The Dove and the Hawk Pt. 06

Many thanks to my advance readers, including Not_E and happyyy_, as well as to my editor LaRascasse.

Content warning: references to torture, references to sexual assault, references to bodily mutilation

***

When Bethaer awoke, he was lying on his side, a rank smell invading his nostrils. He tried to sit up but found himself bound by his hands and feet, and he struggled to kneel awkwardly on the hard floor. Looking about, he saw that he was in a cell, the door tied shut with rope in lieu of being locked. He must be in his father's dungeons, he realized.

"Well, look who's awake," sneered a voice. In the dim light he could make out a tall form crouch down in front of the door, a knife glinting in the light of the torches that burned along the walls.

Bethaer made no response, not wanting to goad his captor. After so many years of suffering at the hands of his father's forces, now the tables were turned.

"I was hoping you'd wake up before we set off for the high court," the man continued, and Bethaer realized it must be Leitham. He could see the gleam of his signet ring, not unlike his own, heavy with the weight of responsibility. In the poor light it was difficult to see the resemblance, but he seemed to share his sister's dark hair, though his eyes looked brighter, or perhaps they just burned with hatred.

Endorran's heir had personally led his father's part of the combined forces against Olandrion and his prowess in battle had reached Bethaer's ears. Fueled by his rage and desperation over his sister, he now held his enemy in his hands.

Bethaer felt the dull ache of fear in his stomach. He could only guess what his unknowing brother-in-law had heard about him, except for the one thing Olandrion had been sure to make known: the ritual at the spring festival. He swallowed.

"Feeling afraid?" Leitham laughed sourly, playing with the knife in his hands. "I assume you're familiar with what your damned father got up to down here," he continued, gesturing to their surroundings with the blade.

They must be in the rashd, he realized. The final floor of his father's dungeons, which no prisoner left alive.

"He dragged my sister down here, did you know?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. "I found the whip he used on her," he snarled, and Bethaer shut his eyes.

"What's the matter?" Leitham chided. "Don't want to hear about how your precious woman suffered at your father's hands?" He laughed hollowly, sending goosebumps up Bethaer's arms. He opened his eyes.

"She only just turned eighteen when your accursed brother abducted her from our home," Leitham continued. "Do you like them that young, too?"

Leitham was smiling, his teeth glinting in the firelight. Bethaer shuddered, not wanting to remember when he'd first heard of Igandrion's triumph.

"Was it strange, taking the same woman your brother used all those years?" he asked coldly, and Bethaer's stomach roiled. "What, you didn't like it? I heard differently about the spring festival," he hissed, gripping the hilt of his dagger.

It was as his father had intended, though instead of demoralizing the Berelthians it had inflamed them with righteous anger. Just as Bethaer had known it would, not that his father had listened. How many of her people had been in that crowd, watching him take her? He shuddered to imagine Leitham hearing a blow-by-blow account of that evening, the rage it must have fueled. What was he going to do to him, now that he was in his hands?

Bethaer struggled to breathe slowly, to calm his rapid heart. Berelthia's forces had joined hands with their neighbors under the eye of the High Council, which had surely stipulated he was to be handed over to them. The question was, how deep did Leitham's anger run?

It would depend on how his sister fared, he decided, glancing at the man. He longed to know, but knew asking would only stoke her brother's ire.

"I thought long and hard about what I could do to you down here, before sending you to the Council," Leitham continued. "I could take you with a blade like you took my sister. I could give you the same marks on her body, whip you bloody like your father did." Bethaer shivered, which seemed to please him. "I even came up with a good story," he chuckled darkly, "about you trying to escape, just so I could kill you here and now."

Bethaer set his jaw. If he died, would he see her, as she'd promised? Or would Yealar consign him to the cold flames for what he'd done?

"But I decided," Leitham said, tapping the stone floor with his blade. "I want to watch you try to deny raping my sister before the Council itself. I want your crimes judged for all of Celandron to see."

Bethaer's heart fluttered, hoping against hope that she was still alive. Her brother surely would have him killed if she were dead.

"How is she?" The words passed his lips before he could stop himself.

Leitham's figure stilled, his grip tight on the quivering dagger. When he spoke, his voice was rough with pain and anger. "I spent four years not knowing what was happening to my little sister because of your blasted family. And after all you've done to her, you think you have the right to ask me how she is?"

The knifepoint screeched against the floor, and Bethaer flinched. Maybe he didn't have a right to know, but not knowing was like a yawning chasm in the pit of his stomach.

"Why do you even care?" Leitham continued snidely. "Because she was carrying your child?"

Bethaer inhaled at the sudden, stabbing pain in his chest. "Was?" he repeated. Had she miscarried? Had she died? He searched Leitham's face in the dim light for some sign of grief, but all he found was rage. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs, his stomach heavy with dread. "Tell me she's alive at least," he pleaded, all caution thrown to the wind.

In a single fluid motion, Leitham rose and hurled himself at the bars of the cell, knife clanging against iron. Bethaer shied back, nearly falling over.

"Talk about my sister one more time, you fucking bastard, and I'll castrate you before the Council has the chance!" Leithan snarled, eyes furious.

Bethaer shuddered, recalling the gruesome punishment he'd wanted to mete out on the soldier who'd attacked the princess in his bathing room, mere months and yet somehow a lifetime ago. That was exactly how her brother felt about him now.

"You're going to be the last of your family line," Leithan continued, practically growling out the words. "Anderan's last descendant, maimed and broken. So enjoy having a whole body while you still can," he sneered.

He stalked out of view, and Bethaer let out a shaky breath. His heart felt as though it were being twisted to pieces, his lungs gasping for relief from the pain that would not come.

His wife had lost their child and was now surely on the edge of death herself. But she was alive, for now at least. She had to be.

Bethaer shut his eyes, wincing as he thought back to how cold and frail she'd been in his arms. The memory of her shredded flesh made him groan with anguish. He should have known his father would take out his anger on her without him there to shield her; he should have done as Igandrion had and dragged her along with him to the battlefront.

