Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What did you do?” Simon exclaimed, scrambling to cover himself with a sheet as he lay upon the bed. He felt exposed, unexpectedly ill at ease; the world had tumbled about his ears in the span of an instant.

“I had hoped it was not true,” Daphne murmured. Confusion and hurt furrowed her brow. “I had hoped I was mistaken, but clearly I was not.”

There was a breathless pause as Simon struggled to gain his bearings. “How could you?”

“How could I?” Daphne gasped, astonished. “How could I? You lied to me!”

“I did not lie!”

“I trusted you!” she continued, growing more and more furious with each passing word. The reality of her situation had been laid out plainly before her, unable to be dismissed or ignored. “I trusted you more than anyone in this world, and you took advantage; you seized an opportunity, and so I did the very same!”

“I told you I cannot give you children!”

“‘Cannot’ and ‘will not’ are two entirely different things,” Daphne reasoned. “You chose this for yourself. You chose to lie to me.”

“I did not lie!” insisted Simon. “I thought you were prepared, I thought you understood how a child came to be! If you did not know, why did you not ask me? Was it not I who told you how to pleasure yourself, long before we ever became man and wife? Had I not established myself as a trustworthy source of information?”

“You took my future from me, the one thing I wanted more than anything,” said Daphne, on the verge of tears. “You knew! You knew that becoming a mother — to have a family of my own one day — you knew that was all I ever wanted.”

“And I was prepared to die on that dueling field rather than marry you and take your dream away!” Simon’s words stormed, filling the bedchamber with thunderous peals. “I would have died for you. You were the one who insisted on this union — you told me I was enough!”

“That was before I knew you,” she said. A huff of exasperation caused her voice to quaver and catch in her throat, dragging the corners of her mouth down into a heavy frown. “Do you know, I even felt pity for you? ‘Poor Simon,’ I thought. ‘How it must pain him to never know what it is to be a father.’”

“I never asked for your pity.”

“And I never asked for your betrayal!”

“Daphne, I…” said Simon, unsure of how to convey to her the emotions, the memories that roiled in his heart, seething and burning until they consumed his entire being.

“You what?” she demanded. “You what? You love me? No, you most certainly do not. You do not know the meaning of the word! You do not lie to the one you love, you do not trick the one you love, you do not humiliate the one you love. I may not know much — as you have made abundantly clear — but I do know one thing: I know that is not love!”