The Most Beautiful Eyes

A letter addressed to Muriel arrived. It was from her father. She had hoped it came with good news. She read it in her bedchamber as she sat beside Vidar. There weren't any other people in the room.

The letter didn't have any good news.

For some reason, her father's clients were avoiding him, and most of his products had been either stolen or vandalized to the point of uselessness. One of his commerce ships was even attacked by pirates! The letter wavered and flapped in her hands as she tried to keep her composure. How could all of this happen so quickly?! And he was just climbing out of the hole not long ago!

Vidar snatched the letter out of her hands as if he was angry about it, but he was actually the calm one. Muriel was the one with hot breath rushing in and out of her nose, with tight lips, and with eyes like spiky icicles. "So odd," Vidar said. "This must have dishonest and illegal dealings in the background. Pure incompetence can't account for everything here."

"Are we even going to pretend we don't know whose hands are tilting the control bar?" She folded her arms, holding her violent thoughts inside her chest.

"Of course not," Vidar said as he folded the letter into a tight rectangle. He put the paper on a small table and sighed. "If I invested in your father's business, it wouldn't be enough to save him. The assaults would continue. I'd be wasting money."

Muriel's face was so hot that her lip rouge felt as if it would slide down her chin and plop into her lap. "What can be done, at the very least?"

Two long arms left their shelter so they could bend around Muriel's shoulders and back. She had to lean out of her seat in order to properly receive the hug. Vidar smelled a bit like meat pies and healthy herbs this day. She almost wanted to playfully, gently chew on one of his fingers.

Vidar said quite hopefully, "We could convince your father to lie."

"Lie?" Muriel nuzzled the other arms through his clothing even thought she was still mad. The affection was easing her aggression. "What sort of lie are you talking about?"

"We could spread the idea that your father is ill, so ill that he can't care for his business. So, we'll have him move into this castle, and until we can stop this threat, we'll have to keep him. That means your sisters will have to come too."

Muriel was almost like a glowing hot piece of metal dipped into cold water. She looked up at the pointed chin. The view was similar to looking under a stalactite. "You ... would you ... are you going to invite my family to stay here? For an indefinite amount of tine, even?"

"It's a large castle," he said, that jaw of his moving with his voice. "Why shouldn't I open it to your family in these dire times?"

Her flesh was still hot, but Muriel was so much happier. "Would your mother disapprove?"

"Considering the circumstances, she'd be very understanding."

Muriel curled her fingers around Vidar's chin, shut her eyes, and tugged his face down for a heavy kiss. His voice rumbled up from his throat and down into hers. She was becoming more and more excited. Just touching this compassionate creature was enough to brighten her thoughts.

She loved him so much.

Not much convincing was needed in order for him to hold her down on her bed.

***

Muriel and her mother-in-law received Glen Devin and his older daughters with pleasant greetings and hopeful sentiments. Everything was going to be fine. This was temporary. Nothing to worry about.

Her sisters were temporarily delighted at the bedchambers they were shown to. They loved all the extra space and elegant furnishings. Her father's head was lowered most of the time. He shuffled his feet as he was shown his new bedroom. Muriel knew why he was so glum. She didn't want to say it aloud.

Glen Devin felt as if he was less than half a man.

Poor thing.

When he sat down on a stool near a window and sighed, Muriel stepped over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know it's not the best of circumstances, Papa. I wish fate had offered us something kinder, but all we can do is live."

He smiled up at her, but he looked much weaker than the last time she had seen him. The color in his hair was fading into a haggard gray. His bones were more visible. His eyes didn't match his smile. They were almost stunned.

Muriel sat down beside him and gave him a gentle hug.

His voice was quiet. "I'll have to thank your husband personally."

"Oh hush, Papa. You can do that after you've washed your face and had some food." She put a small kiss on his cheek.

Once everyone was settled, and after Muriel witnessed her father give the dreariest, weakest thank you to her awkward husband, she thought to have a short tournament of board games. That would cheer everyone up, right? Two people at a time would play a game and the others would watch. Then they'd figured out who was up next to play with the victor. Muriel's sisters were still fairly distant, but that was normal considering who she married. Her father was almost always looking down, and he lost very quickly, as if he couldn't find any joy in the game and simply gave up. He didn't even watch the other games, at least not without a misty film over his gaze.