But he'd been too much a coward to risk crossing his father again, and now she was dying for it.

He slumped sideways, back onto the hard floor, the pain of his skull smacking the stone barely registering. What was his pain worth, anyway? No amount of suffering could atone for leaving his wife in his father's clutches. Had his own soldiers even left her alone, or had they too sated their basest urges on her in his absence?

He bit back the scream that threatened to rip itself out of his body, made himself slow his breathing as the shame and guilt crashed over him. He would need to preserve his strength for the long road ahead. It would be weeks before they reached the citadel in the mountains, and his every waking moment until then, he would be praying for her life.

O Hamin, he called silently. Have mercy on your daughter. Heal her of her wounds. Let her rise from her sickbed well and whole.

***

Litheian couldn't remember waking, only the sensation of her breath flowing evenly through her lungs. Memories swam in and out of her consciousness, or were they dreams? People coming and going, voices raised in anger and sorrow. And then the silence.

She opened her eyes, staring at the wooden ceiling above her. The air smelled bitter and fragrant, like her stepmother's herb garden. Turning her head, she saw a man sleeping in a chair at her side. He hadn't shaved in days, and dark rings of sleeplessness hung under his eyes. Who was he?

She twitched her fingers, feeling stiff, and stretched her arms out. Her hand knocked into something hard, and the man startled awake.

"Gaormina?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He turned to look at her and froze, meeting her eye.

"Sister?" he whispered, disbelieving.

Her heart soared, finally recognizing him. This was her brother! He'd come to rescue her as promised. Only....

She blinked back tears. If he were here with her, that meant he too was dead, fallen in battle after grueling days pushing himself ever forward. If only he hadn't been too late.

He took her hand, squeezing tight. "It's alright, dear sister. You're safe now."

She nodded, letting her tears flow. How heartbroken her father must be, to lose both of his first wife's children.

He reached forward tentatively. "How do you feel?" he asked. "Does anything hurt?"

She frowned. Did the dead feel pain? But then, her brother still carried the weight of his last days. Would she as well?

"Let me fetch the physician," he said, standing. She clutched at his hand, and he paused.

"What about the baby?" she asked him.

His face fell, though he tried to hide it. "I'll fetch the physician," he repeated, and pulled away.

Litheian sat up, watching him disappear through a doorway. Presently he returned with a short, plump woman holding a tray of instruments. She set them down on the table beside Litheian, who realized she'd been lying on a bed.

"How do you feel?" the woman asked, and Litheian shrugged.

"I'm fine," she answered. Nothing hurt.

The woman frowned. "Are you sure? Take your time."

Litheian flexed her toes, rolled her ankles, moved her body all the way up to her neck under their watchful eyes. "I do feel a little stiff," she admitted.

Her brother let out a shaky breath and pulled her into a tight hug. "Praise be to Hamin," he murmured above her.

Litheian pulled back, confused, and reluctantly he released her. "What's going on, brother?" she asked.

"We thought we'd lost you," he replied, his voice thick. "You wouldn't wake up, but your wounds --" He broke off, wiping at his eyes.

Litheian blinked. Surely she wasn't still alive?

"How long did I sleep?" she asked. She couldn't have healed in such a short time.

Her brother opened his mouth, but no sound came out. "A month," the physician answered, and Litheian stared at her. "I know," she said, "we have no way to explain it, other than a miracle."

Litheian sat back against the headboard, and her brother fussed at her, moving her pillow so she wouldn't have to lean on the hard wood.

She was alive.

Suddenly she remembered her child and moved her hand to her belly. It felt bigger now, heavier.

"What about the baby?" she asked, and her brother looked away.

"As far as we can tell," the physician said carefully, "it seems to be doing well."

Litheian pressed her palm against her womb. How many months along was she now? Would she be able to feel the child soon?

"Shall I fetch the midwife?" the physician asked, and she nodded.

The woman left. Litheian looked back to her brother, who had taken her hand again but was avoiding her eyes.

"Where are we?" she asked him.

"The high court," he replied. "We thought about taking you home, but we didn't want to split up, not after...."

She patted his hand with her free one, then froze. If she was alive, then where was her husband?

Panic rose in her stomach, tightening her throat. She gripped her brother's arm.

"What is it?" he asked. "Are you in pain?"

She shook her head at him. "Where is he?" she asked, desperate. "Is he here too?"

He steadied her, looking her in the eyes. "He can't hurt you anymore, sister," he said. "I saw him to the High Council myself this morning. There are four guards surrounding him, always."

Litheian stared back at him, horror slowly setting in.

"Gods willing," he continued, "the elders will sentence him soon. He'll never touch you again."

"No," she mumbled, shaking her head. He didn't understand, none of them did. The prince hadn't done anything to deserve being hauled before the Council for judgment.

"It's alright, sister," her brother assured her, smoothing back her hair. "It'll all be over soon."

The thought stuck in her throat, and she reached for her ring, finding it gone.

"My ring!" she cried. "Where is it?" Her brother looked at her, puzzled. "I was wearing a ring around my neck," she told him. "What happened to it?"

He blinked. "Oh, you mean this?" He reached in his purse and searched around, finally pulling out the leather thong and her ring still strung on it.

She snatched at it, holding it close.

"The jeweler said it was of Sytheiran make," he said. "Where did you find it?"

"It belonged to his mother," she answered, but he only frowned, confused. "It belonged to Adrialsa too," she continued, remembering what her husband had told her.

Her brother's face darkened at the name, and he gripped his hands at his sides.

"You must help me, brother," she continued. "I have to see the High Council. I have to tell them --"

She couldn't finish, couldn't reveal their secret to him, who wouldn't understand.

"Everyone saw what he did to you at the spring festival," he said firmly. "There's no need for you to testify."

She shook her head. She had to stop this, had to save him. "Help me, brother," she repeated, swinging her legs around and onto the floor.

He held her by the shoulder but she jerked against him. "Don't stop me," she hissed, and he lifted his hand, confusion clouding his eyes. "Are you going to help me?" she demanded, standing, looking down at what she was wearing.

