them with consideration. Perversely, she pressed the pad of her index finger against the sharper edge somewhat deeply if only to gauge what damage it could do.
Then she glanced back to Timaeus.
"It would hurt," she mused, only pausing to slide that same pin into place, careful not to catch his skin against that same edge she had subjected herself to. "It makes me wonder why you gave me them." A third pin followed in much the same fashion, before she paused to pose a question. "Do you really think I would not harm you in a way so small or are you simply resigned to the idea that I will?"
Instead of moving to add another pin, she waited for an answer.
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Nethis had not wanted marriage for herself and it wasn’t just about to whom she was now married, though that certainly had been an aspect of her opposition. The biggest trouble with marriage was that it felt too much like personal loss; what she had as eldest of the Thanasi with an ailing father had been beyond what she should have been allowed, more than she had once hoped she ever might have and she had liked it.
No. Gods help her, she hadn’t liked it, she had loved it and that made the loss so much harder to bear. On the one hand, she should have been—and somewhat was—grateful that Dionysios had undergone what could only be a god-bestowed recovery, but on the other, there was a great deal of resentment and something that felt like grief for what she was losing to him in giving him back his due.
The dissatisfaction should have been punishment enough for daring to go beyond, but it wasn’t. Instead, there was more. For everything she was, for everything she could predict and foresee or maneuver and manipulate into being, she still didn’t understand how her marriage had become a concession to give, how it had become fait accompli without her knowing it was even a consideration, but there were no answers to be had. When Dionysios had delivered news of the arrangement, she had simply stared at him so shocked she couldn't summon words, and by the time she had any he had taken any opportunity for her to say them.
"You will not protest, you will do as you are told," he had said, "Marry him and manipulate him. It should be child’s play for you and will benefit us."
He wasn’t wrong and she knew that, but it wasn’t that which quieted her, which made something in her unknot. No, that was due to word choice, due to ‘us’.
"Thanasi first," he added, reading her reaction well, the utterance a firm certainty to contrast her not-so-private lack, "Always."
True to the latter sentiment rather than the exhortation to simply do it, she had been difficult from start to finish regarding the arrangements, much to irritation of everyone involved but her. If she was going to suffer this, everyone was going to suffer along the way, and she was not sorry.
Yet somehow, she wasn’t entirely sorry either when the day came and it was done, perhaps if only because there was minimal consolation in the idea that she would get some facet of what she lost back. It wouldn’t be the same, it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying, but as Timaeus’ wife, she’d have control over something, even if that something was just him, his household and the barony.
Or at least she was supposed to.
Nethis had always known that her reputation had the potential to bite her in the ass, but she hadn’t ever quite imagined it would come to form like this, manifesting consequence in the form of a husband who would allow her no freedom whatsoever in his absence. There was a part of her that admired his foresight—especially considering she had been planning to dismiss several members of the household while he wasn’t there to stop her—but it also pricked to be outmaneuvered. She had stewed in it for a day, done what little she was actually allowed to do within a second—which included planning for their eventual departure, even as she dreaded the notion—and then set about pushing boundaries or ignoring them.
In the attempt, she frequented the stables daily for the minimal freedom of an early morning ride, punishing herself but more importantly the ladies he mandated shadow her with pace and the hour; gradually stole a now nearly complete set of household keys and lied about having them nearly a dozen times to Timaeus’ head of staff; snuck into his study on three separate occasions, managing to read through about half of the correspondence and record-keeping left there between those visits; absconded with the household ledger to try and get a grasp on how his house was run at present before being forced to return it without making any progress; made a nuisance of herself in the kitchen daily; and spent a great deal of what time was left completely impaired via obviously disapproved of but perfectly satisfying indulgences courtesy of Mihail and Thea. For both of them, the situation was explained with quirked lips and cold eyes before she had proceeded to get drunk with Mihail and high with Thea without apology in front of his staff; if he wanted them to watch her, then let them see.
Nethis supposed Timaeus would get a report on most—if not all—of this and she wanted to care, but they were stuck with each other, so what did it matter? Still, knowing he was due back today, she had forgone any indulgence last night, figuring whatever happened, it would be better to do it sober, clear-headed and not hungover. And knowing, too, he was likely to return in the morning, she had stayed the course of the schedule she was adopting and gone for a ride of her own despite the weather.
Had she hoped she would miss his return by doing so? Perhaps. Would she admit to that or the disappointment felt when halfway through the process of applying cosmetics he wandered into their shared bedroom, greeted her and began to strip off rain-soaked clothes? Never.