When all the games were done, Princess Arya led the women into the gardens for a walk. Only Muriel was eager to have a conversation with her. The sisters were quiet. It turned out to be a much less interesting walk than what Muriel had hoped for.

She gave up trying to socialize with her family then.

When she was free, Muriel changed into a casual gown and went off to find Vidar. He was in his workshop of a room, carving and sanding a rough figure into a humanoid shape. She took a stool beside him and sat down. "Your hands are very adept. I'm envious." She had wanted to sound sweet and happy, but her voice died down in the end.

Multiple hands with cautious fingers were working with the wood all at once. Some of his arms were at angles that didn't seem to make sense at first. Vidar's heavy brow was wrinkled in thought. His thin lips were sliding against each other. He didn't reply to her words, and Muriel understood why. He wasn't able to give her all his attention, and that was fair.

A minute or so fluttered with the falling wood shavings. Muriel smiled and said, "Artair might like a doll when he's older. Of course, if you'd be kind enough to make one for him, then it would be best to use less expensive materials."

"Hmm?" Vidar was focusing more on sanding. He had a shape he liked. "How about a few animals? I'd love to make a horse or a dog for a change."

"I hope you'll reexamine the paints you use. Small children love to put everything in their curious mouths."

"Oh there's nothing to fear, Muriel. None of my paints are toxic, but I'd likely use much smaller amounts on the off chance there could be something I missed."

Muriel adjusted a small pin in her hair and tightened her topknot. "It's a wholesome concept, isn't it? A father making toys for his child."

"Mmm hmmmmm." He was holding the bare wooden figure close to his sharp nose and small eyes. "Are you feeling low today?"

Muriel blinked with surprise. Then she sighed. "You noticed, didn't you?"

Wrapping his figure in a gray cloth, Vidar quietly said, "Your family hasn't been very energetic. Their mood has clung to you."

"I can't be blamed for that, now can I?"

Vidar's head moved back and forth as his arms pulled back under his cloak. "Your family has been unjustly marred, and they're quite pitiful. You can't be blamed at all."

Muriel wanted to smile, but she couldn't find the willpower. "Are you finished for now? We should see Artair. I'm in need of at least a quarter of glee, and I don't mind sharing."

As Vidar pushed his chair away and stood up, he said, "If you didn't share, I'd ask for a divorce."

Inside the nursery, the nanny/wet-nurse was carefully monitoring Artair as he was resting on his belly in his little cot with harmless toys laid within his reach. His body needed the practice to strengthen his back, neck, and hands. When the nanny heard the couple's footsteps, she curtsied to them and said the boy was doing very well.

Muriel nodded to Teresa. Then she spread a cloth on her shoulder. She went to the cot and gingerly took the four-armed child. "Hello, my handsome little beetle." She carried him in a position that made it easy for him to look over her shoulder. "Your Papa's here. He's happy to see you, so be a good little bug."

She heard Vidar behind her. "Hello there, Artair. Are you feeling well today?"

Artair gurgled. Muriel felt some of his saliva leak out. Vidar approached and used a corner of Muriel's cloth to dab at Artair's mouth. "Be more careful with your mother, Son." There wasn't anything stern in his voice. He was suave and genial.

***

On a mild hour of a late morning, Muriel kept her little baby in a sling so she could easily show him all the wonderful things in the outdoors, leaves, flowers, harmless insects, and gentle breezes. It was very simple, yet very satisfying, like a bowl of warm gruel. She happened to see the dark green skirts of one of her sisters. The woman's voice told her that it was Evelyn. Muriel stood beside a statue of a thoughtful man as she stroked one of Artair's hands and quietly watched the scene.

Evelyn was trying to start a conversation with a dark-skinned, dark-haired man. He was familiar ...

Muriel nodded to herself. That man was often seen with Doctor Bergson, but he was usually sick in bed. Muriel had been told his name, but she always forgot. Sometimes she even forgot that he existed.

The man tried to smile and politely leave Evelyn, but that persistent woman grabbed his arm and told him he was one of the best looking fellows around.

Suddenly, an oddly red-faced Doctor Bergson emerged from the keep. He ran over to the scene as if there was an emergency. He pulled the darker man away from Evelyn. Then he gave a stiff, forced bow.