"I'll fetch a gown for you, sister," he said, relenting. "And shoes, and --"

"Just do it!" she snapped at him, dread and impatience racing through her veins.

***

Bethaer fought the adrenaline surging through his blood, trying not to fidget against the ropes tying his wrists and ankles to the chair. In front of him was a dais with eleven seats for the elders of the High Council, one from each kingdom in Celandron. Along the sides of the council hall, people milled about, murmuring and shifting as they too waited for the Council session to begin.

He could feel his pulse against the ropes that bound him in place, the hard beating of his heart in his chest. His body knew he was in danger, was urging him to do something, anything to escape the inevitable.

This was the last day of his trial before the Council rendered judgment. It wouldn't take long, he knew. They would find him guilty and sentence him as soon as the next day. He would be crippled for life in addition to being stripped of his title. He would be made a commoner, his kingdom handed over to a new monarch.

Today was his last opportunity, when he'd be questioned and given a chance to speak in his defense. Not that he planned to. What was the point in trying?

No one, not even Anderar's own counselor, was permitted to speak to him about the princess. She wasn't on the list of witnesses. She hadn't appeared in the gallery alongside her family. She was everywhere he looked and yet nowhere at all, and each successive day of her absence weighed on him like the crush of the ocean.

The dull, familiar ache pulled at his stomach as he considered the cold truth that lay before him: his wife was either dead or dying, too weak to speak for him -- or she had decided not to. And what was the point of living if she of all people, she who had asked to bind herself to him, who had thanked him for their wedding night, who had wished him well even as he left her to fend for herself --

Bethaer closed his eyes against the memories of their time together, for he was unworthy of even those small, cherished moments. Why else would the gods have punished him so, to lose first his child and now his wife, in all the ways that mattered?

If she were dead, he would pray she had found peace. If she were dying, he would pray she felt no pain. And if she had abandoned him, he would let her go. He would not drag her back into the past just to save his worthless life.

The crowd's buzzing grew louder, and he glanced up to see the elders had entered and were now taking their seats. The yemat called the High Council to session, and the great doors groaned shut.

Anderar's counselor was called upon, but the man declined to question him. Bethaer hadn't given the counselor any real choice, refusing to even meet with him once it became clear he would reveal nothing about the princess, not even whether she lived or died.

The yemat moved on to Berelthia's counselor, who rose. Lean and bespectacled, he strode over to where Bethaer sat, his long robes swishing in the silent hall.

He dove into the heart of the matter without preamble. "We have heard from six witnesses now, all of them swearing they saw you partaking in the ritual at the spring festival. Do you deny it?" The man stared down at him through his spectacles.

Bethaer swallowed. "I do not."

"Furthermore, we heard from two witnesses that the woman you lay with was her highness, Princess Litheian. Do you deny it?"

"I do not," he repeated.

The counselor stalked across the floor of the hall. "And yet, you deny this charge of rape."

"I do," he said firmly. Whatever else was true, he hadn't violated his wife.

The man threw up his hands, for the audience, Bethaer assumed. "Then explain yourself!"

"I never forced her," he responded. He'd only followed her choice then, as he did now.

"There was no need," retorted the counselor, turning to the High Council elders seated at the head of the room. "As a prisoner, she could not consent to such an act and was by definition under coercion." The audience murmured, people nodding. "And under the Treaty of Celandron, prisoners of war are never to make public statements, let alone participate in such a vulgar display, if you permit me my humble opinion on the matter."

The counselor looked to him as though expecting some excuse, but Bethaer said nothing.

"Lastly," the man argued, pausing for effect, "since that event, she conceived your child. Do you deny it?"

"I do not." The crowd hissed. Bethaer could see her father, King Endorran, seated at the front of the gallery, clutching his wife's hand.

The counselor continued. "The Treaty also stipulates that no prisoner shall be forced to carry a child, that they should be turned over to the high court so they might return home. But in this egregious case," he continued, "the victim was never with child to begin with. She was impregnated against her will by her captor."

A growl of mutters erupted from the audience, and several of them spat curses at him. "Silence!" shouted the yemat.

The counselor turned to him again. "Do you deny this charge?"

Bethaer gritted his teeth. "I never forced her," he repeated.

"What evidence have you for this?" the man asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

Bethaer stayed silent. Their marriage was for her to reveal, not him.

"You are aware," said the counselor, "what the sentence is, for violating a member of a royal family subscribed to the Treaty of Celandron?"

Bethaer swallowed, stomach tight. His manhood would be cut off, as well as his sword hand. "I know," he answered.

"And yet, instead of confessing and pleading for mercy, you would rather deny it to the end?"

Bethaer lifted his chin. "I would." The crowd murmured once more.

The counselor opened his mouth, ready to make his final remarks, but paused as a commotion arose outside the doors of the large hall.

"You cannot enter!" said a man's voice. "The High Council is in session!"

"Guards!" called the yemat. "Establish order outside. Counselor, continue."

"Yes, il-rathshad," he said, bowing and turning to the Council elders. The small door to the outside opened and shut.

Bethaer gripped his hands against the chair he was tied to. One of which he wouldn't have much longer, he knew. If the gods were merciful, he'd die soon after.

Outside there ensued more shouting, and suddenly the great double doors opened.

Everyone turned to see who had dared interrupt the High Council session, and there were a few gasps. In the gallery, Endorran rose, supported by his wife.

Bethaer craned his neck to look and felt his breath leave his lungs.

Standing in the doorway, breathing heavily, stood the princess. Her hair was in a fraying braid, and she wore a long, loose gown that almost concealed her swelling figure.

The crowd was murmurating loudly now, and he could hear people exclaiming.

"Order!" shouted the yemat. "Who disturbs the Council in session?"

"Forgive my intrusion, il-rathshad," she said loudly. "But as the victim in this case, I, Litheian Bereltha, wish to serve as witness in this trial."

Bethaer could feel his heart beating even faster now, his mouth dry with anxious anticipation. Would she testify for him?

At the head table, the Council elders discussed amongst themselves, nodding in agreement.

