The Dove and the Hawk Pt. 07

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

Content warning: references to violence, references to sexual assault

***

After finishing his breakfast, Bethaer called for writing tools. If he were to become a Berelthian lord, there was much he needed to do once they arrived at their new home. He'd only just taken up his quill to start making a list when Idano appeared at his door.

"The Council has convened a special open meeting," he said, and Bethaer nodded. "It will be starting shortly," he continued, and Bethaer nodded again, making no move to stand. He knew what it was about, and his presence wasn't required.

Idano cleared his throat, and Bethaer turned to look at him.

"The High Council requested your attendance directly, my lord prince," he said, and Bethaer set down his quill. They must have decided on the matter of succession, though it was rather soon to have found his replacement.

Arriving at the Council hall, he sat at the far end of the gallery, Idano by his side. The rest of the court avoided the pair, sitting as close to the front as possible. He wished it didn't bother him so much, but every time they turned to look, open disgust on their faces, he felt a wave of shame.

The yemat brought the Council to session, calling upon Litheian, who stood, supported by her brother.

"The Council has agreed to your request, your highness," they said. "Do you have any objections to presenting the evidence obtained from your testimony, here and now?"

"None." Her voice was strong, and he smiled.

Idano coughed beside him, and Bethaer glanced at the man, who was frowning. No doubt smiling was also something he disapproved of, for the sake of his reputation. Bethaer shrugged at him. The man's opinions wouldn't hold force much longer, for he planned to renounce his Anderthan citizenship soon.

"In that case," continued the yemat, "the Council has instructed me to formally present the document for inspection." They waved forward a servant, who brought forth the scroll and set it on a large table that had been placed in the center of the hall. It was untied and rolled flat, weighted on each corner with stones for easy reading.

The crowd murmured, people shifting in their seats to get a better look. Bethaer ignored the curious glances sent his way, wondering who would be the first to step forth.

At the front of the room, King Endorran stood. "I, Endorran Bereltha, formally request permission to inspect this evidence."

"You may step down," the yemat said, and Bethaer watched as his father-in-law descended toward the table.

He leaned over the document, nodding as he read it. Then he looked up and said, loudly, "I, Endorran Bereltha, request to verify the seal on this document."

Bethaer's stomach lurched. Was he going to contest the marriage contract? Idano settled him with a hand on his arm, and Bethaer realized he had been on the verge of standing.

"Whose seal do you wish to confirm?" the yemat asked.

"It is the seal of the heir to House Andertha," the king replied.

The crowd buzzed, openly turning toward where he sat, but he kept his eyes on the table.

"Who holds the seal?" the yemat asked, and Idano stood.

"I, Idano Jerehan, representative of Anderar, hold the seal of the heir to House Andertha."

"Come forward," the yemat replied, and Idano did so, the crowd growing louder with anticipation. "Silence!" called the yemat as Idano brought forth Bethaer's signet ring, holding it up for all to see before handing it to Endorran.

Bethaer held his breath as his father-in-law inspected the face of the ring, then the seal on the wax, then pressed the two together. The ring sat neatly on the seal, fitting perfectly.

"I, Endorran Bereltha, verify this is indeed the seal of the heir to House Andertha," the king said in a booming voice.

Bethaer exhaled, relieved. The crowd tittered, still unaware of the contents of the document.

After Endorran returned to his seat, a gray-haired man stood. "I, Revat Sytheira, request permission to inspect the evidence."

Bethaer leaned forward to get a better look at the older man. This must be his great-uncle, his mother's father's brother and the king of Sytheire.

"You may step down," the yemat repeated.

Bethaer watched as his kin approached the table, pausing as he reached close enough to see the title of the document. He leaned closer, eyebrows raised as he read it slowly. Reaching the seal at the end, he lifted the ring, comparing the wax with the mold, then set it back down.

"I, Revat Sytheira, verify this is the seal of the heir to House Andertha." The old king returned to his seat as the crowd murmured, growing impatient.

Bethaer watched his great-uncle put his mouth to the ear of the younger man sat beside him, who gasped and looked over at the far end of the gallery where he sat. He gave a polite nod to the man, who must be the king's heir, his cousin. This only enlivened the crowd, and several members of the high court rose at once.

