Prompt: Write about a relationship, whether romantic or platonic, that is affected by jealousy.

Well, we'll see how it goes. (Please tell me someone caught that reference. No? Well, no one else was in the room where it happened. I'm sorry I'll stop now XD)

Maggie Joveson rubbed her forehead in frustration as she desperately searched her mind for the answer to 45m equals 3, and took a sip from the mug of tea she'd set beside her on the table. The Firstflower cleared her head, and the answer came to her, slowly but surely. She hated arithmetic as much as her father had at her age, and the tutoring lessons from Hannah, who was considered a prodigy in the subject, had gone downhill fast, but it was better than thinking about her day at school. The door to the Joveson's sitting room opened behind her, and she paused chewing on her pencil, because adults were always scolding her for that, and she honestly didn't have the emotional strength to deal with a scolding today. She turned slowly, like she was thinking something important over. Of course, she hadn't been, she'd been replaying her theatre's rehearsal of You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown, but whoever it was behind her didn't necessarily need to know that.

"Tired, Mags?"

Maggie smiled. There was only one person in the entire world who called her that. "I missed you so much," She muttered, burying her face in her father's tunic. "Two weeks was too long."

Father squished her into his embrace, dropping his suitcase on the floor and swinging her in his arms, even though she was getting too heavy for that.

"I know," Father planted a kiss on her forehead, and glanced around. "Where is everyone?"

"Oh, you know." Maggie waved a hand about. "Meetings, school, torture chambers, who knows?"

"I don't know about that last bit," Father squeezed her shoulder. "But does that mean I get you all to myself?"

"Yep!" Maggie grinned, and then glanced back at her unfinished math lesson on the table. "Well, not until I finish my homework." Her face fell.

"Need help?"

"Yeah, but…" Maggie took another sip of her tea. "Aren't you very tired from traveling all the way back from Terrelain?"

"Not in the least." Father sat down on the bench next to her. "But you seem like something's bothering you."

"That's my dad, world. Straight and to the point."

"Ha, ha. Are you sure there isn't something you want to talk about?"

"Well, there is, but I'm not ready yet, I don't think."

"Ready when you are."

"I love you so much." Maggie buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender, new parchment, and coffee. Maybe she'd be alright after all.

"This isn't how they did it when I was a kid." Smalls' brows were furrowed as he flipped through the pages of Maggie's textbook, scowling. "Mags, how do you–?" He glanced down at his youngest daughter, realizing she must've fallen asleep some time ago. Her breathing was slow and steady, and the wrinkles from his tunic had pressed lines into her cheek. He lifted her in his arms, kissing her forehead and carrying her down the hall to her bedroom. Maggie stirred as he set her down on the bed, blinking and sitting up sleepily.

"Hey, dad?" Maggie shook her head slowly, as though trying to shake the sleep from her eyes. "Can I tell you what's bothering me now?"

"I'm listening."

"So, um, you know Lydia?"

"I know who you're talking about."

"Well, there's this buck who she likes at school, but that buck likes me, but I don't care because I think boys are disgusting, and I told her she can have him because I don't want him, but I think she's mad at me and I don't know what to do."

"That sounds like quite the situation."

"It is."

"Well, sometimes the best thing to do is–" Smalls trailed off, glancing down once more, chuckling quietly as he realized Maggie had already fallen back to sleep. He pulled the comforter over her sleeping figure, and exited the room as quietly as possible. Eleven years old was too young to be the heir of Natalia. He'd have to wait a bit longer.