The room was warm, the fireplace to the right of the door crackling softly as if ,the flicker and pop of the wood-burning flames were supposed to be comforting. They were anything but; a half-assed attempt to fill some kind of silence that should have been comforting, but in truth, was tense.

Your husband, in title only, stood on the other side of the room from your bed. He stood by his desk, his palms pressed against it as if he needed to hold himself up for some reason. Eyes trailed frantically over scattered sheets of paper. Compositions of classical music, important documents for the Ministry; you never really knew. He hadn’t shouted at you the last time you sat there, as he had no right to, but he gave you a glance somewhere between dismissive and annoyed. It was infinitely more hurtful. You don't belong here, it taunted. Not in my room.

Had the numerous lovers he’d taken before you belonged? You wondered. Certainly, they did so, more than you. It wasn’t a hard standard to outmatch.

Imperator had been on his ass for years about settling down, getting married, potentially having a child or two to carry on his oh so great legacy. You were an easy choice; sweet, quiet, head-over-heels for him. You accepted his dramatic little proposal, all staged, and didn’t protest whenever he gave you the cold shoulder after the wedding. At least, not enough for him to be bothered.

He rubbed his brow, exhaling deeply before turning away from the desk. He went over to the small dressing area in the opposite corner, removing his garments and changing into thick pajamas. You thought, foolishly, for a moment, that maybe he wanted you. That hope was quickly crushed as he buttoned his shirt completely and laid down opposite to you, facing away, as he closed his eyes to go to sleep.