tammydrabbles prompt 28 (15 October) – Circumstances

Title: Apologies Accepted

Words: 687

Characters: Daine, Numair, Skysong, Sarralyn & Rikash

Daine has just spent the best part of three hours in the royal menagerie, tending a phenomenally ornery river-horse who has eaten a variety of things that do not agree with him. Despite her hasty ablutions in the bathhouse, mud remains in awkward places, and she is fairly sure that she smells like a southern Carthaki riverbed.

She is in a bad temper, and what she sees in her own sitting-room, when she opens the door to the Salmalín quarters, seems precisely calculated to make everything just that little bit worse.

The expensive Tyran carpet has all but vanished under an avalanche of pillow-feathers, broken toys, and other miscellaneous objects equally not intended to decorate sitting-room floors. And there, in the middle of this unmitigated disaster (well, not quite unmitigated – as far as Daine can determine, no one is actually dead), are her two children.

Well, three children, really.

"Sarra," Daine says, in what even her five-year-old daughter must recognize as a dangerously even voice, "what have you been doing?"

Rikash hops up and down. Sarralyn opens her mouth to answer, but before she can speak, there is a flurry of whistles and burbles and trills from Kitten, who seems determined to explain everything.

"So," Daine concludes, when Kitten at last falls silent, "your Da had something very important to do, and he left Skysong in charge, is that it?"

All of them nod vigorously.

"And you thought you would have a pillow fight, and play catch, and jump on the sofa."

More nodding.

"In the sitting room."

And more – but less certain, now.

"Where I have distinctly told you not to play games with pillows. Or jumping. Or throwing things."

Three heads bob up and down, just once, almost imperceptibly. Sarralyn and Rikash are large-eyed and penitent; their erstwhile child-minder has gone an unbecoming shade of grey.

"Right." In the circumstances, there is not much use in blaming any of them for the mess; small children have parents for a reason, after all. "Come with me, all of you." She holds out a hand to each of the children. "We're going to have a little talk with your Da."

The door to Numair's workroom is, predictably, locked; Daine motions to Kitten to unlock it, and, without further ceremony, marches in.

"Magelet!" Numair is flustered, a little too obviously surprised. "Back so soon? I thought you would be hours …"

"The children tell me," Daine begins conversationally, "that you left Kitten in charge."

"Well, yes – in the circumstances – it was only for a few—"

"Approximately two and a half hours ago."

"… oh."

He looks apologetic – he is very good at this – and rises from his seat to move toward her.

Daine backs away.

She knows what he is trying to do, of course; she has not lived nigh on fifteen years with this man without learning a thing or two. If she gives in, if she lets him catch her eye or get within three feet of her, he will give her that particular look, or kiss her in that particular spot on the back of her neck, or put his hand on her shoulder in that particular way, and before she knows it she will have forgotten all his misdeeds and be dragging him into the bedroom and out of his clothes (not necessarily in that order). Well, two can play at that game, Master Numair I'm-so-clever Salmalín.

"It looks to me as though all of them need a rest," she continues; and, indeed, Rikash is rubbing his eyes with one chubby fist, and Sarralyn is yawning. "I'll just go and put them down for their nap, shall I? And" (looking up at him from beneath demurely lowered lashes in that particular way that makes his ears go pink) "when you've finished tidying up the sitting-room, you can come and apologize properly."

Daine sweeps out of the workroom, shepherding children and dragonet before her, entirely conscious of the sway of her hips.

She can almost feel her husband's eyes on her, his mouth dropping open, the flush creeping up his neck.

"… Yes, Magelet."

A/N: I'm not at all sure how this fits the prompt, but it's what popped into my head. In those circumstances, what's a person to do?