"I cannot explain my reasoning to an extent that will satisfy you," he admitted.
Talia sighed and rubbed her face. She was indeed tired, but not so tired that she didn't notice that Mikhail was uncomfortable.
He had very few noticeable tells. The thing he did with his lips-- pressing them into a flat, even line-- it seemed to her to mean that he was thinking something that he did not want to say. He'd been avoiding her eyes, staring determinedly at the ground, and speaking in that slow, quiet tone, as if she were a wild animal who might easily spook-- her guess was that he avoided looking at her because he was lying about something.
Just now, he'd looked up at her, and the instant he'd met her eyes, he'd winced just slightly, as if he'd felt a sudden sharp pain. Perhaps the way she was staring at him made him uncomfortable.
The shadows in the room flickered and moved from the dozens and dozens of candles that bathed the space in a dim but warm light, and in the silence, she could hear the wax dripping into brass catch wells. Once again, he would give no answer to her.
"Then I suppose we have nothing further to discuss," she said, shaking her head. "If you'll excuse me then, Prince Mik-"
"I cannot explain, but there is one who could. If you rest tonight... there is someone I could introduce you to. Someone... who knew Queen Ora well... who was her right hand. So that you understand, this is not an offer for you to... meet her contacts and take her place, this is so that someone can better explain why you shall not," he scowled, dropping his eyes back to the floor.
"Grieta," Talia guessed, nodding her head slowly.
"Yes," the Prince agreed.
"Your lover," she frowned.
Once again, Prince Mikhail controlled his reactions so well that his face did not display surprise or nervousness at her words. The prolonged silence after them, however, let her know that she had indeed shocked him and greatly. She could see his mind racing behind his stoic gaze.
"Grieta is a brothel owner and a former concubine herself, she has had and still has many lovers. I would not define our relationship as one of love or even affection," he answered at last.
"But she is you lover," Talia confirmed, smiling pleasantly.
"She has been in the past. If the Princess finds such an arrangement objectionable-"
"How many others?" She interrupted, keeping her voice pleasant and calm.
He did not answer but continued to gaze at her, his mouth twitched and she knew he was fighting against the urge to press his lips together.
"Do you find my question inappropriate, Prince Mikhail? I apologize, but I am Vezdan, after all. To take a husband who has many lovers... who will likely take many other wives and concubines... this is not something that is done or would even be allowed in my country. I'm afraid I have many questions. I should like to know what to expect. Obviously not fidelity, but-"
"We can discuss this tomorrow. If you should like to negotiate additional terms for marriage, I will-"
"No, I should like to know how many other women there have been and will be... am I expected to interact with your other women? Do they come to your home or do you visit them in theirs? How do you divide your time between-"
"Enough! If the Princess requires fidelity than I shall-"
"How many?" She repeated patiently.
"Does the Princess wish to speak to Grieta or not?" He scowled.
"Yes. How many?" She asked again.
Prince Mikhail's face was as dark as a thundercloud as he scowled. He did not meet her eyes. Talia was careful to keep her face open and pleasant.
"I do not see how knowing such a thing would benefit you in any way," he growled.
"You're embarassed," she guessed, clicking her tongue as she turned away. "I had hoped to increase trust between us. There are so many things you cannot tell me because your tongue is bewitched, but this is something you can speak of. Something you would not generally speak of to others, but could tell me to prove that you are willing. I do not think-"
"I do not know the number!" He snapped. "There is no scorecard that I keep above my bed. I did not realize that I would need to remember such a trivial thing."
"I would imagine that to mean the number is very high indeed," Talia smirked.
She studied him and noticed that the tips of his ears had gone very red, and though he glowered as if he were angry, he did not meet her eye, and she suspected that though his words were sharp, he might have felt shame.
Why did she always push him to this point? Only hours earlier, she had been terrified of losing him, rebuking herself and begging the gods to save him, promising herself that she would try harder to understand him, to not jump to conclusions.
He had almost died by her hand, but even now, he was begging her to rest, showing more concern for her well-being then his own, and yet she found herself needling him once again... shaming him even.
"I suppose there have been.... many. They all seem to blend together... to look the same. One does not stand out from the next. If the Princess is concerned that any woman will take precedence in--"
"No. I am hurt by your almost constant rejection and seek to understand what fuels it," Talia interrupted quickly, feeling her own face begin to grow warm.
"R-rejection?" He stammered.
"Yes. Rejection. If I seek to understand you better, you pull further away. When I offer help, you refuse. In moments of intimacy, you never fail to remind me that you have no desire to bond with me in any way other than physically, and you refuse to consider what I want and seek only to exile me to Frem," she explained, her face burning hotter with every word. "... and while I appreciate your offer to introduce me to someone who was close to my sister and could shed light on her last months... the fact that she is your mistress and that you did not hesitate to introduce us... it suggests to me that you are not concerned that I might feel uncomfortable... or... or jealous. That is a sort of rejection as well," Talia explained and shrugged.
"Princess..." he murmured, his voice suddenly low and gentle.
"And it occurred to me that while I berate you for your lack of honesty... for withholding your thoughts and motives from me... perhaps I have often done the same. Perhaps I have expected you to understand my feelings and thoughts without explaining and--"
"I have always been honest with you about my motives. Your safety. Your survival. I would not see you hurt or killed," he answered quickly.
"And yet it is you who hurts me most," she whispered, more to herself than to him. However when she looked up to meet his gaze, she knew that he did hear her.
He swallowed hard and looked for a moment as if he would speak further, but he did not.
