Title: Ophidiophobia
Author: Qaddafi the Ripper
Summary: Philip discovers something he doesn't like about his new wife.

Philip walked along humming quietly to himself. The smell of rain wafted in from outside as the sun started breaking through the cloud cover. It was an excellent day to be a man; his wife was waiting for him.

His wife. A silly grin crossed his face when he thought that. It had been less than a month since he'd taken Olympias as his bride and he was still walking on air. No finer woman existed in all of Greece, perhaps even the world; of this he was sure. He loved her long, reddish hair; her mysterious gray eyes that smoldered when he whispered sweet nothings into her ear; her slim but ripe figure that begged for him to caress it. He'd never felt for any other woman even half of what he felt for Olympias.

That it was a political marriage was of secondary importance. To get Epiros, he could have married a blind old crone. To have Olympias as his wife, he'd have married her if she was the poorest person in his kingdom. He was truly blessed by the gods, to have won both at the same time.

He entered Olympias's room without knocking first. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, with one of her prettier maids brushing her hair. Philip normally would have looked more than twice at the maid, but now he had eyes for his wife alone.

She looked up and saw him, smiling quietly. Not demure, no; that was one thing Olympias never was. He was drawn to her all the more, for her fire and independence. He strode to her side and fingered a lock of her hair. "You're beautiful," he murmured.

"You say that every day," she replied, sparkling with mirth.

"That's because it's true every day." He was glad he was experienced with women, if only so he knew what sorts of compliments the fairer sex liked to hear. Olympias's faint blush was all the prize he needed.

"Leave us," she told the maid. The woman bowed deeply and left quietly. When the door closed behind her, Philip sat down on the bed beside his wife. "You've been here every night since we were married, and sometimes in the afternoon too," Olympias noted, glancing out a window to see it was indeed still light out. "You must want an heir desperately."

He enfolded her in his arms. "I do want a son," he agreed, "but right now, I just want you." She smiled and lay back on the bed, drawing him with her. No maidenly shyness from her, not even the night she had been a maiden. She let Philip know that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

He started undressing her when he felt something strange moving beneath the covers. He froze, wondering what it could be. It nudged his leg again; whatever it was, it was long and thin. "What's wrong?" Olympias asked, seeing his frown.

"There's something in your bed," he said, staring at a crease in the sheets that moved.

"Well of course there is," she said calmly. He turned to her, surprised. She'd known there was something in her bed. "It's my pet," she added.

He frowned harder. He didn't remember her saying anything about a pet before now. "What kind of pet is it?" he asked. His wife wouldn't be keeping anything dangerous, would she?

Olympias smiled and pulled the covers back. "Here, I'll show you." She finally pulled enough back for him to see her "pet." All six feet of glistening scales, forked tongue framed by a hooded head.

Philip jumped out of the bed with a cry. "That's a cobra!" he exclaimed. He was somewhat phobic about snakes, having had one hidden in his bed by his brother when he was a child. While that one had been harmless, it had still frightened him. This one, he knew, was far from harmless.

"Of course it is." She was frowning now. "He's my pet. I've had him since I was twelve. He was a present."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that type of snake is?" Philip demanded.

She made a face. "He's not dangerous. He's my little sweetie." She held out a hand and the snake coiled around it, lifting its face to hers and flickering its tongue over her lips.

Philip paled further. "I am not sleeping in the same bed as that... thing."

"Very well then, I'll see you tomorrow." Calm and cool as could be, she was. He glowered at her, but she gave no indication of changing her mind. And so, with no other course available, he marched out of her room with one final glance at that green shape wrapping around her torso.

It was the first time since their marriage he didn't spend the night in her bed. It wasn't the last. And every time from then on when he saw a snake --even small, harmless garden snakes-- he shuddered and looked away. And he wondered if his marriage had always been doomed, or if it was his own stupidity that first drove them apart.

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