The Loneliest Ballad

Eventually, Tobin stopped shouting at her. Falling back against the pillows as if exhausted, he barked at Celia to call one of the servants in.

"My insides are now aching, thanks to you. I'll need something to soothe my belly, which is being stabbed by pains of disappointment."

Celia quickly got up from the bed and scurried to find a servant. A terrified looking young page followed her back into her bedchamber a few moments later.

"Bring me a pitcher of the sweetened ale immediately, as well as some of the roasted goose and carrots from dinner earlier." Tobin ordered the moment the page stepped into his sight line. "You may as well also bring some of the goat stew. And dessert. I have a pain in my belly that troubles me."

Nodding and bowing hastily, the page ran from the room, only to return a short while later with two other pages. The three servants carried trays with several covered platters between them, as well as a tall silver pitcher.

They carefully arranged the platters on the bed around the seated prince. Finally, one of them filled a goblet to the brim with ale and handed it to Tobin.

"You may all go." The prince was too busy lifting the domed platter covers, to bother looking at his servants. Taking a roasted leg of goose from a platter, he bit into it and sighed with the gusto of a man starved for days.

Celia stood near the bedchamber wall in silence, not daring to move any closer. Part of her wanted to turn away and run from the room in disgust. What had her parents been thinking when they'd betrothed her to that creature so many years ago?

The other part wanted to just gape in fascination - hideous fascination - at the young man's voracious hunger.

She couldn't really do either of those things so she was forced to just stand like a statue, looking at her feet and listening to her husband noisily gorge himself.

He didn't bother offering to share anything with her. Which was probably just as well, Celia grimaced. The mere thought of having to eat alongside him, turned her belly.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before she finally heard Tobin belch loudly and declare he'd had enough. It seemed like forever.

When Celia looked at him, she saw that all the food had been devoured down to the last crumb. She hurried to remove the platters from the bed and leave them in the presence chamber, for servants to take back to the kitchen the next morning. She tried not to look at the platters as she carried them, almost gagging when she saw the large pile of bones that Tobin had picked clean.

She walked back into the bedchamber, where Tobin was reclining on the bed again, looking drowsy. He stared at her for a moment, forehead damp with sweat and eyes pinched.

"I'm going to sleep now. It has been an exhausting day." he said, belching again. "If I were you, I'd be praying for a full womb next month. My patience with you is rapidly running out."

Meek as a mouse, Celia inched towards her side of the bed and crawled under the blankets, careful to distance herself as much as possible from her sullen husband. Soon, she heard Tobin's snores.

She lay unmoving at the edge of the bed, barely daring to breathe for fear of waking him. Her back started to ache, as it always did, from lying on the overly soft feather mattress. Tobin always said he couldn't sleep on a firm surface and insisted that his mattress had to be as soft and billowing as risen dough.

The fact that the unsupportive surface made his wife's back hurt, wasn't his concern.

Celia closed her eyes tightly on another long, lonely day, hoping sleep would claim her quickly. She refused to let her tears fall.

- - -

Tobin was still sprawled asleep when Celia awoke the next morning. The distant tolling of chapel bells told her it was the sixth hour. She eased slowly out of bed, grabbed her robe and slipped silently out of the bedchamber.

The presence chamber was on the cold side when she entered, with only a few weakly glowing embers left in the fireplace. Celia sat down in front of the fireplace anyway, trying to absorb even a little warmth.

Her mornings were as lonely as her nights.

Tobin loved to sleep in late and refused to be disturbed by the sound of servants. None were allowed to enter the apartments until he was awake, nor even to clean or light a fire.

It all meant that Celia was usually left waiting around for hours every morning, in her nightgown, until Tobin woke up and would finally allow her maids inside their rooms to serve her.

She'd taken to sitting alone in the presence chamber and staring into the dying fire, trying to cheer herself with memories of her old life in Islia.

But thinking of the country of her birth and the family who loved her, was a double edged sword. It made her want to smile and weep at the same time.

She didn't want her family, especially her parents, to know how poorly her marriage was going. She knew they'd betrothed her into the Haviettenese royal family because they wanted to see her rise to be a queen of an important country. They wanted Islia to reap the rewards of having her on a neighbouring throne.

She didn't want to disappoint them when they'd pinned such high hopes on her for the future.

So she kept silent. When she received one of her father's affectionate letters, she replied back with equal cheer. When her mother sent her one of her short, stilted notes that took her such effort to write, Celia would hold the parchment close to her heart and swallow her unhappiness.

She didn't need the Islians telling her all the ways she was failing in her duties of being an asset to her country.

The Haviettenese were already doing that without any hesitation.