He ran his fingers delicately along
the wine glass while brooding over the situation. A door slammed open, revealing
his younger brother. The younger man glanced from the glass to his slightly
flushed face, a look of disapproval shadowing his features. "Your son just
came in to the world, I don't think Clarissa was up to it. Where were you when
it all happened?"
He gave a nonchalant shrug. "Here, I suppose. What are you all worked up about? Clarissa is fine. Did you know it is very unbecoming and very out of character for you to act like this?"
"Robert, you should at least go visit your wife," Roald reprimanded and huffed out of the room.
He sighed and sat up, calling for a servant to take the cup. With movements of deliberate slowness, he traced his brother's route to the healer's Wing.
"Clarissa," he greeted his wife solemnly when he arrived. She was lying in bed, her usually bright face pale and strained, her breath ragged and uneven.
She nodded the acknowledgement of his arrival and motioned at the bundle in the
mid-wife's arms, too tired to speak.
"It's name?" he pressed, ignoring the baby and the hollowness showing
clearly in his wife's eyes.
Her chest heaved as she fought for breath. She opened her mouth to say something, but ended up only sagging back into the pillows. The midwife tutted in disapproval, ushering him out. "She'll be fine," Robert drawled emotionlessly. "I don't see why I have to leave."
The next day, he sat beside her deathbed, silent and aloft.
"His name is Roger," she breathed and let out her last breath. The Royal household was quite, in mourning for years to come. The little boy was neglected and brushed aside.
Three years passed and found him standing beside her gravemarker. He had done this every anniversary of her death. No matter what people though, and what his behavior had shown, he had loved Clarissa. And that son of his killed her. He shook his head, refusing to even admit the existence of his young heir.
As if reading his thoughts, the subject of his thoughts ran across the path. "What are you doing here?" he barked. The little boy shirked and scooted out of his father's sight as fast as his legs could carry him. He knew he was unwanted and he accepted that as much as his three-year-old intelligence allowed.
Robert scowled after him. The boy was a sign of Death.
~~
Not very good, huh? It was very last minute. I know, I know, lack of detail. Usually I'm big on it, but not this time...
~Reaya