"It's unfortunate, but not unexpected," she said, as if the matter meant next to nothing to her and was only barely worth her thinking on it. For the truth was, it wasn't. Octavia had far too high an opinion of herself to even consider that this was an issue rooted in her faults. No, this was purely the shortcomings of her husband, and she refused to be another Pureblooded housewife, carelessly brushed aside by the master of the household and reprimanded for asserting any sort of independence.
Her hand left the vial dangling from the chain on her neck, creating a big show of sighing and gazing into the extinguished hearth, imagining the fiery orange sparks that were spit from its depths, the logss that crumbled when the heat got to be too much for it--imagining, for a brief few seconds, what it would be like to shove her smug husband into there. "I wonder if you're aware of how careless you were. How displeased your mother would be to know you couldn't even bed your own wife. That you have to seek mistresses out to satisfy urges that cannot be quelled due to your own shortcomings." She drew her gaze slowly, lazily, almost, to regard him again, expression blank. "You may feign indifference when it comes to what people say, but you can't escape your reputation. Frigid, domineering wife, hounded into finding solace," she pictured her lips curling at the euphemism, "through Merlin-knows what other means... If I knew this was the husband I'd be forced to reside with, you can rest assured I would never have gone through with this."
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