"The Council accepts your request," said the chief elder, a wizened old woman with a surprisingly strong voice.

"I wish to testify in secret," Litheian replied.

The counselor's jaw dropped and the yemat struggled to compose themself. The crowd hushed, then broke into confused whispers.

Bethaer glanced back at the elders. Would they accept this condition? Would she still testify if they denied her secrecy?

His life hanging in the balance, he tried to breathe, remembering the way she had smiled at him when they last spoke.

The chief elder's voice broke through his memory. "The Council accepts your request."

Bethaer sagged with relief. The yemat ordered the room cleared and the audience began to stand. Two guards came forward and began to untie him from the chair. He stood shakily, waiting as they bound his arms and led him through the side door to the cells. He tried to catch her eye, but there were too many people in the way.

Alone again in his cell, he wondered if she had even recognized him. He hadn't been shaved since he was taken prisoner. Why had it taken her so long to come forward? Surely she could have told the Council sooner, unless her family had prevented her. But then, what was she doing here, at the citadel?

Not that he was going to question it now, because she was alive and well. He leaned back against the wall, thanking Hamin for answering his prayers. She hadn't seemed to be in pain, and her belly.... He groaned, putting his head in his hands. She still carried his child. Their child.

He closed his eyes, remembering her words. We'll see you again soon.

Tears leaked from under his eyelids, and a sob wrenched its way out of his lungs. He cried there, sitting on the meager cot he was afforded. She had come back for him.

It was late in the day when Anderar's representative, an Anderthan named Idano, came to find him. The man observed Bethaer's face but did not comment, saying only, "The High Council has suspended the proceedings against you, pending the admission of new evidence."

Bethaer shut his eyes, a smile tilting at his lips. The marriage contract, of course. She must have hidden it somewhere safe in his rooms, and the Council was sending an investigator to retrieve it.

"You will remain here until the Council resumes the proceedings," the man continued, and Bethaer nodded. Another month, or two, even three. He was willing to wait. Considering what she had suffered without him, his time here was nothing.

A month passed before he was summoned again. He scanned the gallery of the large hall but she was nowhere in sight, and he swallowed his disappointment. Surely she was only absent because she knew what verdict the elders would render?

The yemat called the Council to session, addressing the two counselors and Anderar's representative, before instructing Bethaer to rise for the verdict.

He did so, heart pounding.

"In the matter of the charge of rape against her highness Litheian Bereltha, member of the royal family of Berelthia, an adjoining kingdom to the Treaty of Celandron," they said, "the High Council finds you, Bethaer Andertha, not guilty."

Bethaer let out the breath he had been holding, bringing his bound hands up to his face. The audience gasped and whispered, stunned.

"The prisoner is acquitted," announced the yemat. "He is to be freed immediately."

The guards came forward and unbound him, and Idano walked over from his seat. "I spoke with the Council earlier," he murmured, steering him out the double doors, still surrounded by guards. "They have not decided on the matter of succession, but they have agreed to let you stay in the Anderthan wing of court. Under guard, for your protection."

Bethaer nodded, rubbing his wrists. Was it truly over so quickly?

"What of her, the princess?" he asked the man, who shook his head.

"It is better if your highness refrain from even speaking of her," he advised. "She gave witness in secret, so none but the High Council know what she said. The clerk was not even allowed to record her testimony."

His heart squeezed. She must have wanted their marriage to remain hidden until the end. He swallowed. What would happen next?

"For now, bathe, eat, and rest," the man directed him, and he nodded. There would be time enough to worry tomorrow.

They reached his new chamber quickly and a private bath was arranged. He soaked in the large tub until his skin wrinkled and the water turned cold. And when he finally dressed, he ate his fill of the fresh vegetables and bread and eggs. There was even meat, and he laughed, chewing the tender flesh with relish. How long it had been since he'd tasted such food.

She must be eating well too, he thought. She'd been so thin, too thin when he last held her in his arms. But she'd looked healthy and strong, that day at the Council, when she had barged in and demanded to be heard.

He smiled, savoring the memory. He had never seen her so bold before. He had never seen a great deal of her nature, he realized now, for she'd always been so careful to hide herself around him. Perhaps, he thought, her request to marry him, to lie together on their wedding night, had been less out of character than he first assumed.

She was free, now. She could act as she pleased, and she was going to bear his child.

Stomach full, he flung himself on the soft bed, not bothering to undress.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he awoke with clarity and smiled. Rising, he called for a servant to help him ready for the day and took his breakfast in his room. Sitting back from his meal, he saw Idano appear at the open door, frowning.

"What is it?" Bethaer asked, worried. Had the Council convened again so soon?

"Her highness, Princess Litheian, wishes to speak with you," the man replied. "But I strongly discourage you from agreeing to --"

Bethaer stood, ready. "I will see her," he said, more confidently than he felt.

"Are you certain, your highness?" Idano asked. "You were acquitted only just yesterday."

"If she wishes to speak with me, I cannot refuse her."

The other man sighed. "Very well, but I insist that you meet somewhere public, to preserve your reputation."

"As long as she agrees to it," Bethaer said, and the man nodded.

Soon he was being shaved and his hair cut short. Rubbing the soft skin of his face, he left, following a servant to a full, green garden.

She was sitting on a bench under a tree, being fanned by a maidservant against the late summer heat. She waved off the woman as she saw him approach, and he bowed low to her. She motioned wordlessly to the empty space next to her, and hesitantly he sat.

It was awkward, knowing they were being watched by unseen eyes, but she seemed unfazed. She had grown even more since he'd last seen her, and he quickly did the calculations. It had been six months since the ritual. The child must be moving by now, he realized, and he longed to feel it, but dared not ask.

"I told the High Council about our contract," she said.

He nodded. "Thank you for testifying for me, il-susashai."

She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was tight. "Why did you not tell them about it? You entered no evidence, asked for no witnesses. If I hadn't awakened, they would have --" She stopped abruptly, turning away from him.