Bethaer's attention wandered as one by one the monarchs and representatives of Celandron read the marriage contract with their own eyes. He looked over to where his wife sat near the front, holding her stomach. Was the baby kicking again? Or perhaps she was hungry? He longed to return to her side, though he would wait until the session was adjourned.

"Silence!" called the yemat, and the crowd hushed once more. "The High Council calls Bethaer Andertha to stand in judgment."

He rose, ignoring Idano's curious expression.

"On the matter of the succession of House Andertha, the Council has decreed thusly," the yemat began. "Considering the nature of the evidence presented before the Council, it is decided that Bethaer Andertha and Litheian Bereltha shall rule Anderar jointly until such time as a child of theirs reaches maturity."

Bethaer stood frozen to the spot, too stunned to listen as the yemat continued. He was to inherit the crown? He looked over at his wife, but she was too far away to see her face properly. Not only would he be king, but she would be queen in her own right, too. His heart raced, thinking back to how much work he'd thought lay before him that morning, when he'd had only a small estate to consider. But this... putting Anderar to rights....

He clenched his fists, thinking on how many men yet lived who had violated his wife. He would find them all. He would see them hanged, have them beg for mercy --

"The Council is adjourned!" the yemat announced, and the crowd broke into commotion.

Idano turned and handed him a large, heavy ring that he recognized. His father's.

Bethaer shook his head. "Later," he told the man, clasping him by the shoulder as he turned to go.

He descended into the noisy crowd, now clamoring to read the marriage contract still sitting out on the table. Silently he approached it, removing the ring and the weights and rolling up the document. No one tried to stop him, so he tied it off and brought it over to his wife. Unsure of what to say, he offered it to her, and she accepted it with a smile.

"Let us eat, im-uvnyan," she said loudly, and his heart fluttered to hear her calling him in front of so many people.

"As you wish, im-uvnya," he replied, helping her to stand.

The crowd parted before them.

***

"Absolutely not, sister." Leitham spread his arms out, blocking the doorway.

Litheian sighed, exasperated. "I'm queen of Anderar now, brother. My place is in the Anderthan part of court."

"You'll be returning home soon. Why move rooms for only a few days?" he argued.

"Fine," she hissed, "but only if my husband moves here as well."

"Fine," he agreed. "He can take the empty room."

"No, brother," she corrected him. "I mean, here."

"You can't be serious!" he shouted, then turned to look behind him, speaking to someone out of view. "Please, make her change her mind."

"About what?" her husband's voice asked, and he appeared in the doorway.

"She wants you to stay with her here," Leitham said tightly.

Litheian watched her husband's eyes roam the room, gauging its size. He would agree, she guessed, but only if they brought in a second bed.

"Is there another bed that can be moved here?" he asked.

"No," she told him at the same time Leitham said "Yes."

She glared at her brother. "No," she repeated firmly. "You're my husband, and this bed is large enough for us both."

Leitham threw up his hands and stalked off. Her husband shut the door and walked over to where she sat, sitting in the chair next to her and taking her hand.

"I will stay nearby if you wish, im-uvnya," he said. "I will even sleep here on the floor if you ask me to stay."

"You are my husband," she said once more. Why did everyone keep forgetting this?

"I am, but...." His face clouded with guilt.

"You don't trust yourself," she said quietly, and he looked back at her, startled. She turned her hand over, holding him tight. "Do you remember our wedding night, im-uvnyan?

He flushed, looking away.

"You do," she answered for him. "You remember how we fell asleep together."

He nodded, his face still reddened.

"I slept better that night than I have every night here," she told him.

"That is only because you were so tired," he argued.

"Am I supposed to be less tired now?" she retorted, and he sighed.

"You are right, im-uvnya. I do not trust myself with you."

She brought her free hand to his chin, to make him look her in the eye. "Do you intend to hurt me, im-uvnyan?"

"I have already done so," he replied, and his eyes grew distant.

He must be thinking of the spring festival. How roughly he had taken her, after hearing her words. Or the first day they met, when he'd pinned her to his bed to keep her from jumping from his balcony. How cold and empty he'd turned when his men entered the room.

"You've spent too long pretending to be someone else," she said, as the realization came to her. "But I know who you are. Do you not trust me?"

His gaze softened. "I do, im-uvnya."

