Lion Head Mesa you bring out the worst in me

Tavina explained what the herbs did, but Charles just chewed on them without question. He was no doctor, and he didn't understand half of the words she spoke, anyway, so they blew right over his head.

She warned him that the Pharaoh might demote him or send him away. Charles did not fear that; he awaited it. He did not welcome it, of course, but he knew that sooner or later, he would mess up. He always did. That was in his nature, and there was nothing he could do to change it. He did not understand why Ramesses had ever made him Prince, and now the Pharaoh was slowly starting to see that he had made a huge mistake in doing so. Well, Charles had never asked to be put in impossible-to-fulfill shoes. It had just been cast into his lap and now suddenly he wasn't good enough? Ramesses brought that onto himself.

He did not say that, of course.

Keep him happy, lord Charles. But how?

You must find a way to gently blame her for this. Never mind the 'gently'. But it is her fault! She's the one who left! Charles blurted out all of a sudden, his tone indignant. The poppy was starting to soothe his head a little; it was a different kind of drug, but it was pleasant in its own way, he supposed. Charles did not necessarily need another wife, but he would rather have one that could actually have children, if he had to choose — he did like the prospect of being father again, especially in a place where he had agency over his own children, unlike at the Saints. Tavina insisted to keep trying, but how? She now lived somewhere else. Should I go to her, then? he asked, still a little indignant, but clearly willing to listen. I — we — did tried, he said, clearly a little flustered to talk about it; But it just did not work. I know it's not me, I already made a daughter before! He thought back to Lotus with a pang in his heart. How he missed his little girl, but she had vanished and that was, apparently, life.

Charles seemed to ignore Tavina's gentle berating of him being grumpy towards her tonic and advice, though he did take the words to heart. He both had an ego too big for his own good and had never learned many of life's competences, which left him attempting to fit into the shoes of wolf without knowing truly what was expected of one walking in those shoes.

How? he asked, suddenly. How do I make him give me a new wife?

He needed something — anything — to focus on. This seemed as good an endeavour as any to cast his attentions and efforts at. Better than getting drunk wallowing in his own misery over his terrible wife, at least.