He couldn't have her thinking such terrible thoughts, not in her state. "What do you mean, that you awoke?" he asked. "Were you... sleeping... the whole time?"

"Yes," she answered, her voice strained. She turned back to him, face wet and eyes red, and his heart constricted. He wanted to reach out and wipe away her tears, but he resisted the urge.

"I thought I had lost you," he said quietly. "No one would tell me what was happening with you, whether you were alive or dead."

She moved her hands to her belly, holding herself. "The physician said I healed well. She says... I have only the gods to thank for surviving."

"You are well then, il-susashai?"

"Yes," she answered.

"And... the child?" he ventured.

"The midwife says all is well," she assured him.

"I am glad to hear it, il-susashai."

They stayed silent for a while, listening to the birds calling overhead.

"You still haven't answered my question," she said at length. "Why did you not tell them of our agreement?"

He swallowed hard. "I swore to you, il-susashai, that I would not reveal our secret. I signed my seal."

"Is that worth more than your life?" she demanded loudly, and he flinched.

"I thought that you were gone or -- that you'd left me behind. I didn't think I deserved to live, not if you...."

She turned to him, eyes wide. "I would never have abandoned you," she said firmly. "And even if I had died, it wouldn't have been your fault."

He shook his head. "I should never have left you. I should have brought you with me. I should have refused to go without you. I should have --"

"Stop!" she told him, and he did. "I know what your father was like," she said more quietly now, and he winced, remembering the blood that had caked her back. "You did the best that you could."

He shut his eyes, afraid to ask her, but more afraid of not knowing. "Did they hurt you, my men?"

Softly she answered, "Yes."

He turned away from her, biting back curses. He felt her hand on his arm and turned, surprised.

"The baby is kicking," she said. "Would you like to feel?"

He opened his mouth, wanting to say yes, to feel the certain signs of life from the child he thought he'd lost. "I cannot."

"You can," she countered, taking his hand, and he didn't pull away.

She placed his palm high on her belly, near her engorged breasts, and he gasped as he felt a jolt move through her womb.

"He likes to move when I'm resting," she said. He nodded, entranced, and she sat back, letting him move his hands to better feel as the little one tapped and pushed against her.

He felt a rush of emotions threatening to engulf him and he shoved them down, too afraid to let them loose in front of her. Who was he to smile or cry before her, who must bear the weight of his mistakes?

When the baby settled, he pulled away. "What will you do now?" he asked her, dreading her answer. Would they part ways? Would he ever meet his child? He swallowed down the pain that cinched at his heart, thinking that he might never see this life he had helped create. Did he even deserve that honor?

She put a hand to her belly. "I gave everything I had to protect this child," she said, pain and iron in her voice. "And I will do so after I meet him as well."

His heart quivered. In his mind he could already see her nursing the baby, singing to the infant in her sweet voice. "You will be a wonderful mother, il-susashai."

"But why does it feel like you're saying goodbye to me, each time you speak?" she asked, turning to look at him with tears in her eyes once again.

"I promised you," he answered, throat constricting. "I will not claim your child unless you ask me to."

"So if I don't ask, you will just... go on, living without me?"

"If that is as you wish, then so be it," he replied, voice thick.

"You will not ask anything of me?" she said, tears spilling down her beautiful face.

He had already taken far too much from her. "I could not ask anything more of you, ever, il-susashai."

"Why do you call me that?" she demanded. "Why will you not speak to me as my husband?"

Barely daring to breathe, he asked her, "Am I your husband still?"

She wiped at her eyes. "Of course you are."

"You need not stay bound to me," he reminded her, but desperately wishing that she would -- that he could live his life alongside her, and their child, as long as the gods allowed him.

"I want to," she said, her voice steely beneath her crying. "What do you want?"

He could feel himself trembling. "If you wish me to remain your husband, then I will."

"But is that what you want?" she asked hotly, glaring at him. "If you only say you will do as I wish, then I will let you go. I will not keep you if you do not ask me to."

He shut his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to compose himself. The yearning in his heart was clear, and he summoned the courage to speak it. "I would like very much to remain your husband. But what is most important to me is the well-being of our child. I do not know if it would help or hinder her to be her father."

Her voice was soft, almost too gentle for him to hear. "But you already are."

He smiled, tears leaking down his face. "Will you allow me in her life, then?"

"Of course," she replied, and he felt her fingers on his face, brushing away his tears.

He opened his eyes and took her hand, daring to kiss it. "Then I dearly desire to stay bound to you, im-uvnya."

"Then let us tell my family," she said, and his breath hitched, heart hammering. "Is this not what you want?" she asked, seeing his face.

"They will not accept me," he replied, remembering Leitham's cold eyes.

"They'll have to," she answered, jutting out her chin. "Because I'll reveal our secret to all of Celandron." She paused. "Unless you do not wish me to, im-uvnyan."

He squeezed her hand, smiling at her confidence. "No, I would have the whole world know."

***

"Help me up," Litheian said, and her husband rose, supporting her as she stood.

She took his arm and directed him toward the wing of the castle from which she knew her family was watching, waiting. Slowly they walked in the ambling way she had yet to grow used to. She was still weak from months of near starvation, and the added weight of the child kept her from trying to test her limits.

Her maidservant hurried out to attend to her, gasping at her tear-stained face. "Oh, your highness!" she cried, bringing forth a clean cloth from one of her many pockets.

"I'm fine, Lisse, that isn't necessary." Still the young woman hovered around her. "Please fetch my royal mother," Litheian directed her, and she nodded and rushed off.

She sighed, already tired from the morning's emotions. The baby made her weepy and angry and exhausted as it pleased him.

Already her stepmother was walking toward her at a brisk pace, followed by her attendants. She barely glanced at the prince by her side, taking Litheian's free hand in her own.

"Are you feeling well, my daughter?"

"Yes, royal mother," she replied. "His highness is simply escorting me."

Her stepmother cast a sharp glance at him. "That's unnecessary."

"No, royal mother, it is his place to do so," she said firmly.