She merely finished the application of kohl to her eyes, and made some kind of noise that could be interpreted as assent to his initial question, fleetingly grateful that he had entered now and not ten minutes ago when she had been undressed; true, she still had to finish with the makeup and do something about her hair, but this was infinitely preferable. In the moments that followed, she contented herself with watching him through the mirror, letting him lead this at his pace, biding her time.
Minimal attention had her noting that he led this interaction with tension, which she interpreted to mean he was predicting this would devolve into near-immediate conflict. Were he less overt in his anticipation, she might have given him that because Gods knew she had sharp words at the tip of her tongue for the week he made her endure, but she had always delighted in violating expectations.
He was prepared for an argument and her temper so she would give him neither. Not today, or at least not so easily. If he wanted a fight, he was going to have goad her into it, just for the sheer pleasure of making him be the one in the wrong and if instead, he decided to interpret her lack of fight to be anything other than a purposeful off-balancing, then all the better.
"Given that they are gifts, I suppose you will expect me to wear them even if they are not to my taste?" Nethis asked the question mildly, gaze on him still through the mirror. With just a little more malice, it would have been fact and accusation all in one, a means by which to goad him into a fight with ingratitude and assumption, but there was too much that sounded like actual seeking in it and too little of a dare for him to say yes. This had been a week of studying set boundaries and subtly—as well as not so subtly—testing them; she wanted to know if he would dare to go so far as to dictate her attire too.
"If you think such preparations ought to take me a week, you underestimate me," Nethis continued before she twisted to glance at Timaeus in full. "And while the topic is raised, I think you forget I learned to run a household in earnest at fourteen"—actually, she had no idea if he even knew when her mother died or if he had even stopped to consider what Ulla’s death might have meant for her in terms of responsibilities and untimely impetus to grow up, but that was neither here nor there—"and that I am not ill-equipped to do so in your absence or otherwise."
In truth, she suspected his refusal to allow her appropriate station and privileges of it had nothing to do with what she could not do and everything to do with what he feared she might, if not to anger her too. Yet, she had gone back and forth over the course of the week regarding how she had wanted to handle this with him and settled on putting it this way. Much as she wanted to lead with something darker and angrier, she was sure it would only make things worse by allowing him the satisfaction of proving him right.
Of course, it might have been better if she could stay her tongue entirely—she suspected that if Ulla was still alive it would be the counsel offered to her—but she didn’t fear advocating for herself. If she didn’t, no one would.
Wife, he said, next, and the word set her a little more on edge. No matter how true it was, the title irked her, serving as a reminder of how she found herself amidst a personal nadir. This was not being a wife, this was more akin to being a prisoner. She wasn’t a good woman and probably more deserved the latter than the former, but that wasn’t the truth of the situation and she didn’t appreciate that his choice in address didn’t match how he treated her.
Only, even on edge, the request took her aback. Perhaps she should have expected it, given the obviously pained way he had been moving since he entered the room, but she had assumed he would struggle rather than hand her what could be a minimal weapon. She certainly had not planned to offer, instead quite content to stare at—and perhaps privately admire, though she would loathe admitting it—the sight of her husband nearly undressed.
Dozens of things annoyed her about this situation but one of them wasn’t so bad: she possessed a very attractive thing. She didn’t have to want him herself—though truthfully, she wasn’t as opposed to the idea of intimacy as she thought he was considering she had done more with people for whom she had felt so much less, even if that feeling was mostly hate—but for public consideration, they belonged to each other in a fashion and she liked the superficiality of what she possessed.
She stood to do as he asked, but while doing so, an edged threat slid from lips, near violating her resolve not to give him what he was expecting because she couldn’t entirely help herself given the irritation. "If you insist on calling me that while treating me as you have, I will stop answering to it."
Not her most hateful work, but considering she wasn’t ready to deliver that yet, it seemed fitting. After all, had she been ready to be more temperamental, she wouldn’t have considered his request or stood, and certainly wouldn’t have done what followed the comment in the form of crossing to him and finding her own path within this.
Yes, she could have taken the pins and hurt him almost immediately. However, there was a certain inelegance that displeased in such a course; if she was going to do this—this being both pinning fabric into place and hurting him in the process—then she was going to do it right. She should have taken the fibulae from him, but doing so meant accepting the premise of the untidiness he had barely managed, so instead, she undid his attempt and ran her hands across his shoulders, in a consciously gentle fashion, to smooth out the fabric.
Afterward, she replaced the first one with little trouble and glanced toward him more wholly rather than his shoulders, only to take the rest of the pins. Instead of going further, though, she paused, glancing at one of them with consideration. Perversely, she pressed the pad of her index finger against the sharper edge somewhat deeply if only to gauge what damage it could do.
Then she glanced back to Timaeus.
