Torram wasn't sure what he was expecting... No, that was a lie. He'd expected a lot, and most of it had been happy. There should have been hugs, and laughter, and brightness. There should have been awkwardness, about the baby and the sudden marriage if nothing else. His own family would have been over the moon about both, even while they lectured him on what was to come. He could practically feel his mother's arms around him, the tight embrace she gave her children every time they arrived and every time they left. She'd press her cheek to his and pat his back, and no matter how old he was or what he'd been through, he'd know he was home. This... place? These people? How could they be Sapphy's home? Didn't they know how much more she deserved? How much more she was? Rage and the instinctual desire - need even - to protect his mate pooled hot in his belly, but he kept his mouth shut - he wasn't even sure what would come out if he tried. In all his adventures, in all his twenty-one years, Torram had never, not once, seen something like this.

The exchange with Carla was bad enough - there was a large part of him that wanted nothing more than to scoop his wife up and carry her all the way home. He'd put her down when her feet landed on the clean, loved floorboards of his room at the inn and then, maybe he'd consider letting her go. But here? He drifted at her elbow like a ghost, barely resisting the urge to put his arm around her waist and pull her close against him. Gods above, was it any wonder she walked around with ten tonnes of armor? Why her tongue was so sharp, her mind always running?

Then they were in the bare room, and things just got worse. He felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes from the stench - and more. Sapphy was cautious now, softer. The thing on the floor - her mother? - looked dead to him, and he flinched as its voice suddenly snapped out.

"Who?" the voice said, at last, and Torram's heart felt like it was breaking. How, why, could anyone forget Sapphy of all people? She was so bright, and sharp, and funny. She took no shit, and under all her bluster and sharp edges she had a soft heart. At times, in the darkest hours of the night before she moved to her own bed across the hall, when those edges had been smoothed by sleep and lovemaking, she was downright sweet.

The woman remembered her at last, her own fucking daughter, and the second thing she said was about some person? Some man? Torram's fist clenched at his side, impotent rage coursing through him. It wasn't his place to say something, but gods above did he want to. He wanted to shout it loud enough for that bitch of a sister to hear it. How dare they? Had they not missed her at all? Worried for her? She could have been dead! Or worse! Thoughts of what could have happened to Sapphy - here and on Shaman alike - made his stomach turn. As street-smart as she was, Sapphy was still young. Too young to be carrying his child, really, but thank the gods she was. If they hadn't... if she wasn't... would he have ever had the opportunity to meet her? To love her the way he was coming to? She lit up his life, was fast becoming his life, and these people acted like she was dirt or worse.

His face had gone tight-lipped, eyes narrowed with obvious dislike and distrust. He tried to soften his expression before Sapphy could see it - this was her family after all - but he struggled. He moved purposefully into the room, resting a hand on his wife's shoulder and offering another to help her up when she was ready. He wanted to hustle her off as quickly as he could, but instead he gave her shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze and forced a small, polite smile even while his eyes were narrowed at the figure on the ground.

"My name is Prince Torram Sebai of Ilya, by way of Shaman. I'm your-" No, even if it was true, he couldn't call Sapphy this woman's daughter. He didn't want his wife associated with these people at all, though he knew it couldn't possibly work that way. "I'm Sappy's husband," he replied calmly, though the words were a bit terse, bitten off at the ends with uncharacteristic stiffness. It wasn't the typical greeting, either. Usually he'd have gone with "Torram, from Shaman" but these people...


my father told me when I was just a child
these are the nights that never die