Chapter Text
It was the piercing cry of a babe that made Acantha startle. It was the shallow, dark hours of the morning, and though she had by no means been sleeping she had not expected such a shrill sound. It seemed not to bother Coriolanus, who remained unmoved behind her. She tried not to move, either, but she had always been a caring kind and she hated to hear a child cry.
Her child.
That revelation slammed down on her like the might of Zeus’ thunderbolts, bringing a sharp and horrifying clarity to her thought. That was not just any child now—as the wife of Coriolanus, his children were now hers. That was her child who cried into the night.
She had known this before. She did not know why the responsibility felt suddenly crushing.
Acantha quickly shifted to sit up, fully planning to find the babe and see to its needs, but before her feet could touch the ground Coriolanus stopped her with a bitten command. “Stop,” he said, not moving to face her, but immediately Acantha stilled in fear of his anger. “The wet nurse will see to it.”
Acantha hesitated, looking at the broad back of an unstoppable man. He certainly did not seem concerned, and surely he would know better in his own household, but still the child cried. “Perhaps I ought—“ she started, her tone placating, but stopped when Coriolanus’ shoulders bunched.
“I said no,” he stated. “Lay back down.”
Acantha knew a tone that brooked no argument, and slowly lowered herself back onto the bed. Her instincts were warring with her better judgment; yes, a child was crying, but a man so rich as Coriolanus certainly had a wet nurse. He could not have cared for the babe alone the past month, so of course there was someone to see to the baby’s needs at night. But still, she could not relax.
The baby’s wails filled the darkness, becoming more and more distressed as no one went to see to him. Acantha struggled not to squirm. Where was the wet nurse? Surely she should have reached him by now. It wasn’t as though the nurse would be housed too far away to hear the baby’s cries, or too far to get there quickly. But as time stretched on and the screaming continued, Acantha felt her compassion overriding her training to obey. She tried to push the slowly welling panic down, telling herself that the wet nurse was simply having a hard time calming the child, but she couldn’t quiet the worry any more than she could quiet the babe.
Perhaps something had happened to the wet nurse. Acantha had not yet met the woman, perhaps she was ill or old or hard of hearing. Perhaps she was none of these, and had tripped and hurt herself on the way to the child. Perhaps she had abandoned her post for the night, and there was no one to calm the baby.
Acantha’s whole body wound tighter and tighter. Where was the baby, anyway? She hardly knew these halls. The child could be anywhere, and though he sounded relatively close the halls had many twists and turns. Acantha could get lost looking for him. But then again, how hard would it be to simply follow the noise? She squeezed her eyes shut, fists balling against the sheets. How could Coriolanus stay so unmoved?
Another scream shattered the silence, and Acantha could take no more. She swiftly stood, ignoring the sounds of Coriolanus shifting for the first time that night. “What are you doing?” he barked as Acantha made quick work of putting on her first sandal, glad she kept them so close to the door. Acantha did not answer.
Out of the corner of her eye Acantha saw her husband stand, looming powerfully in the dark. A shock of fear went through her, and she hastily said, “My lord, I fear something may have happened to the wet nurse, I shall simply—“
“No,” Coriolanus said. Acantha looked up from her second sandal, stunned. No? With his child crying? The man certainly cut a terrifying figure, his jaw clenched and teeth white between his lips. His eyes glinted like steel, and Acantha knew she was about to find out just how volatile his temper was.
“I mean no disrespect,” she said in her most humble tone, ducking her head in supplication. She had to de-escalate this situation before it got out of hand. He was still on the other side of the bed, and she was closer to the door, but could she outrun him? Where would she go? “I wish only to fulfill my duties as a wife and mother—“
“I told you, the nurse will take care of it,” Coriolanus gritted, fists balled. “Your duty is to obey.”
“And obey I shall,” Acantha said, fear mounting as she watched the tension mount. “You are my husband and your word is my law, but is it not also my duty to anticipate the needs of your house?”
“I have given you an order,” Coriolanus seethed, looking ready to leap over the bed and wring the life out of Acantha’s body by force. “You will heed it.”
Acantha felt the bloom of anger in her chest. She was not a soldier, nor was she an object, and his child should not suffer for his father’s stubbornness. She knew it was foolish to retort, but something needed to be said. Before she could corral her polite tone, the cries abruptly ended.
Acantha whipped her head in the direction the cries had been coming from, listening intently. Moments passed and the child did not scream again. Acantha breathed out.
“There we are then, my lord,” she said as calmly as she could, untying her sandal once more. “I no longer have need to check the babe. Shall we lay back down?”
For long moments Coriolanus only stared at her, still rolling with anger, and she simply stared back. She did her best not to shift on her bare feet. It would not do to appear weak or uncertain—it was already abundantly clear to her that Coriolanus functioned as predators functioned, and that if she wanted to stay off of his menu then she would have to be strong.
After an intense period of eye contact, Coriolanus abruptly turned away and began to settle himself back into bed. Acantha could see how wound his muscles were, how ready he was to strike out, but it seemed even he understood the trouble it would cause him. Acantha had no one to turn to, but if in his rage he killed her then he would have to wait the assigned one month grieving period before he could marry again--and in that month all the duties of the house would fall to him, and him alone.
Acantha waited a short moment before walking back to the bed, once again lying stiffly and avoiding all contact with her new husband. She was exhausted, but the instinct of prey kept her awake. It was this way she would stay, she knew, until the grey of dawn greeted the sky and she could excuse her leaving as beginning her wifely duties.