"It would hurt," she mused, only pausing to slide that same pin into place, careful not to catch his skin against that same edge she had subjected herself to. "It makes me wonder why you gave me them." A third pin followed in much the same fashion, before she paused to pose a question. "Do you really think I would not harm you in a way so small or are you simply resigned to the idea that I will?"
Instead of moving to add another pin, she waited for an answer.
Nethis had not wanted marriage for herself and it wasn’t just about to whom she was now married, though that certainly had been an aspect of her opposition. The biggest trouble with marriage was that it felt too much like personal loss; what she had as eldest of the Thanasi with an ailing father had been beyond what she should have been allowed, more than she had once hoped she ever might have and she had liked it.
No. Gods help her, she hadn’t liked it, she had loved it and that made the loss so much harder to bear. On the one hand, she should have been—and somewhat was—grateful that Dionysios had undergone what could only be a god-bestowed recovery, but on the other, there was a great deal of resentment and something that felt like grief for what she was losing to him in giving him back his due.
The dissatisfaction should have been punishment enough for daring to go beyond, but it wasn’t. Instead, there was more. For everything she was, for everything she could predict and foresee or maneuver and manipulate into being, she still didn’t understand how her marriage had become a concession to give, how it had become fait accompli without her knowing it was even a consideration, but there were no answers to be had. When Dionysios had delivered news of the arrangement, she had simply stared at him so shocked she couldn't summon words, and by the time she had any he had taken any opportunity for her to say them.
"You will not protest, you will do as you are told," he had said, "Marry him and manipulate him. It should be child’s play for you and will benefit us."
He wasn’t wrong and she knew that, but it wasn’t that which quieted her, which made something in her unknot. No, that was due to word choice, due to ‘us’.
"Thanasi first," he added, reading her reaction well, the utterance a firm certainty to contrast her not-so-private lack, "Always."
True to the latter sentiment rather than the exhortation to simply do it, she had been difficult from start to finish regarding the arrangements, much to irritation of everyone involved but her. If she was going to suffer this, everyone was going to suffer along the way, and she was not sorry.
Yet somehow, she wasn’t entirely sorry either when the day came and it was done, perhaps if only because there was minimal consolation in the idea that she would get some facet of what she lost back. It wouldn’t be the same, it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying, but as Timaeus’ wife, she’d have control over something, even if that something was just him, his household and the barony.
Or at least she was supposed to.
Nethis had always known that her reputation had the potential to bite her in the ass, but she hadn’t ever quite imagined it would come to form like this, manifesting consequence in the form of a husband who would allow her no freedom whatsoever in his absence. There was a part of her that admired his foresight—especially considering she had been planning to dismiss several members of the household while he wasn’t there to stop her—but it also pricked to be outmaneuvered. She had stewed in it for a day, done what little she was actually allowed to do within a second—which included planning for their eventual departure, even as she dreaded the notion—and then set about pushing boundaries or ignoring them.
In the attempt, she frequented the stables daily for the minimal freedom of an early morning ride, punishing herself but more importantly the ladies he mandated shadow her with pace and the hour; gradually stole a now nearly complete set of household keys and lied about having them nearly a dozen times to Timaeus’ head of staff; snuck into his study on three separate occasions, managing to read through about half of the correspondence and record-keeping left there between those visits; absconded with the household ledger to try and get a grasp on how his house was run at present before being forced to return it without making any progress; made a nuisance of herself in the kitchen daily; and spent a great deal of what time was left completely impaired via obviously disapproved of but perfectly satisfying indulgences courtesy of Mihail and Thea. For both of them, the situation was explained with quirked lips and cold eyes before she had proceeded to get drunk with Mihail and high with Thea without apology in front of his staff; if he wanted them to watch her, then let them see.
Nethis supposed Timaeus would get a report on most—if not all—of this and she wanted to care, but they were stuck with each other, so what did it matter? Still, knowing he was due back today, she had forgone any indulgence last night, figuring whatever happened, it would be better to do it sober, clear-headed and not hungover. And knowing, too, he was likely to return in the morning, she had stayed the course of the schedule she was adopting and gone for a ride of her own despite the weather.
Had she hoped she would miss his return by doing so? Perhaps. Would she admit to that or the disappointment felt when halfway through the process of applying cosmetics he wandered into their shared bedroom, greeted her and began to strip off rain-soaked clothes? Never.
She merely finished the application of kohl to her eyes, and made some kind of noise that could be interpreted as assent to his initial question, fleetingly grateful that he had entered now and not ten minutes ago when she had been undressed; true, she still had to finish with the makeup and do something about her hair, but this was infinitely preferable. In the moments that followed, she contented herself with watching him through the mirror, letting him lead this at his pace, biding her time.