"I need you beside me," she said, knowing he wouldn't be able to refuse.

He nodded and she released him. "I should go inform them," he said, standing.

"Come back with supper," she instructed him, and he nodded again, leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead.

***

Bethaer awoke, reaching for his wife. Had she said something? He found the space next to him empty, so he sat up, worried. Had she tried to use the chamber pot by herself? But no, that corner of the room, lit still by the lamp, was empty.

His heart was beating in his ears, his hands shaking. Where was she?

A whimpering sound came from the far side of the chamber, and he whipped his head around. Moving to her side of the bed, he picked up the lamp and lifted it to look about the room.

There, by the fireplace, his wife was huddled in the corner. She made another small noise, as though in pain, and he quickly crossed the chamber, moving the chair that she had somehow maneuvered around in her large state.

"Im-uvnya," he said, crouching down.

She flinched back, letting out a small cry, trying to cover her swollen womb with her arms.

"It is only me, im-uvnya. Bethaer, your husband. Look at me," he pleaded, searching her eyes for some hint of recognition.

But they were blank, unseeing. Was she still asleep?

He reached forward and took her by the shoulders, shaking her gently. "Wake up, my love. Come back to me."

For a moment she was still, then her fist hit his jaw, sending him backward. "No!" she cried, kicking and flailing as she fought off invisible attackers. Then she screamed, an eerie, hollow sound that made the hair on his arms stand up straight.

Bethaer watched her, stunned, as she struggled against the air, kicking and screaming all the while. He couldn't make her stop, not without hurting her. But what if she hurt herself instead?

The door slammed open and Leitham's voice shouted, "You bastard!" Bethaer felt the man drag him back, and he let him, feeling too helpless to resist.

Litheian was still crying out, still fighting her nightmare. Leitham looked at Bethaer, then back to his sister.

"I think she's dreaming," Bethaer told him, "but I don't know how to wake her."

Leitham swore. Bethaer blinked, his brain finally offering up an idea. "A physician," he said, looking up at his brother-in-law. "Fetch a physician!"

Leitham swore again and disappeared out the door.

Soon the figure of his mother-in-law appeared, wearing a long nightgown and bearing a lamp. "I was hoping this wouldn't happen," she said quietly, in between Litheian's gasps and moans.

She was barely moving now, but Bethaer didn't dare approach her, lest he trigger another wave of panicked flailing. He could see her hand was battered from hitting the side of the fireplace, but her eyes were still staring off into space, watching something only she could see.

"What do you mean?" he asked her, dazed.

"She was always prone to nightmares as a child," the older woman explained. "She seemed fine after she woke up last month, but now...."

Bethaer swallowed. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have agreed to share a bed."

His mother-in-law was silent for a long while, then said, "Let us wait to hear what the physician advises."

As if summoned, a woman wearing a physician's robes appeared at the doorway. She quickly assessed the situation, scowling at Bethaer. "You, outside."

He stood up and walked out the door, legs as heavy as lead. His cheek smarted, and he rubbed it absently.

Leitham was waiting in the open hallway, pacing by the light of a nearby torch. He stopped when he saw Bethaer's face and gave a low whistle. "She hit you?"

Bethaer nodded. "I tried to wake her, but I only made things worse."

Unexpectedly, his brother-in-law came forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "She doesn't know the difference when she's dreaming. I remember --"

He broke off as the door opened again, and both men turned toward the haggard-looking physician, who stepped out of the room and quietly closed the door.

"Her royal mother managed to wake her," she said tiredly. "Now, al-duyan, tell me what happened."

Leitham looked at Bethaer expectantly, and he remembered that he was a king, now. He relayed how he'd awoken to find her already cowering against the wall, his voice tightening as he described how she reacted when he tried to wake her.

The physician was nodding, which confused him. Was this something she had seen before?

"I believe that what is happening," she began slowly, "is that she feels safe enough, now, that her body has begun to relive the things she experienced when she... wasn't."

Bethaer frowned. "That makes no sense."

She sighed, and he was suddenly aware of how very, very early in the morning it must be. Beyond the colonnade of the open hallway, the stars were still shining brightly.

"Have you ever witnessed soldiers reliving battles in their sleep, al-duyan?" she asked him patiently.