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Acantha's stomach rolled with nervousness and worry. The chariot of Helios had long since swept the sky, bringing day, and as expected Acantha had been horribly busy. She was briefed by the cook, the head servant, the gardener, the maids, the children’s tutor, and the wet nurse as to the daily workings of this house, and the logistics made her head spin. This was all her duty now; the workers would continue in their posts, but it fell to her to watch over them and ensure that every individual was working as they should.
The only solid order she had yet given was to the wet nurse, informing her that the length at which the babe had cried the night before was unacceptable and that aid must be more swift. The wet nurse had bowed her head and assented, not giving any reason as to her delayed action.
Acantha now faced the most daunting task of all. She had yet to meet her sons, and as a servant led her down the hallway towards the nursery she felt each footstep like a blow. She knew little of the children she now had to raise, save that the older of the two was known as Martius and was nearing the age of seven. Seven years. How could she possibly expect a child to accept her after knowing a different mother for seven years?
As they neared she could hear Young Martius speaking with someone--or rather, blathering at someone the way small children often did. There was no need for the other person to speak, nor was there a pause in the child’s monologue to allow for response. Acantha had heard her younger siblings go on like this, and her older brother's child too, but the idea that this particular child was hers to care for made her dizzy with fear.
She took a breath, deep and long, but it did her little aid before she stepped into the nursery. It mattered little, as all her breath was knocked from her upon entering anyway.
The first thing she noticed was not the room, not the lack of a crib, not the boy playing on the floor. The first thing she noticed was Coriolanus, standing tall and foreboding near the corner. She had not seen him since she slipped from the room at first light, and even with his weight on one hip and his arms loosely crossed he held himself as a soldier. A cold shiver of fear rippled down Acantha’s spine.
Coriolanus slid his eyes to her for but a moment before turning back to his son. Acantha unfroze, shaking herself. Young Martius had not yet noticed her standing in the door, and Coriolanus or no Coriolanus she wanted to connect with this child she would raise. She put on a smile, as genuine as she could manage, and stepped into the room.
“Are you young Martius?” she asked cheerfully. Martius turned his big eyes to her, with the natural curiosity children carried with them everywhere, then broke into a wide smile.
“Are you her?” he asked, jumping up and waddle-running to Acantha. Acantha sunk to the floor to meet him, his joy immediately infectious. “Are you my new mother?”
“No,” Coriolanus bit out, making Acantha’s head whip over to him. He had regarded her with casual apathy when she'd entered, but now he glared at her icily. “She's just here to take care of you. Nothing more.”
Martius looked up at his father with disappointed eyes, and Acantha couldn't bear his pain--or her own. “And take care of you I shall,” she said, capturing Martius’ attention again. She did not try to dispute Coriolanus; he had clearly denoted her place. “I'm so excited to finally meet you. What are you playing with here?”
“This--this is a stacking game,” Martius said, turning to look at the wooden rings scattered on the ground. His tiny hands still gripped Acantha’s to keep him steady on his wobbly legs, and he was completely distracted from his sadness.
“Oh? How do you play it?” Acantha asked, not nearly as distracted.
“I--I have to--like this,” Martius said, releasing Acantha and sitting down, grabbing a ring in a chubby fist. Acantha watched, pretending she had never seen this game before as Martius taught her how to place the ring on the peg, smiling and ignoring the way she could feel Coriolanus’ disapproving glare against her skull.
“And then I went to sleep, and it was nice, and the nurse gave me an extra pillow. A whole extra pillow! And it was soft. Dogs are soft. I've pet a dog before and I liked it and--” There was little Acantha could do but nod and hum, but Martius was busy playing his game and chattering as if Acantha’s entrance had never interrupted. “But the baby was loud last night and I had to put my pillow over my head--”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” Acantha said. “I could hear him all the way down the hall. It must have been very loud to be in the same room!” Martius looked up at her, confused.
“He's not in the same room as me,” he said, tilting his head.
“No?” Acantha asked. Where was the baby? She glanced around, finally noticing the distinct lack of infant materials. No crib, no diaper cloths, no swaddling blankets. How had she not noticed? Was she so thrown off by Coriolanus’ presence?
“I don't want my son around that babe,” Coriolanus said, giving Acantha a look that promised pain if she disagreed. She clamped her mouth shut, but couldn't keep the questions out if her head. That babe? Where did that contempt come from--was her new husband truly so heartless as to shun his own newborn son?
Acantha knew better than to say anything, though she could already feel her inner cheek getting sore from biting it. She had always been too outspoken. “I see,” she said instead, forcing her voice to remain light. She couldn't be fooling Coriolanus but Martius was too young to catch her strain. “Where is the child then?”
“He is on the other side of the hallway, my lady,” the maid said, head ducked. Acantha had nearly forgotten her presence, so close to the door was she. “And a few doors further down.”
“Very well,” Acantha said. “I shall have to go meet him in a moment.”
“But you'll stay and play with me?” Martius asked, pouting, and Acantha had to smile.
“For a little while longer,” she said, placing her fingertip on his nose the way her own mother had to her. He went cross-eyed trying to look at it. “So tell me, Martius, how are these two rings different? How do you know which one to put on the pole first?”
She watched Martius play, listening half-heartedly to his rambling explanation of the sizes of each ring. But really her attention was on the man still standing over her. Coriolanus seemed intent to never take his hard eyes off of her.
She would just have to stay on her toes.