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Perturabo glowered at the bundled form in the center of his bed. Arms crossed, so close to tapping his foot just to release some agitation. The bundle hadn’t moved since he’d left Orithiya earlier today and the tray of food beside the bed was equally undisturbed. He didn’t need to check to see it had gone entirely cold.
She got like this at times. He almost wanted to call it depression or some mental relative of it. But, no, she swore until her breath ran out that she was fine. This happened so rarely, so erratically, and he couldn’t pin down the exact cause, no matter how much he read or demanded answers.
It pissed him off that there was no solution to this problem of hers.
“Get up.”
“No.” Her voice was muffled within her blankets.
He reached out, pressing one hand to the bed to grab her. She made a noise of complaint akin to a sqwuak. She fought against him, grabbing for the bed and releasing one of her blankets to free herself.
He tossed the blanket to the floor, quicker than a snake as his arm lashed out and his hand wrapped around her ankle. Her hands tightened on the sheet and she kicked at his hand wildly. The sheet came loose before she even landed a solid hit on him and she whined loudly as he all but dragged her to the edge of the bed.
Flipping her onto her back, he pinned her down with one hand solidly on her shoulder and the other planted into the mattress. He glared down at her as she avoided looking at him, her head turned away. Her eyes narrowed as she glared out the corner of them, her hands pushing at his chest in a weak attempt to shove him off.
He didn’t budge. Of course not, he was Perturabo, Lord of Iron, professional ditch digger and fortress breaker. Even his Iron Lady couldn’t make him move - not without sweet words and a gentle touch, a stroke of his ego.
This would get her nowhere and he knew she knew it.
“You need to eat.”
She squirmed, lower lip jutting out in a soft pout. “I’m not hungry…”
He narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t eaten since I left you.” It wasn’t uncommon on days where she slept in to eat separately - he needed far less hours than she, after all. As much as eating and sleeping together had become routine, there were still days where he left her in their bed, sleeping warm and alone and had breakfast delivered.
Breakfast she usually ate.
She was still pushing against him, her feet pressing against his thighs to further help her. “I’m not - I don’t want it.”
He rolled his eyes. This, he could handle, if only she would have said so sooner. “A different meal can be made.”
She released the front of his chiton, pressing her hands to her face. “No, I don’t… I just don’t want food.”
He glared down at her, grabbing her wrists in his fingers and pulling her hands away. Damn it, her eyes were getting teary. He hated it when she actually cried. “You need to eat. Would you rather I make you a flavorless nutrient bar? It’ll have all you need in one square.”
She pulled at her hands, heels digging into his thighs as she tried to push away from him. “No! I just - I just don’t want to eat.”
He tightened his grip on her shoulder, not giving her an inch. “I won’t let you starve yourself. If you thought otherwise, you’ve gone mad. Either you’ll eat the meal or you’ll get a nutrient block.”
She whined, pressing her head back against the bed. Any other time, she’d look beautiful - spread open like this, entirely bare, entangled in blankets, hair loose and wild, whining for him. He couldn’t enjoy her, not while knowing she hadn’t eaten a bite all cycle.
Why was she fighting him so much? Was it something mental again? It had to be, with how she was acting. She was a proper lady more often than not, even when she was teasing and tormenting him in her usual fashion.
He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. He released her, pulling away to straighten up. She curled away from him, grabbing a blanket to wrap herself in again. She pulled it tight around her body, pressing her face in tangled folds.
He stepped away from her, grabbing one of her chitons from the closet. “Up. I won’t ask a second time.”
She groaned, thumping a foot that bounced off the bed. She sat up, glaring up at him. Sulking, she took the soft linen from him and stood to dress herself. She tied the striped rope around her waist tight, all but shoving past him to the bathroom.
He stared at her with narrowed eyes as she readied herself, combing through her hair in quick motions. He hated it when she acted like a petulant child - according to her, that was more his job than hers.
She crossed her arms, glaring up at him. Her green eyes held no hate, no true spite for him, only frustration. “What now?”
In an easy move, he hauled her over his shoulder. She yelped and grabbed onto him before slumping, huffing at her treatment. Like she was a prisoner or victim - once again, he supposed a bit crudely. This wouldn’t be the last time he carried her like this, anyway.
He hauled her off, a path already set. She crossed her arms against his back, digging her elbows into the tight muscle. “Where are you taking me?”
“Kitchens.”
She huffed again, driving her sharp elbows into his back again, hoping to hurt him. It was futile, but she tried to find one of his tender points. She knew better than any other he didn’t stretch properly without her help. “I’m not hungry.”
He snorted, carrying her off. Her complaints meant nothing to him. He knew what was best for her, even if she wanted to deny it and act like a fool. He’d seen stubborn, foolish prisoners who refused food before and she reminded him eerily of those. She wasn’t a fool, though, certainly not his wife, neither was she a prisoner.
He hauled her stubborn self to the primary kitchen, clearing the distance in short order. Serfs bowed and knelt at his feet as he passed, whispers echoing through them all at the sight of Orithiya. He could hear them, wondering if she was well, if she had angered him.
He dropped her on a counter. “You’ll stay put.”
She huffed softly, looking away from him. “I’m not a child.”
“Then stop acting like one.”
She crossed her arms, looking away as he started grabbing food. Serfs made way for him, none daring to question him, parting wide as they continued preparing food for his sons. Preparing for a siege like this, they were given more food, allowed to bulk up. It kept them from needing more during the siege - Orithiya had been right in that statement.
He made small dishes for her, prepared with an expert hand. Each one, he pushed towards her, glaring when she didn’t dare to take a single bite. She held his gaze evenly, never once hiding from him.
Food grew cold and he tossed the plates at the serfs, letting them eat off them. Better than letting it all go to waste in the end. She stubbornly sat, glaring at him, not eating, though her hand had come around to her press against her stomach.
Eventually, he heard it. He saw the slight movement, too. Her hand lifting a small piece to her lips. She chewed slowly, quietly, eyes turned down to the floor.
He stared at her, watching as she lifted another small bite to her lips. Of course she had bowed, bent under his steady hand. He didn’t need to say so. She was his, if he mocked her frailty, she would be offended and rightfully so.
Her appetite seemed to return the more she nibbled, the more small foods he offered to her. He kept the foods light and small, watching her closely for what she seemed to want more of. Small pieces of meat, thin slices of fruit with the skins peeled, an airy pudding that was dashed with wine. Any fresh bread prepared the cycle before was left behind, clearly too hearty for her.
He made her food until she shook her head. “I’m full.”
He nodded once, setting aside the plate in his hand. “I won’t do this again.”
She reached up for him, the corners of her lips twitching in an uncontrollable smile. “I know.” She knew it was a lie. He loved to care for her and attend to her needs, no matter what those were in the end.
He lifted her into one arm, tucking her against him. She rested her head on his shoulder as she slid her hands up his chest. “You’ll eat when I order it.”
She knew to not argue with him in front of others and kept her mouth shut, nodding. She squeezed him gently, lifting her head to press a soft kiss to his neck. Softly, she whispered, “Thank you.”
He grunted, warmth running up his neck at her affection. “I won’t let you starve.”
It was the closest to saying he cared, but she felt it in the grip of his hands and the food filling her belly.