Her stepmother sucked in a breath, glaring openly at him. "Don't tell me you want to be recognized as the child's father," she said, aghast. "After you've already been set free --"

"Royal mother, please," Litheian interrupted. "Help me sit down in my chamber. I wish to speak with you."

Her stepmother spared a last angry look at him, taking her other arm and leading her to a cushioned chair by the empty fireplace in her room.

Once she was seated, the prince stepped away. "I will leave you to talk," he said, bowing.

"Stay," she told him, but he shook his head.

"I will be waiting outside," he promised, and bowed to his unknowing mother-in-law, who refused to acknowledge him.

When the door shut, her stepmother turned to her. "You don't need him," she said firmly, taking her hand. "No one will judge you for bearing a child out of wedlock. All of Celandron knows what happened."

"Royal mother, please," Litheian began, but her stepmother stopped her.

"I can't sit here and watch you do this, my daughter. How can I do anything but protest when you refuse to tell us what you said to the Council to make them let him go?" She smoothed Litheian's hair, looking into her eyes.

"Emma," Litheian called her, and her stepmother sighed.

"How does he have this hold on you, when you're so stubborn in every other way?"

Litheian took her stepmother's hands, clasping them firmly. "It is because I am so stubborn that he agreed to marry me, royal mother."

Her stepmother gasped and tried to pull away, but Litheian held tight. "Don't do this, my daughter," she pleaded, but Litheian shook her head.

"It is already done, royal mother." Her stepmother freed herself and stood, shaking her head. "We were married in secret two days before the spring festival," Litheian told her, and she froze.

"Is this true?" she asked, staring into her eyes.

"Yes, royal mother," Litheian said firmly, holding her gaze.

"Is that what you told the Council? That you allowed him to -- because you were already married?"

"It is not just what I told them," she replied, "it is the truth. We made a contract and found a witness and --"

"Where is this witness?" her stepmother demanded, pacing. "Why did they not come forward?"

"He died," Litheian replied haltingly. She hadn't seen it, exactly, but --

"How convenient!" her stepmother shouted, and Litheian winced, angry.

"It was the furthest thing from convenience, royal mother!" she shouted back. "He rescued me from the rashd, but a soldier followed us and -- and then he --"

She stopped, not wanting to remember the feeling of him on top of her, inside of her after he'd tackled her to the forest floor. "Everything went dark," she said, "but my husband found me. He called to me, royal mother, when I was ready to die. He brought me back."

Litheian was crying freely now, and her stepmother came and wrapped her arms around her.

"Oh, my daughter," she crooned, rocking her in her seat. "Even if he was kind to you, even if he agreed to do this for you, do you truly wish to bind yourself to him for the rest of your life?"

"If we are not right for each other, then we will divorce," she argued. "He will let me go, royal mother. He was willing to walk away before I begged him to tell me how he truly felt."

"And how is that?" she asked, petting Litheian's hair.

"He wants to be my husband, royal mother. He wants to be a father. He wants it so much, but he blames himself, he thinks he doesn't deserve us --" She choked back another sob, and her stepmother hushed her, letting her cry into her dress until her tears finally slowed.

Pulling away, her stepmother said, "I'll hear it from him now."

"Royal mother!" she protested, watching as she opened the door, startling the prince, who was stood in the open hallway.

"My daughter tells me you're already my son-in-law," she said coolly, and he looked to Litheian, who nodded.

"Yes, il-susashai," he replied, bowing.

"Why?" she asked, her voice simmering. The prince looked at Litheian again, but the older woman stepped between them with a hiss, shutting the door.

Litheian sat back, truly exhausted now. She would take a nap, she decided, standing heavily and making for the bed. Using the stool to clamber onto the mattress, she lay down carefully on her side, as the midwife had instructed her to sleep. She closed her eyes, and the images came to her mind unbidden, the darkness and the smell and the searing pain --

She forced herself to inhale slowly, exhale slower, feeling her heart calm in response. She wasn't going to let the memories take hold of her, not now, when she had to be strong for her child, and her husband too. Breath by breath she counted, and slowly drifted into sleep.

When she awoke, Bethaer was seated at her bedside, dozing. He roused as she sat up, taking her hand.

"How do you feel, im-uvnya?"

She was hungry and her bladder ached, needing to be emptied. "Help me to the chamber pot," she said, holding out her arms for him to help her off the bed.

The door burst open and she nearly pissed herself. Leitham stormed in, scowling at the sight of them.

"Is it true?" he demanded. Litheian sighed. Her stepmother must have informed him, or else he'd heard from a servant listening to them talking. It didn't matter either way.

"Go away, brother," she said crossly. "I need to use the chamber pot."

"You can do it without him, can't you?"

Litheian groaned and lay back down. Her husband hovered over her, and she shut her eyes, suddenly too overwhelmed to make decisions anymore.

"I will fetch your maidservant to help you," her husband told her. "And then I will send for some food." She nodded, too tired to thank him, and felt him kiss her forehead. "I will be back soon, im-uvnya."

There was a moment of peace, and then her brother spoke again. "You're really going to stay with him?"

"Go away," she mumbled, "unless you want to help me with the chamber pot yourself."

He sighed, and then she heard Lisse's concerned voice. "Your highness!" she exclaimed, shutting the door, hopefully right in her brother's face. She smiled at the thought and sat up again for Lisse to help her down.

***

Bethaer ignored the looks from the Berelthian servants as he made his way to the little kitchen that was housed in this section of the court grounds. Walking through the door, he caught the eye of a cook who took his time before coming over, wiping his hands with a sour look on his face.

"I've been sent to bring food for her highness," Bethaer said.

The cook looked him up and down and replied, "I will send a servant to her room."

"I can bring it myself," he said.

"I will send a servant to her room," the cook repeated through gritted teeth.

"Then I'll wait," Bethaer replied, turning to leave without waiting for an answer.

He wondered how long this treatment would last. Would their attitudes change simply because their princess announced their marriage? There wasn't much to know about him other than his part in the ritual at the spring festival, for he had kept an intentionally low profile. But his father and third brother's reputations preceded him, and playing the part once he became heir surely hadn't won him any favors. He was at best a womanizer, at worst a jealous monster.