"No," he said, frowning. "Never on the battlefront."

"Precisely," she continued. "While the danger is still present, the body protects itself. But now that it has passed, her wounds will begin to reveal themselves."

He swallowed. "No, that cannot be right. I am to blame. It was my presence that caused this." He would move rooms in the morning, see that her maidservant slept in her chamber instead.

"If your presence did anything, al-duyan," replied the physician, "it made her comfortable enough to begin this process."

He shook his head. "But how do we stop it?"

"We do not," she said simply, and he stared at her. Surely his wife couldn't continue like this. It wasn't safe.

"I agree, the timing is poor," she admitted, and Leitham snorted. She cast him a frigid glare, and he raised his hands in apology. "But there are changes we can make, to make things safer for her. You will need to find a lower bed and move the furniture against the walls at night. I will also have the apothecary concoct a draught for her to take with her supper."

Bethaer nodded, gripping his arm. "I will move out as well."

"No, al-duyan," she replied. "As I said, your presence comforts her. I know it does not seem like it right now," she continued against his protests, "but sleeping by your side should help her move through her pain more easily."

He couldn't believe it. Was he the one dreaming? After all he'd done to her, the idea that his presence could be a comfort to her.... He shut his eyes, remembering what she had told him on their wedding night. I feel safe with you inside me.

It hadn't made any sense back then, but he hadn't questioned it, too caught up in the moment. Looking back, he'd assumed she meant that she felt safe despite his presence in her body, but what if it was because of it instead?

He shook his head again. No, none of it made any sense.

***

Litheian returned to sleep with her stepmother by her side, too embarrassed to call for her husband. When she next awoke, he was seated next to her in bed, reading from a sheaf of papers. Had he gotten any sleep after she'd awakened him?

He looked up and she saw a bruise blooming across his cheek. She sucked in a breath, sitting up and reaching out to caress his face. But her husband flinched at this, and she pulled back her hand.

"Did my brother do that?" she asked him.

He gave a lopsided smile, shaking his head. "No, im-uvnya. It was an accident." She opened her mouth to ask him how, but he changed the subject. "How is your hand?"

She blinked, realizing that her other hand was bandaged and sore. "What did I do to it?"

"You hit it against the fireplace."

She bit her lip, embarrassed again. "How, exactly?"

He put down the papers and took her uninjured hand, looking at her intently. "How much do you remember of last night?"

"We were in bed together," she answered. "Then I was sitting on the floor, and my royal mother was there. I know I woke you, but...." She pushed back a strand of her hair, trying to remember more. A sudden thought froze her blood and she clutched her belly. "I didn't fall, did I?"

"No, im-uvnya," he assured her. "The midwife examined you this morning and said everything is fine. But we will need to change the bed, so it is not so high."

The baby fluttered inside her, and she held herself, relieved. "Did I get down by myself? Why?"

"You were dreaming," he explained. "You do not remember it?"

"No, im-uvnyan." She didn't like the thought of time missing from her memory, even if she had been asleep. "What did I do?"

"When I awoke, you were sitting on the floor by the fireplace. You were crying out, so I went to you, but you did not recognize me." He was speaking calmly, but she could hear the fear underneath. "I tried to wake you, and then...."

"And then what?" she urged him.

His hand tightened around hers. "Try not to be upset," he said, but that only made her more worried.

"What? What happened?" She could hear her voice grow high with fear.

"When I tried to make you come to your senses... you struck me."

It took her moment to absorb his words, and then she pulled back, flushed with shame.

"Forgive me, im-uvnyan," she said, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

"There is nothing to forgive, im-uvnya," he replied easily.

"Still," she murmured, wincing at his mottled skin. No wonder he had shied from her touch.

"You did not know what you were doing," he said firmly.

Litheian shook her head. "But why would I even do such a thing?"

He took her hand again, folding it between his own. "You were trying to protect yourself, and our child."

She opened her mouth to ask from what, but realized the foolishness of the question before it passed her lips. The memories came tumbling back, and she pressed her hand to her mouth.

Bethaer rubbed her back soothingly as she leaned into him, stifling her cries. When her tears had run dry, he brought her water and then returned to her side, holding her close. She felt unworthy of such simple gestures of affection after having hurt him so.

