As the door shut Tiberius turned to lean against it, lest Antigone throw herself at it in an attempt to force it open. Given her history of acting with grace and poise, it didn't seem at all unlikely. He didn't reach to lock the door, however, because he knew she would be able to hear the audible click from the hallway, and he didn't want it to seem as though he was worried she would try to come in. He wasn't running away. He just wasn't wasting his time with her any longer.
The silencing spells on the walls were designed to keep noise from his activities from reaching the outside world, but they also served to prevent incoming sounds — or would have, if Antigone hadn't been mere inches away from him and obviously upset. She intended her words to be heard, he knew, and specifically intended to engage him, and if he hadn't had this thought in the forefront of his mind when she started speaking, she may have succeeded.
What to do with Antigone? He could poison her. He owned numerous books on the subject and would be spoiled for choice if he went that route. He could kill her so seamlessly a healer would be baffled, or leech away her strength until she was left bedridden and helpless for weeks. He closed his eyes briefly and remembered the way her face had looked when she'd nearly died two years ago. Ashen and sweaty, with an expression of need she'd been too weak to try and articulate.
He couldn't poison her if she wasn't at home, though, unless he let loose a small army of magically altered mice in the woods for her to subsist on. That was too much work, and too unpredictable. He wouldn't be able to monitor the effects until she was incapacitated or dead.
Lashing out wouldn't fix her. If it would have, she'd have learned her lesson long ago. He'd threatened her, struck her, burned insults into her skin, and still she came at him like this. She'd been locked in a cage and hadn't emerged from the experience even slightly humbled. What, then, to do with his wild and willful bride?
He took a deep breath and looked around the study, as though the books and artifacts collected there could answer the question for him. He remained where he was against the door, his entire body tight like a compressed spring ready to snap.
The silencing spells on the walls were designed to keep noise from his activities from reaching the outside world, but they also served to prevent incoming sounds — or would have, if Antigone hadn't been mere inches away from him and obviously upset. She intended her words to be heard, he knew, and specifically intended to engage him, and if he hadn't had this thought in the forefront of his mind when she started speaking, she may have succeeded.
What to do with Antigone? He could poison her. He owned numerous books on the subject and would be spoiled for choice if he went that route. He could kill her so seamlessly a healer would be baffled, or leech away her strength until she was left bedridden and helpless for weeks. He closed his eyes briefly and remembered the way her face had looked when she'd nearly died two years ago. Ashen and sweaty, with an expression of need she'd been too weak to try and articulate.
He couldn't poison her if she wasn't at home, though, unless he let loose a small army of magically altered mice in the woods for her to subsist on. That was too much work, and too unpredictable. He wouldn't be able to monitor the effects until she was incapacitated or dead.
Lashing out wouldn't fix her. If it would have, she'd have learned her lesson long ago. He'd threatened her, struck her, burned insults into her skin, and still she came at him like this. She'd been locked in a cage and hadn't emerged from the experience even slightly humbled. What, then, to do with his wild and willful bride?
He took a deep breath and looked around the study, as though the books and artifacts collected there could answer the question for him. He remained where he was against the door, his entire body tight like a compressed spring ready to snap.