He spied a servant leaving with a tray of food and followed her at a distance back to his wife's room. The serving girl squeaked in terror when she exited and saw him standing there, and he wondered how it was so many people recognized him. He waited until the girl scurried out of sight to knock and was greeted by his wife's maidservant, whose face settled into a neutral expression.

"Let him in, Lisse," his wife said over her shoulder, and she did.

He sat down at the table across from her and watched as she ate. This must have bothered her, for she instructed her attendant -- Lisse -- to fetch another meal for him, though he tried to argue he wasn't hungry.

She was eating too quickly and when she coughed, he pushed forward her cup of water to remind her to drink as well.

She sighed. "Everyone else is already fussing over me," she said exasperatedly. "I need at least one person to remember that I'm not a fragile bowl of Heldari glass!"

"You did not see what we did," he replied quietly, remembering how raw and bloody she had been. "What my father did to you --" He broke off, swallowing. If her brother's words were true, his father must have whipped her to the bone. "We just need time. I need time," he amended. "This is only the third time I have seen you since I left you in Jashil. And your family... they have not seen you in years."

"They've had a month," she huffed.

"A month is not enough time, im-uvnya," he replied, remembering how long ago it had been since his third brother had captured her. "They missed the years you grew into a woman. In their memories you are still a child. And when they finally found you again --"

"I know," she interrupted.

He let the matter fall, not wanting to belabor a point she must already be reminded of each time she saw her family. But he could only imagine the fear and pain they had endured, spending a month next to her wounded body, strung between life and death.

Litheian frowned at her food, pushing it about with her spoon. "Where is the marriage contract?" she asked abruptly.

"Is it not in your hands?"

"No, I merely told them where to find it." She sighed. "I must speak with the Council."

He tapped at the table. "Eat first, im-uvnya."

"I'm already full," she complained. "I'll finish it when I'm hungry again," she told him, and he relented.

She sat back and closed her eyes. "What did you speak of with my royal mother?"

Bethaer winced, for the woman's words had cut him deep. "She told me that if I intend to remain your husband, I should live every day atoning for abandoning you to my father -- the both of you. And I will," he promised, reaching across to take her hand.

She nodded, her eyes still shut. "Come here," she said. "The baby is kicking again."

He bit back a smile. "You showed me already, im-uvnya."

"And I intend to show you again, and again. You missed the first time I felt him," she added accusingly.

He stood and walked over to stand above her, reaching down and feeling her swollen womb. There it was, next to her ribs: a clear kick, and then another. He smiled broadly, but faltered when he saw she had opened her eyes and was watching him.

"You needn't hide how happy you are, im-uvnyan," she said, but he pulled away.

He shook his head, guilt and shame rising in his chest. "I hurt you so much when I put this child in you."

She opened her mouth to respond, but a knock came at door, and her maidservant's voice called, "Your highness?"

"Come in," his wife replied, and the woman entered bearing a second tray of food, which she set down at his seat.

He picked at it, still full from breakfast after so many weeks of nothing but a prisoner's sparse fare.

His wife watched him, frowning. "You must eat also, im-uvnyan. Is it not past midday?"

"It is," he answered. "But I am not very hungry."

"You don't have a child pressing on your organs to make them small," she countered, and he blinked. Was that why she'd felt full so soon?

Not wanting to tell her how poorly he'd been eating, he dutifully swallowed down more until his stomach protested, and he set down his spoon.

"You need to regain your strength," she said. "I know how prisoners are fed."

He flushed; so much for hiding it from her. "I truly am too full to eat another bite."

"Then come walk with me. It settles the child."

He rose and helped her up, and they walked arm-in-arm about the garden until she tired and he steered her toward her room again. Feeling the day too hot, he charged the maidservant with finding something cooling for his wife to drink. Upon seeing her legs stretched out as she sat down, he wordlessly sat on the floor before her, removed her slippers, and began to massage her swollen feet.

She sighed and allowed him to do so until her servant returned. "Let Lisse do that, im-uvnyan."

"My hands are stronger, im-uvnya," he argued levelly.

"She is still better at it than you," she replied, and he relented.

Once the maid had left for some other errand, she spoke up again. "You still have the dignity of a prince to maintain."

"Not for much longer," he retorted. He doubted the Council would allow him to succeed his father. He wouldn't, if he were them.

"Even so, you're the husband of a princess," she reminded him.

"I was not there for you before, so let me at least tend to you now," he told her, looking into her eyes beseechingly.

She opened her mouth to argue further, he assumed, but then sighed and nodded. "When Lisse returns, you should speak with my royal father."

"About what?" he asked, already dreading the conversation.

"I don't know," she replied tiredly. "But he sent word for you, when you were out."

"Shall I go with you tomorrow, then, to speak with the Council?"

She shook her head. "I'll go today before supper. Don't look at me like that," she replied to the face he must have made, not wanting her to go alone. "Remember, I'm not made of glass. I'm merely carrying a child."

"Have your brother escort you, at least," he suggested, and she sighed again. "Please, im-uvnya," he said, coming to kneel before her.

"If you insist, im-uvnyan," she replied, but she was smiling.

Wordlessly she took his hand and brought it up to her belly, and he felt their child kicking yet again. "She moves so much," he said, wondering if the feeling disturbed Litheian's sleep.

"He really does," she replied.

Bethaer leaned carefully against her, feeling her breathing slow and even, punctuated by the baby's movements. His heart swelled to think of meeting his child, but the guilt rose up in him again, dampening his joy.

It was his fault that she carried this child, he knew. If only he'd found some way to dissuade his father, some method to keep her from conceiving. She would be able to return home unburdened, truly free to begin her life anew.

He felt her hand on his cheek and blinked, surprised. "What are you thinking to be frowning so?" she asked him.

It took him a moment to say the words. "I am so sorry, im-uvnya."

"For what?" He could hear the confusion in her voice, which pained him all the more. Did she really not blame him?

"For giving you this child," he murmured, not daring to look up at her.