"Why now?" she murmured, mostly to herself. "It's been weeks."

"Hmm," he replied, stroking her shoulder. "I asked myself the same thing, when I first had nightmares."

She looked up at him, surprised. "You did?" She'd never heard him crying out in his sleep in all the months they'd shared his rooms in Jashil.

He nodded, his eyes looking far away. "It was after my first summer of fighting. My father sent me into battle after my sister-in-law died, and I did well enough. But then I came home, and I started dreaming of all the men I'd killed, and the ones I'd failed to save."

Litheian stayed silent. She hadn't witnessed much fighting herself when Igandrion had kidnapped her. The closest she'd come was when he'd dragged her along to his war camp, but she'd never seen so much as a dead body there. Though she would have liked to see his.

"I wondered why I started reliving things once I was safely home again," Bethaer continued. "I even asked the physician last night, but she reminded me."

"What did she say?" she asked him.

His arm around her shoulder tightened. "It takes time for the body to feel safe again. And once it does... the walls it built up start to crumble, and the past comes rushing in."

She bit her lip. It still didn't excuse what she'd done.

"Did you ever hurt anyone, when you were dreaming?" she asked him.

"No," he answered slowly, "but no one ever tried to wake me. I might have done exactly as you did."

"Still," she murmured. "Forgive me, im-uvnyan."

"I told you, you have done nothing that requires forgiveness."

"I didn't tell you about our child," she replied, remembering all the chances she'd had before he'd left the palace.

"I should have been keeping track of that," he countered, and she squinted at him, confused. "The laundresses," he said, as though this explained everything. It took her a moment to understand, but then she sighed.

"You were busy with a war, and your father," she pointed out.

His eyes grew distant, and he shook his head as though shaking off some unwanted memory. "Still," he murmured, and brought her uninjured hand to his lips.

She stifled a sudden giggle, realizing how comical it was, the two of them arguing over who should apologize to the other. "Let's not hold onto the guilt we feel for what we should have done differently," she proposed. "I wouldn't have us rule together, feeling indebted to each other."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again without saying anything. After a moment he nodded and kissed her hand again, and she leaned back against the headboard.

They stayed like that for a time, until Lisse knocked at the door.

Her husband left as her maidservant entered to ready her for the day. She sighed, wishing he would stay. He seemed so comfortable when it was just the two of them alone, but in the presence of others he pulled away, as though ashamed to be at her side. It was only because of what people thought of him, she reminded herself, trying not to feel hurt.

He returned bearing breakfast, and she was about to suggest that they take their midday meal in the large dining hall when there came another knock at the door. Lisse answered it cautiously when no voice called out, only opening the door a fraction.

"Forgive my boldness," said a woman with a Berelthian accent. "The physician Gaormina sent me to speak with her highness."

Bethaer stood, and she reached for him to stay but then saw the smile at his lips. She caught his eyes quizzically, and his smile broadened.

"It is her, the apothecary's assistant I told you of." Litheian blinked, remembering the secret note he had passed on, how long it had taken him to find the answer to her question about the north gate of the palace.

"Let her in," she said, and a short woman with graying hair entered, bowing low.

"My princess," she said, "and al-duyan." Bethaer nodded to her politely, then made to go.

"Stay, im-uvnyan," she said, pleading with her eyes.

He leaned down and murmured in her ear, "You should speak privately." Then he kissed her temple and left.

She blushed at this display of affection, then felt the baby kicking again against her ribs. Was it his voice that made the child move so? She smiled at the thought and waved to the older woman to sit.

"My husband says that you helped us greatly in Jashil, il-shusvya," she said, and the woman nodded. "I would know your name, and your home."

"I am Hysa Deladen," the woman answered. "I was a healer in Omian, before the war. And I am only glad that my service was useful to you."

"You risked a great deal," Litheian replied, touched by her humility.

"Not as much as you did, my princess," the healer said, smiling sadly.

"That was for my own pride and selfishness," Litheian confessed. "You and my husband risked far more." And the sempster, she remembered. She had yet to ask her husband about him, whether he had truly died.

The healer's words brought her back to the present. "Gaormina told me what happened last night," she said delicately. Litheian flushed and looked down. "It is nothing to be ashamed of, my princess," she continued. "I also walk at night without remembering."

