Caspian had been awake most of the night. Even as he held himself rigidly still in bed so he didn't wake the woman next to him, he thought resentful things at her. She seemed to rest deeply and peacefully, occasionally murmuring a phrase or two in her sleep.
He was absolutely flummoxed at how easily she accepted this lot in life.
Then again, he had gleaned that she'd been poor and an outcast. Perhaps she didn't care what kind of man she got as long as she had a roof over her head.
On some level, it was distasteful to be used that way. On the other hand, if her expectations were that low, he'd be hard-pressed to disappoint her, and maybe she wouldn't become a nag.
He had badly wanted to roll over, but then he'd have been facing her, and if she woke she would be staring him in the face. In the other position, at least if he DID wake her, he could pretend to be asleep without too much trouble.
In the end, he'd finally succumbed to exhaustion, but woken up with a sore shoulder from being so still on it all night.
He woke in pain, grumbling to himself, and flopped wide across his bed.
He froze, but slowly realized the other side of the bed was… empty. His eyes widened. Maybe it had all been a bad dream! Maybe the pain in his shoulder had made him vividly dream about the arrival of the Rhone woman and her insistence on marrying him immediately.
Perhaps the caravan wasn't even here yet!
His mouth worked into a smile until he began smelling something from the other room, and heard the muffled sounds of quiet movement. It was past dawn; the night of terrible sleep had caused him to stay in bed longer than usual.
Perhaps his mother had brought him breakfast to encourage him to take whatever bride would be brought today, his sleep-muddled mind provided.
He nodded, and stumbled up to splash his face with water from the basin and glance briefly into the mirror there. He looked awful.
Cora wouldn't care. His mother had seen him at his worst.
He dressed himself, discarding his nightclothes on the floor, then opened his bedroom door and shuffled out, then stopped. The smell was not the familiar fishy breakfast his mother always made. Had she found some new recipe? That seemed unlikely; she'd cooked the same thing for years.
He passed his hand over his face and blinked the sleepiness out of his eyes. His table was all set, but on it was an unfamiliar bowl of something along with a plate of eggs?
And a woman standing beside it. Not just any woman. She was stunning. Her eyes were golden-brown and alight with the morning, her cheeks held a rosy blush, and her dark hair was wound into a braid that hung down over one shoulder. Curly tendrils had found their way loose and framed her face delicately.
He frowned deeply. Wasn't yesterday supposed to have been a bad dream? But she looked familiar, even in his half-asleep state.
Suddenly, the smile fell from her face.
"No, it wasn't a bad dream. I'm here. I'm sorry… for falling asleep early, I mean. I made breakfast. It's probably not what you're used to, but I'll ask your mother for cooking lessons so that I can make more traditional dishes." Her voice quivered slightly.
Oh, no. Had he spoken aloud about thinking it was a bad dream? He'd been told his whole life he was a mean grump when he first woke in the morning, but he didn't mean to hurt the woman's feelings. He was supposed to be polite to her.
He cringed.
"Breakfast looks…" He searched for a compliment but was unable to find one for the unorthodox affair. "Thank you for waking up early and cooking it." He finished instead.
She looked at him dubiously, and he sat down at the table. She served him–which he didn't expect–and then sat and served herself. Then she waited. Was he supposed to eat first?
He resented being uncomfortable at his own breakfast table and resolved to just take a bite and let everything work out as it may. He began with the most unusual part of the breakfast, a thick, gloopy looking soup substance.
"What is this called?" He asked politely. He would act interested in the strange substance.
"Porridge," She smiled at him apologetically. Was it that obvious that he wasn't looking forward to eating it? He needed to practice his acting skills. Then again, why should he have to act? It was his home! He wouldn't walk on eggshells for this woman.
He took a bite and considered it. The texture was unusual, but the taste was actually good. It seemed to be flavored with honey, and something else he couldn't pin down. Once he got past the odd appearance of it, the dish was pleasant to eat.
The eggs, he recognized. They were flavorful, and he wolfed them down heartily, earning a genuine smile.
"Where did you find the eggs?" He asked after a moment.
"I went out and fed your chickens and gathered the eggs. I milked one of the cows, but I do not know how to care for large animals. I must beg you for lessons in that area, or I can learn from your mother if you prefer." She made it sound like letting her take over his chores would be an imposition on him.
In fact, he was surprised at her industriousness. Traditionally, Cetoan brides were entitled to a week of rest from chores to settle into their new home. He wondered if she was trying to impress him. There was no need; the marriage was done.
A knock sounded at the door and Naomi rose from her seat quickly to answer it. When she opened it, Cora was placing a wooden breakfast tray on the doorstep.
"Cora! Please come in!" She smiled warmly at Caspian's mother.
"I did not expect you to be awake, let alone up and dressed! I thought to leave breakfast for the newlyweds," The older woman seemed surprised and a little embarrassed at being caught.
"You neglected to inform her of that tradition," Caspian said wryly, gesturing at the table. "Before I awoke, she rose, dressed, fed the chickens, gathered eggs, milked a cow, and made, erm… breakfast."
Naomi blushed, and hurriedly clarified to Cora, "I know you said breakfast is usually fish and vegetables, but I could not find the vegetables and I do not know how to cook fish. Please teach me, when you have time, so that I can do it properly."
Both of them stared at her.
"Yes, Naomi," Cora said after a moment. "We are family now and I can teach you anything you would like to learn."
"I have much to learn," Naomi said uncertainly, and lowered her eyes.
"Of course you do! But I'm sure you have just as much to teach. What is this you have made?" Cora inquired, looking at the table.
Caspian offered his bowl to his mother for her to taste some, enjoying her subtle expression of trepidation. She was obviously trying hard to be kind to her new daughter-in-law.
She held her face in a pleasant expression as she took a bite, but quickly it became genuine.
"What a unique but delicious dish!" She exclaimed, "But I am intruding on your morning together. I will leave you now. I will bring an evening meal tonight, but I hope you two can take the day to get to know one another more."
"Thank you for coming by," Naomi accepted a hug from Cora, and Caspian noticed she seemed to find genuine relief in the elder's presence. He thought most women bristled against any perceived intrusion from an in-law.
As his mother departed, he was left once again alone in the company of his wife. He sighed and finished his breakfast quickly, after which Naomi cleared the dishes without a word from him.
Though he usually did all these things for himself, he was mildly curious as to how much Naomi would take over if left to her own devices. She seemed intent on staying incredibly busy.
He watched her finish cleaning the dishes, scraping the leftover bits and eggshells into a bowl. Putting that aside, she disappeared into the bedroom.
Caspian stretched and rubbed at his sore shoulder, wishing he'd gotten more sleep. Maybe she'd gone to take a nap. That would be lazy; he knew for a fact that she'd slept soundly the entire time he had been uncomfortably awake.
He began to build up resentment against her thinking about that again, even while recognizing he wasn't being fair. She didn't intentionally keep him from sleeping. But still, if she weren't there he would have slept far better.
She was an unwelcome invader in his home that he was stuck with.
Naomi reappeared, sweeping with a broom as she went. Where had she found that? He didn't think he owned one. Past her, he could see into the bedroom that the bed was made and the nightclothes he'd thrown on the floor were folded and put at the foot of the bed.
What was she up to?