She sighed. "I knew it was a possibility," she said softly. "And I didn't want it -- because I feared I wouldn't be able to keep him safe. But I loved him from the moment I knew he was inside me," she continued, voice tight. "He is our child, im-uvnyan. I will never regret him."

Her hand against his face was trembling, and he took it in his own and kissed it. "I will look after the both of you with everything I have," he promised, "though I have very little now."

She laughed softly at this and pulled his hands back to her swollen womb. "I know you will," she said, tracing her fingers across his shorn hair. "And I've been thinking of sounds for his name," she added, "so that you can choose his secret name."

He smiled at the reminder -- he'd almost forgotten it was his duty as a father. "What sound do you like best?"

"M, I think," she answered.

He hummed in response, already sounding names in his mind as he felt the baby renew her kicking. He stroked Litheian's belly as he knelt before her, and they stayed like that until the maidservant returned.

Reluctantly he stood to go, bracing himself to face his father-in-law.

***

Litheian watched her husband square his shoulders and exit her chamber.

"Lisse, please bring my brother," she told her maid, and the woman left, returning quickly with Leitham at her heels.

"Is something wrong, sister?" he asked, scanning her form, then scowling. "Where's your so-called husband? He should be waiting on you hand and foot."

"Our royal father sent for him," she told him, annoyance rising in her once more. He hated the sight of her husband with her and hated the sight of him away from her. Could nothing please her brother?

"I see. Then what do you need?"

"Escort me to the Council," she said firmly.

He scowled again. "I never should've helped you the first time."

"You would have crippled my husband for life?" she snarled, full of sudden rage, and he flinched. "You will help me speak with the Council once more, brother, unless you wish my child to be born a bastard."

He relented, helping her to stand and supporting her at her side as they ambled toward the center of the complex, Lisse hovering behind them. The High Council chamber was vacant, so they redirected toward the elders' private offices. There was always at least one on duty, she knew, and the servants directed her to the chief elder's office, where her attendant ushered them inside.

Sitting heavily, Litheian turned to her brother. "Stay," she commanded him, and he sat down next to her.

The old woman regarded her silently for a while before she spoke. "I heard you met with him this morning."

Litheian nodded, unsurprised. The whole court must know about it by now, and that he'd escorted her to her quarters. "We wish to reveal our marriage contract," she said.

The elder reached into her desk, pulling forth the bound scroll, and set it before her.

"I wish to reveal it at a Council meeting," Litheian clarified, and Leitham shifted uneasily next to her.

"If you do so, it will be subject to examination by the representatives of every signatory to the Treaty," the woman told her.

"We have nothing to hide," Litheian said firmly, and the old woman nodded, reaching forward to pick it up again.

"But first," she added, "I would have my brother read it himself."

The elder withdrew her hand, her gaze piercing Litheian's. "You must learn to get to point quickly, child."

Litheian flushed, and the woman gestured to the scroll, which Leitham reached for hesitantly. Untying it, he unrolled the document, blinking in surprise as he saw the title.

"You wrote it yourself?" He must have recognized her hand.

"Its secrecy was paramount," she answered. "If we were discovered --" She broke off, not wanting to think on what Olandrion would have done.

Leitham squeezed her shoulder, then returned to reading. His eyes opened wider the further he read until he reached the end, staring at the wax seal her husband had made.

"He really agreed to these terms," he murmured in wonder, then turned to her, realization setting in. "This is why he refused to say anything."

"Yes, brother," Litheian sighed. "Now will you stop hating him?"

Her brother glanced at the elder, who was regarding them thoughtfully. "Let us speak more on this later, sister."

He tied up the scroll again and returned it to the elder's waiting hands, standing and bowing to her before helping up his sister. Litheian thanked the elder and nodded politely, unable to bow properly in her state. The old woman nodded back, putting away the contract, and waved them off.

Returning to her chamber, they found her husband already there. Once Litheian had shooed her brother out the door, she sat next to him by the empty fireplace.

"Why did my royal father wish to speak with you?" she asked him.

"He says that if we insist on living as husband and wife, he will grant me a title with land."

Litheian blinked, surprised. "He'd do that for you?" She'd assumed they would live in the royal palace.

"Not for me, im-uvnya. For you, and for your child." He raked a hand through his short hair. "How close is Etheria to Lamath?"

She frowned, trying to remember. "Only a few days' journey, I think."

He nodded. "He wants to keep you close. And to keep an eye on me."

Litheian sighed. "I showed my brother our contract, when I spoke to the chief elder just now."

He eyed her warily. "And how did he react?"

She smiled, remembering the look on his face. "He can scarcely believe you agreed to it." Litheian couldn't wait for the rest of the court to make the same discovery her brother had. How vindicating it would be. She reached out and took her husband's hand, holding him tight. "I will see your reputation put to rights," she said, and he smiled.

"You are so much more sure of yourself, im-uvnya," he murmured. "And so commanding."

She blushed and bit her lip, glancing at him. "Do you dislike it?"

"I could never," he said firmly. "You cannot imagine how painful it was, watching you cower at the slightest sound, creeping about like a mouse. I still remember the day you first wore the sandals I found for you. That you let me hear you as you walked down the steps." His eyes were shining at the memory.

"I was testing you," she told him, thinking back on that day. "I wanted to see how much of my presence you would tolerate."

"I thought as much," he replied, smiling again. Then his face turned serious. "You still have not finished your midday meal."

Litheian glanced over to the table, realizing she was hungry yet again. She held out her hand and he came over to help her stand. They both finished their food and then went for another walk in the gardens. She grew sleepy once more, and he watched over her as she fell asleep.

When she awoke he was gone. Lisse was seated next to her, at her sewing.

"Where's my husband?" Litheian asked her, and the maidservant pursed her lips.

"He left after you fell asleep, saying it was not proper to stay so late."

Litheian sighed. She had wanted to ask him to stay for the night, to take one of the spare beds. But the eyes on him must have been harder to bear than he let on. She bit her lip. Would he even agree to sharing a room, once their agreement was made known?