Muriel stepped in and took one of Evelyn's hands. "Evelyn," she said, "the cook's been studying healthy dishes that are known for improving one's complexion. Why don't you go ask him if he's completed any recipes?"

Evelyn rolled her eyes, but she patted Artair's head and headed back towards the keep. Then Muriel nodded at the two men. After they bowed, Muriel looked at he darker man. "Sir, I must apologize to you. I've forgotten your name. I've even forgotten your place in this castle."

With a mildly embarrassed smile, the man said, "Oh, there's no harm, Your Highness. I'm Silvest Falk. I was Doctor Bergson's assistant some years ago," his voice faded and he looked away with closed fists, "but ... ah ... I haven't been of much help in a long, long time."

The doctor stepped forward and gave a short explanation. "Your honorable husband kindly gave Silvest a room and free meals the day he realized he was so terribly sickly."

"And this has been going on for years?" Muriel asked as she put a hand under Artair's safely held body. The sling was doing its job well, but sometimes she wanted to reassure herself with a touch.

"Unfortunately, yes," the doctor said. His face was serious. "Silvest has never fully recovered, and some days he can't leave his bed. His Highness even funds his medications. I can only return his kindness by remaining loyal."

Muriel smiled and told him, "I can only do the same. My husband's a righteous person." Artair made a funny sound between his lips. Muriel giggled down at him. "Ah well, I think my little prince would like a visit with his grandfather. I'll leave you two alone. Have a good day."

As Muriel walked off, she discreetly looked back for a moment. She noticed that Doctor Bergson took Silvest's hand, lacing their fingers. Silvest exhaled and leaned into him, laying his free hand on the doctor's chest, putting his fingertips between the buttons of the doctor's waistcoat, dipping inside.

***

The little prince grew and grew. When the next Capital Season rolled back into the year, Artair was so much bigger and so much funnier. He could sit up on his own quite easily. He sometimes clapped all four hands when he was particularly amused, even crossing the arms to alternate. When Artair was gripping something solid, such as a chair or an adult's hand, he was perfectly able to pull himself up to a standing position. He wasn't quite ready to walk on his own, but he definitely knew how to crawl, and he was remarkably fast! He often zoomed over to a pile of his favorite toys, some of them carved by his loving father, and he'd wield and control them with nearly elegant ease. He was also fond of rolling around, usually giggling as he did so.

On the same day the two families arrived at the yellow townhouse in Padulan, Muriel supervised as Teresa cut Artair's blond hair. It grew quickly, and Muriel almost didn't want it cut. It was glittered in the sunlight and it was as soft as a cloud in the sky. Then, when Artair had shorter hair, a padded white cap was tied to his head. "There," the nanny said, "we have a proper child." She put the child on the smooth floor so he could explore as he normally liked to do.

The child turned out to be highly serviceable when Muriel needed to bootlick the stuffy old ladies. While some were a bit uncertain at first, at least Muriel was able to prove that she was a loyal wife. This child was so obviously the son of Prince Vidar, and even with his four arms he was a cute little baby. He acted like a baby. He felt like a baby. He smelled like a baby. He was a baby.

Maybe this wouldn't be too difficult after all.

A few weeks into the season, and Princess Arya announced that she had rented a very large dancing hall for a ball. She wanted to be the host for a change. Muriel's sisters were happier than Artair when he was tickled a certain way on his belly. So far, they hadn't been invited to any events at all. Since their younger sister's mother-in-law was hosting a ball, they finally had something flashy and formal to go to. Her father was invited too, but he didn't show any enthusiasm, and he even refused to go, although he was polite about it. Muriel wondered if he had lost most of his hope.

Vidar told Muriel that he still would hide behind special wooden dividers, but this time he gave the owner of the hall a mighty sum of extra cash to arrange for some mild adjustments on one area. Temporary hinges would be attached to one of the long walls and to the panels. One panel would even have a sliding door with an interior lock so that nobody could sneak into Vidar's makeshift inner room. Muriel tried to convince him to join the guests in dancing, or simply walking around. It wasn't as if his appearance was a secret to anyone. He had no reason to hide. But none of her pleas moved him.