Minimal attention had her noting that he led this interaction with tension, which she interpreted to mean he was predicting this would devolve into near-immediate conflict. Were he less overt in his anticipation, she might have given him that because Gods knew she had sharp words at the tip of her tongue for the week he made her endure, but she had always delighted in violating expectations.
He was prepared for an argument and her temper so she would give him neither. Not today, or at least not so easily. If he wanted a fight, he was going to have goad her into it, just for the sheer pleasure of making him be the one in the wrong and if instead, he decided to interpret her lack of fight to be anything other than a purposeful off-balancing, then all the better.
"Given that they are gifts, I suppose you will expect me to wear them even if they are not to my taste?" Nethis asked the question mildly, gaze on him still through the mirror. With just a little more malice, it would have been fact and accusation all in one, a means by which to goad him into a fight with ingratitude and assumption, but there was too much that sounded like actual seeking in it and too little of a dare for him to say yes. This had been a week of studying set boundaries and subtly—as well as not so subtly—testing them; she wanted to know if he would dare to go so far as to dictate her attire too.
"If you think such preparations ought to take me a week, you underestimate me," Nethis continued before she twisted to glance at Timaeus in full. "And while the topic is raised, I think you forget I learned to run a household in earnest at fourteen"—actually, she had no idea if he even knew when her mother died or if he had even stopped to consider what Ulla’s death might have meant for her in terms of responsibilities and untimely impetus to grow up, but that was neither here nor there—"and that I am not ill-equipped to do so in your absence or otherwise."
In truth, she suspected his refusal to allow her appropriate station and privileges of it had nothing to do with what she could not do and everything to do with what he feared she might, if not to anger her too. Yet, she had gone back and forth over the course of the week regarding how she had wanted to handle this with him and settled on putting it this way. Much as she wanted to lead with something darker and angrier, she was sure it would only make things worse by allowing him the satisfaction of proving him right.
Of course, it might have been better if she could stay her tongue entirely—she suspected that if Ulla was still alive it would be the counsel offered to her—but she didn’t fear advocating for herself. If she didn’t, no one would.
Wife, he said, next, and the word set her a little more on edge. No matter how true it was, the title irked her, serving as a reminder of how she found herself amidst a personal nadir. This was not being a wife, this was more akin to being a prisoner. She wasn’t a good woman and probably more deserved the latter than the former, but that wasn’t the truth of the situation and she didn’t appreciate that his choice in address didn’t match how he treated her.
Only, even on edge, the request took her aback. Perhaps she should have expected it, given the obviously pained way he had been moving since he entered the room, but she had assumed he would struggle rather than hand her what could be a minimal weapon. She certainly had not planned to offer, instead quite content to stare at—and perhaps privately admire, though she would loathe admitting it—the sight of her husband nearly undressed.
Dozens of things annoyed her about this situation but one of them wasn’t so bad: she possessed a very attractive thing. She didn’t have to want him herself—though truthfully, she wasn’t as opposed to the idea of intimacy as she thought he was considering she had done more with people for whom she had felt so much less, even if that feeling was mostly hate—but for public consideration, they belonged to each other in a fashion and she liked the superficiality of what she possessed.
She stood to do as he asked, but while doing so, an edged threat slid from lips, near violating her resolve not to give him what he was expecting because she couldn’t entirely help herself given the irritation. "If you insist on calling me that while treating me as you have, I will stop answering to it."
Not her most hateful work, but considering she wasn’t ready to deliver that yet, it seemed fitting. After all, had she been ready to be more temperamental, she wouldn’t have considered his request or stood, and certainly wouldn’t have done what followed the comment in the form of crossing to him and finding her own path within this.
Yes, she could have taken the pins and hurt him almost immediately. However, there was a certain inelegance that displeased in such a course; if she was going to do this—this being both pinning fabric into place and hurting him in the process—then she was going to do it right. She should have taken the fibulae from him, but doing so meant accepting the premise of the untidiness he had barely managed, so instead, she undid his attempt and ran her hands across his shoulders, in a consciously gentle fashion, to smooth out the fabric.
Afterward, she replaced the first one with little trouble and glanced toward him more wholly rather than his shoulders, only to take the rest of the pins. Instead of going further, though, she paused, glancing at one of them with consideration. Perversely, she pressed the pad of her index finger against the sharper edge somewhat deeply if only to gauge what damage it could do.
Then she glanced back to Timaeus.
"It would hurt," she mused, only pausing to slide that same pin into place, careful not to catch his skin against that same edge she had subjected herself to. "It makes me wonder why you gave me them." A third pin followed in much the same fashion, before she paused to pose a question. "Do you really think I would not harm you in a way so small or are you simply resigned to the idea that I will?"
Instead of moving to add another pin, she waited for an answer.