This is for Heyna, who has prompted(pun intended) me to write a little bit of something about Iantha Joveson, my most recent O/C. Iantha is a sort of a mix of the family in the book The Penderwicks, having Iantha's name, Mr. Penderwick's habit of losing his glasses, Rosalind's motherly instincts, Jane's writing skills, Batty's love for music, Lydia's love for dancing, and Skye's opinion on marriage. This character is my tribute to my favorite book family, and a new Joveson O/C. The song lyrics belong to Vince Garauldi.

Iantha Joveson didn't mind if people thought she was quiet, in fact she preferred it that way. She didn't mind if most of the kingdom sometimes forgot she existed, as long as her family didn't. And she certainly didn't mind the fact that her sister-in-law, Heather, who was also the queen, was constantly needing to hand over her small daughter to her, because there were so many meetings and discussions that she could no longer take care of little Maggie and attend them all at the same time. She was very happy with the way her life was going, actually. She didn't mind if people acted like she was invisible whenever they addressed her brother, Smalls. Really. Not even a little bit.

"But you wouldn't forget about me, would you?" She smiled down at her little niece, who was sitting in between her crossed legs on the floor, clutching a stuffed toy. Maggie cooed like a little angel, and then yanked on one of Iantha's ears. "That's what I thought," She bit her lip to keep from shrieking. "I take it that means you're hungry." She picked up the little toddler in her arms, and found a bottle of milk warming in the kitchen sink. The top floor of First Warren's palace was situated much like a normal household, with bedrooms for all of the Jovesons, a sitting room full of velvet armchairs and satin couches, and a private kitchen, which was where they were now.

"Now," She told Maggie as she finished off the milk bottle. "I am going to bake something, and you, hopefully, can take a nap." She strapped Maggie onto her back in a baby carrier she had sewn herself, hummed a tune as she lit the oven, and began on a chocolate–cinnamon cake. Soon, she could hear the rhythmic breathing of a sleeping toddler, and the smell of chocolate and cinnamon was wafting out of the kitchen and down the hall. The door to the royal family's quarters shut down the hall, and Iantha grabbed a wooden spoon, in order to fend off whichever family member was coming to swipe batter from her second layer of cake. Whit appeared in the doorway, with the unmistakeable look of someone who hadn't eaten in hours.

"What's–"

"Shhhh," Iantha scolded, nodding to the sleeping figure on her back.

"Oh, sorry," Whit whispered, wincing slightly. "What's cooking?"

"Nothing's cooking," She replied, measuring Olive-Oil. "My cooking is a nightmare." This was a fact, and everyone in the Joveson family knew it. Her baking, on the other hand, was next to heavenly. "Get away from there," She whisper–shouted, as Whit stuck a finger into the bowl of batter, and skidded out the door. She sighed, and poured the second bowl of batter into a cake pan.

One hour later, two plump cakes were cooling on top of the stove, a happy toddler was listening to Emma, who had come in early from the hospital, read her a book, and Iantha was mixing a batch of chocolate frosting. Jovesons had been wandering in and out of the kitchen, but the king and his wife had yet to appear.("Three meetings in a row," Winslow had replied when Iantha inquired about them) She was standing at the kitchen island mixing powdered sugar and cream, and singing softly.

'Little birdie, why do you fly upside down?'

It's amazing, that's the way you get around.

Little birdie, why you worry like you do?

Don't you worry, you just do what you can do.'

"I didn't know you could sing," Smalls was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, eyeing her bowl of frosting.

"I guess there's a lot of things you didn't know about me– don't even think about it." She slapped his hand away from the frosting bowl. "What kind of payment is that for watching your daughter all day?"

"I thought you said that was its own payment."

"Yeah, well, I'm not gonna have enough frosting for cake if y'all keep taking it." When the afterterrors scattered the Jovesons apart, Iantha had ended up way down in Glen Clair, resulting in a southern accent, which her family called sweet, her suitors called charming, and Whit called annoying. "Where's Heather?" She asked, grabbing the cakes from on top of the stove, and setting them down next to the bowl of frosting.

"Napping."

She nodded. "I'll save her some cake, since you certainly won't."

"Where's Maggie?" Smalls asked, glancing around.

"In the living room, with Emma."

With that, Smalls left the kitchen, but not before swiping a fingertip of frosting. Not long after, Iantha heard a small child's shriek of laughter floating out of the sitting room.

Let them believe she was quiet. She had everything she needed right here.