What? I think blindly as he pushes me back and lowers his mouth to my naked self.
Oh! I jolt as his tongue licks my nipple. She clearly has a sexual relationship with her Feeder, but it doesn’t seem that Constantine knows about it. Interesting. And awkward. I push him away again and he frowns at me. “Is everything okay? Are you not happy with me anymore?”
Err, how do I answer that? Should I mention that I am not their…gulp…Empress? What if they believe me but don’t believe who I am, and they try to kill me or something? I have no idea what they would do here. Everything seems so formal and antiquated. Beheading might just be their thing. It’s all wrong. Maybe best to keep quiet about it while I try to figure a way to get back home. I am going to have to assume that the “me” from here is inhabiting my body back at home. Oh, crap. All of my boys will think she is me, unless she tells them, just like everyone here will think I am her. Oh, what to do, what to do? Ramon is still staring at me, waiting for an answer, so I make a decision to lie and say, “I am not feeling very well. Please leave me.” I pull my robe back together and with the dignity of an Empress (I hope) climb back into bed to rest my aching head. This is so bad. Ramon leaves me and Constantine finds me shortly thereafter.
“My love,” he says sitting on the bed next to me. “How can I help?”
I shrug, as I have no idea.
He pulls my face towards his. “Are you pining for him? I know he has been gone awhile this time,” he says very softly with a look I can’t quite place.
Pining? Do Empresses pine? Apparently, they do.
I just stare at him, not knowing what he is talking about.
“You can tell me, Aefre. I know how you feel about each other. That it is expected. I know you love me and will always be my wife. Just tell me so I know that you aren’t still upset with me or that I have failed you again.”
I nod. What else am I supposed to do? Might as well go with the cover story he has thrown at me, although it might be useful at some point if said pinecone would turn up and announce their return soon.
He nods then sadly and says, “He is returning today. I am leaving for a short while so you can be with him.”
Come again?
“Where are you going?” I ask him.
“To the city. I have some things I need to take care of anyway.”
“Where is our daughter? I want to see her,” I ask suddenly.
He looks at me warily. “Cassis? She is downstairs handling the, uh, fallout from your episode earlier.”
Cassie? We named our daughter Cassie. No, wait: he pronounced it “Cassis” as in the Château? Huh, I wonder why we named her after a castle?
“I want to see her,” I say again.
“I don’t think that is a good idea, my love, after your recent argument. She is as stubborn as her mother,” he says with a soft smile to take the sting out of his words.
Oh. What did we argue about? Don’t suppose I can ask that without sounding like a complete head case.
“I need to go and get ready. Serena will be up shortly to rearrange your schedule. Today you will stay here and make sure that you spend some proper time with him. He will no doubt be feeling the same as you,” he says in a way that is so matter-of-factly that I actually blink at him. Whoever this “he” is, he is clearly accepted by my sire. Her sire. Whatever. The strange thing is, I feel my bond with him. It is strong. Stronger than the one with the other Constantine, not as strong as my CK, but strong enough that he obviously doesn’t feel a change. Or too much of one to be suspicious about it. I find that slightly disconcerting. I always thought it was the two souls, or essences, that connected, but it doesn’t seem that way. It seems to be more fundamental than that. The blood. Our blood. Seems kind of obvious though, now that I think about it. And then the horror thought strikes me: if I can feel this with him, then she can feel it with my own and my two boys.
“Next time it may be in your best interests to insist on a shorter period. Or better yet to just go with him,” he says as he goes into the bathroom to shower.
Okay fine, whatever. But you will be having this conversation again with your actual wife when I figure out a way to get her back to you, I think.
A soft knock draws my attention away from my predicament. “Yes,” I call out.
It’s Serena. The same Serena
I met, well obviously, not the exact same one.
“How do you feel, ma’am?” she asks me too politely.
Really not loving this whole ‘ma’am’ business.
“Fine. Thank you,” I say.
She looks relieved that I am not about to go hysterical on her and she sits in the chair at, I assume, my desk. Her desk. Oh, fuck this…our desk.