"At any rate, I think it is you who should lie down. You are still recovering from being drugged and you look very worn--"
"I am much better, I do not require-"
"I will lay down and sleep if I see you lay down as well," Talia interrupted.
Prince Mikhail studied her face, as if he thought she might be teasing him, but after a moment nodded.
"Very well," he agreed.
Talia nodded and walked toward the bed. She folded the blanket back and climbed in as the Prince watched. Settling herself back against the pillows, she smirked at him.
"Well?" She demanded.
"Would the Princess prefer that I lie on the floor or in adjoining room?" He grumbled.
"Here. I prefer that you lie here!" She snapped, and pointed at the other side of the bed.
They had never shared a bed before, though she had laid in his arms when she was unconcious on the way to the capitol. They had also shared a room, where he had slept on the floor, leaning against a wall.
She blushed again, realizing that his hesitation might be due to thinking her too forward.
"I mean to sleep-- and only to sleep, so that we are clear," she added hastily.
Mikhail nodded before crossing the room. He extinguished the candles as he went, until only the candelabra on the bedside table remained lit. He sat down on the bed with his back to her, removed his boots, and then lay back, crossing his arms over his chest.
Talia sighed and arranged her pillows before lying back to stare at the ceiling. After a few seconds, she rolled to her side, and then, finding the position even less comfortable, rolled again to her back, adjusting the blankets slightly.
Beside her, Prince Mikhail lay as still and silent as a corpse. She was not certain he was even breathing.
Talia heaved an agitated sigh. The mood between them was awkward.
"I thought that there might be another woman," she admitted, scowling at the ceiling. "I thought that perhaps the reason you are so eager to push me away, is because your heart belongs to another, and--"
"There is no one else," he answered quickly.
"Then you find me... lacking in some way," she guessed.
"The Princess lacks nothing," Mikhail murmured.
Talia rolled onto her side to study him. He lay without moving on his back, his arms still crossed over his chest, his eyes open and fixed unblinking on the ceiling. She wanted to giggle. He appeared very uncomfortable.
"So you wish to marry me, but not to love me... for no reason in particular. I confess it is a difficult concept for me to understand," Talia mumbled.
"It is a common enough occurrence. Among the nobility, many often marry for political or social reasons. I would think that even in Vezda-"
"Of course, of course, that is true," she cut him off. "I was almost married to secure an alliance once myself, you know. What I find odd is that I would obviously offer my heart in addition to my hand, but you will not have it. And you say it is not that I am lacking, and it is not that you have another woman-"
"It is far too valuable to give to me," he mumbled. "Like the fisherman and the stars."
"The fisherman and the stars?" She repeated, giving him a curious glance.
"Yes, the old story," he frowned.
"I've never heard it," Talia admitted. "Tell it."
"I am no bard. I have no talent for telling stories," he scoffed.
"Have you ever tried?" She grinned.
When he didn't answer, she groaned, and rolled onto her back. "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep now," she admitted. "I am far too curious as to what a fisherman has to do with the stars."
When he still did not reply, Talia tapped her fingers against the bedcover and heaved another frustrated sigh.
"If you will be still and close your eyes," he began, "then I suppose I could try and remember."
Talia closed her eyes at once and struggled to keep the smile from her face.
"Many, many years ago, in the kingdom of Frem, there lived a humble fisherman. He lived a humble life in a small hovel on the edge of a tall cliff beside the sea, and he lived there alone. But the fisherman was not lonely, for he considered the stars to be his great friends.
"Every evening, when the stars appeared in the sky, he would greet each one, complimenting them on how brightly they shone. He even gave them names, and when, late at night, he rowed out into the water to cast his nets, he was comforted by the thought that the stars followed him, and that they watched over him, leading him back before morning at the end of every night.
"The fisherman lived for years this way, just him and the stars, until one evening, when hauling up his catch, he noticed a flash of gold in his nets. It was a massive fish with scales of gold. He marveled at this creature, and he said to himself: 'this fish will go for so high a price that it will pay for all my winter supplies'. But the fish was a magic fish, and he cried out to the fisherman begging for his life. The man was very surprised, but still he did not release the creature, but then, the fish promised to grant him one wish in exchange for its freedom.
"Well, the fisherman thought and thought, and it occurred to him that more than riches, or fame, or any other thing, he wished that he could have just one of the stars for his very own.
"The fish warned him that a star was not meant to be owned, and that he would come to regret his decision,but the fisherman refused to be swayed.
"And so, the fish told him that once he returned to his small home, he would find his star there waiting for him. Well, the fisherman released the fish and hurried home. When he arrived, his house was glowing with a bright light, and sure enough, when he opened the door, there was a small star sitting at his kitchen table.
"The star was so bright, that the fisherman had to squint to even be able to look at it, but still, he was very happy. The star was very confused. One minute, the star had been dancing merrily with its friends across the night sky, and the next it found itself in a dirty, stinking hovel, with a dirty squinting man. But the star was polite and spoke kindly to the man.
"There is a lot that comes after this part, that I don't remember. The star becomes hungry, but the fisherman can't find anything that will nourish a star. The star needs clothing made from wisps of clouds and shadows, but the fisherman cannot make these either, and over time the fisherman goes blind from always looking at the brightness of the star. In the end, the star fades and dies from hunger and cold, and the man, blind and alone now, does not even have the comfort of seeing the stars free and beautiful in the night sky. He dies of shame and regret, I think. And that is... that is how the story ends."
Talia kept her eyes closed and focused on breathing slowly in and out. Prince Mikhail remained silent for a moment, and then she felt the shift of weight on the mattress as he turned toward her.
"Princess?" He whispered.
Talia continued to feign sleep, until at last, she really did sleep.