The ball was a glittering spectacle with fruits, flowers, candlelight, and music. The most eye-catching thing, aside from all the ornate clothing and accessories on the guests, was the set of tall wooden dividers arranged against a wall, and it took up an unusual amount of the space. There was still plenty of room, though. The guests didn't suffer.

Muriel twirled and sparkled at least as well as anyone else in the room, or perhaps a bit more. She was pleased to be seen.

Especially by her husband.

She'd often turn her head, even painfully so, just to look at the wall panels. She imagined that, even with her wide skirts, she'd probably be able to pace back and forth in the space behind those panels. The panels were also so tall that Vidar wouldn't be able to peek over them. It couldn't be a very adequate hiding spot, technically, because everyone knew he was there, and sometimes he'd open the special door and quickly leave the hall so he could walk around the building. Sitting down in one spot for long periods of time wasn't the healthiest thing to do.

When he'd return to the enclosure, Muriel would always notice the large head turn towards her for a moment just before he'd disappear again.

Muriel was beginning to wonder if there had been hints thrown her way all along.

After finishing her next dance, Muriel hung her folding fan by its looped cord onto a brooch close to her hidden hips. She gracefully marched away from the guests and went to the dividers. She tapped the sliding door with her knuckles. "Vidar? Would you fancy a visit?"

She heard the sliding lock being pulled away. Then the door moved aside. She saw one of Vidar's arms extending from the cloak. Then it retreated. Muriel turned her skirts sideways so she could fit through the doorway. Then, she was inside the enclosure.

There really was just enough space for the both of him. Muriel even saw a wide couch a bit behind a cushioned chair. She assumed Vidar had been sitting in the chair. There were also a few snacks and beverages, including water, on a table within reach.

As Vidar locked the door again, Muriel sat down on the couch and put her hands on her lap. "If you wanted me to hide with you, you should have asked me long ago."

"I assumed you'd solve the puzzle soon enough." Vidar moved his chair at an angle so that he could sit down at an angle perpendicular to her. He was a dark hulk of a man. Muriel looked up for a moment to see his weirdly arranged teeth flash out in a smile. "The air is much sweeter here now that you've graced it."

Muriel looked down at the rings on her fingers and tried not to giggle. "Is there anything you'd like for me to do?"

His head turned so he could look at her, although his eyes were dimmed by shadows. His mouth was happily stretching across his thin face. "Would you let me have an embrace?"

Muriel decided to abandon the seat she had just taken. She stood up, brushed and shook some light wrinkles out her skirts, and stood right next to her seated husband.

It was supposed to be an ordinary hug, or as ordinary as it could be with more than two arms holding her closely. That's how it began, anyway. Soon, Vidar was standing up too, and Muriel was chirping and cooing as her bosom pressed into him. As usual on these sorts of occasions, that part of her body was blatantly revealed. The nipples here lightly concealed by a few strategically placed semicircles of lace, and those nipples were reacting well to all the affection. They were basically feverish, hot and stinging, and wanting more and more. One of the many hands pulled on her neckline, peeling the lace away. Muriel licked her lips and held that hand against her breast, and they were both caressing her tightening flesh.

Her head tilted back for a kiss, but Vidar seemed to decide against it. He only put some fingers on her nape and his lips to her throat. He even licked some of her perfume away.

Perhaps two minutes went on, and Muriel felt tugs on her skirt. Then she heard another whisper. Vidar wanted her to kneel.

He sat back down.

The floor was firm and cool, but she had layers of skirts, and she didn't mind much regardless. Vidar made openings in his clothing so she could see that bulging, pulsing hunk of multicolored flesh. Muriel had long forgotten to care about the rouge on her lips.

She bent over and took the organ into her mouth, gripping Vidar's thighs. One loose bundle of blonde hair fell onto him. Her dangling earrings jingled.

Even after all the practice she had in this marriage, Muriel still couldn't escape the soreness. Her jaw didn't enjoy this kind of exchange, but her tongue disagreed. Vidar's skin, as heated and musky as it was between his thighs, was regularly washed.

He was whimpering above her, ruining the music in Muriel's ears, but that was fine. She hummed and lapped and sucked him the best she could. Vidar stroked her spine through her clothing and called her a "tender little peach." The interaction reached a more frenzied point. Her head was gripped, then moved. She didn't have to do much of anything except breathe through her nose and hold onto his thighs.