"I am my mother's only one. It's enough."
Brynden regretted inquiring about her mother.
A deep frown marred her youthful face, and he could hardly bear the sight of it.
The hour was late, and Lady Bellegere Stark was preparing to do her wifely duty, but it was clear that she was not in the mood.
He thought talking to her would help, but he only seemed to make it worse.
"In a way, I understand. My mother died of a fever when I was young," Brynden said quietly. "My father and oldest brother died in battle shortly after."
Bellegere removed her eyepatch and stared at him curiously, wondering where these dark ponderings stimmed from. He was usually jovial and lighthearted.
"You just want to talk to me, is that it?"
He nodded and she sighed heavily.
"I apologize for being curt with you. My mind is a mess these days, and I am tired to the bone, but that is not your fault."
Bellegere climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged in front of him, naked as the day she was born.
Brynden was a man.
His eyes wandered ever so often, but not once did she feel exposed.
Even though they were newly married and she only knew the most basic facts about her husband, he'd always made her feel safe.
She wondered why.
"What is on your mind?"
Brynden was quiet for a very long time, but she did not rush him. Instead, she held his large, bony hand and caressed it while he tried to make sense of his feelings.
"I am uncomfortable with the way our marriage is progressing," he said quietly.
"In other words, I am... in love with you, but I feel that you will never reciprocate."
Bellegere frowned, fighting the urge to argue or invalidate his emotions.
She had been trying very hard to show him love and affection. She fucked him every night and kissed him in the morning, even if she didn't want to. Even if it hurt physically and emotionally.
She praised his ideas and took notice of his achievements. She diligently ignored her longing to be with Mya Stone.
What more could he want?
What more could he need?
"I know that I am only here to give you heirs and to fight for you. I know that you have so much more to deal with on a daily basis, but I am selfish. I want what my father and mother had. I want you to care for me as I care for you. Is that a possibility?"
When Brynden looked up at her with his cobalt eyes, long eyelashes, and angular nose, Bellegere couldn't help but smile.
He was so innocent and boyishly handsome. He was so painfully and thoroughly in love with her.
She did love him, but not the way he yearned for. She loved him like friend or a mentor, not a wife.
"It is possible, but over the years, my heart has turned to wood and then to stone," Bellegere whispered, placing his hand over her left breast.
She pulled him down until his forehead touched her own and closed her eyes, trying to envision loving him the way he wanted. It was difficult.
"Even still, I swear to be more present, more patient, and more kind. I swear to spend more time with you and cherish the moments we are together. Not out of pity, but because I do care for you, and I want you to be fulfilled in every way."
Bellegere smiled as he hesitantly brushed his lips against her own, still afraid to take control.
She pushed him away.
"I am your wife," she said, raising a brow. "If it is my lips you want, have them. If it is my body you crave, take it with confidence."
Sufficiently challenged, Brynden dove in.
The young man kissed her like he was unsure what the purpose of a kiss was, but she did not mind. At one time, she'd been in his shoes. Eventually, he would learn.
When the kiss progressed to touching, she winced as his long, skinny fingers ventured between her thighs.
"Slowly," Bellegere whispered, panting. "Some things you have to be gentle for."
Hungry and aroused but still eager to learn, Brynden asked why.
"Because women are like fire. It takes patience and kindling to build a fire. If there is no patience, you will ruin the kindling. If there is no kindling, there won't be a spark."
"I suppose our intimate moments have not been pleasant for you then," Brynden said, grimacing.
"I apologize if I've hurt you or-"
"While I appreciate your sympathy and compassion, it is my fault that I didn't communicate. Now, listen to me. I was not finished speaking."
Bellegere caressed his inner thighs and felt his muscles tense.
A deep crimson blush rose from his broad chest up to his neck and his eyes focused on her as they always did. As though she were the only woman to ever exist.
However, one day, he would fall ill with the sickness that all men have. The need to conquer women as they conquer lands.
Until then, he was her's alone.
"I am not well versed in men, but some say they are like steel. You work it hard and relentlessly until you get the result you want," she said wistfully.
"But I disagree. I think if more men learned true, patient intimacy, they would be less inclined to treat women the way they do."
At this point, Brynden was bewitched.
"I want to know how to please you. Will you teach me?"
Bellegere shook her head in disbelief, smiling fondly.
"I didn't know men like you existed."
He tilted his head.
"That is neither a compliment, nor an insult, but I understand your meaning."
Bellegere appraised him for a moment and then kissed him softly.
"You are rare, Brynden Blackwood. I quite enjoy you."