Litheian looked up, surprised. "You do?"

The healer nodded. "Ever since I was freed by his highness, your royal brother's forces."

Litheian held her belly, worried. Would she sleepwalk for that long as well? "How often?" she asked.

"Every few days," Hysa answered. "But it is different for each of us. Some walk, others do not. Some remember our dreams, others do not."

Of course, she realized. There must have been many women who were captured and abused by Olandrion's army. She was only the highest in rank.

"Have you ever struck anyone?" she asked softly.

"I have not," the healer answered quietly. "But others have, besides you, my princess."

"Is there a way to stop it?" she asked.

Hysa sat back thoughtfully. "I cannot say what will keep me from walking on any night in particular, but... the more I push away the pain, the more it hurts."

Litheian looked away, out the windows shuttered against the hot sun. It had been all she could manage up until now, pushing down the memories of her time in the rashd, and before then, staying in her husband's chambers after he had left, and before then, being with Igandrion on the battlefront, and before then....

Lisse appeared before her bearing a handkerchief, and Litheian realized she'd been crying. She took it and dabbed at her eyes before turning back to face the healer, feeling ashamed. Surely the older woman had also suffered greatly; who was she to cry before her?

But Hysa smiled encouragingly. "Crying helps," she said simply.

"It's the baby," Litheian told her, and she nodded. "How can I remember such awful things when my every thought affects him?"

"It will affect him even if you do not think on it. It will stay with you longer, even."

Litheian sniffled. "Then what can I do?"

"Allow yourself to feel the pain," she said. "Only for a moment, if that is all you can bear. The past may be terrifying, but it is in the past. You are safe now, in this place. Remind yourself of that."

Litheian nodded, remembering all those empty hours she had suffered with Igandrion. She had dreaded the future and savored the moment before her. But now the future was open and free, stretching forward in a constellation of possible paths. Why did it frighten her so much more?

"I know that to be true," she said softly. "But my heart... my body... it refuses to believe. A part of me is sure this is just a dream, and I will awaken soon back in Jashil. When will I feel it in my bones again, that certainty?"

The healer stretched her arm forward on the table, palm up and open for Litheian to take, if she wished to. And she did. She put her hand in the older woman's warm, strong grasp, feeling more tears leak out of her.

"I cannot say," Hysa replied. "Believing is not like knowing. It comes and goes. Sometimes it stays for an hour, or a day. But then it leaves, and I must remind myself that I will feel safe once again, as I did before. What helps me," she added, "is attending to patients. Perhaps you might find something also."

Litheian held her swollen belly, thinking. When was the last time she felt safe? With surety the answer rose before her: the image of her husband smiling as he felt their child kicking, the feeling of his arms wrapped around her as they fell asleep.

"Im-uvnyan," she said, and cried anew.

"Shall I fetch him, your highness?" asked Lisse, misunderstanding her, but Litheian nodded.

Soon he was at her side, holding her hand and drying her tears. "Stay with me," she told him.

"Yes, im-uvnya," he replied. "I am right here with you."

***

"I am not going home without you, im-uvnyan," Litheian said stubbornly, and Bethaer took a deep breath.

"You will have your royal mother and your maidservant to help you sleep," he said, but she shook her head.

"It isn't about the nightmares," she argued.

"The midwife said you must leave soon, or else it will be unsafe to travel," he reminded her.

"Then come with me," she pleaded.

"One of us must stay here to attend to matters with the court," he said, wishing it weren't so.

"Then I will stay here also," she replied.

He walked over to the bench where she was sat in the garden. "It is not allowed here at court. You know this."

"They'll make an exception," she said, though there was doubt in her voice.

"Even if they do, you should still go home."

She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was tight with fear. "I don't want us to be separated again, im-uvnyan. I can't bear to be away from you."

Bethaer felt his heart squeeze at her words, to hear her say she needed him. He knelt before her on the ground, lightly pressing his palm onto her large belly. "Neither can I," he said softly, "but was it not you who told me that we should keep to the customs as much as we could?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but he spoke first.

"I want our child to be born surrounded by her mother's family." He swallowed, thinking on how his own mother had labored and died without her kin by her side, attended only by servants and midwives. "I want that so much for you, im-uvnya. Do it for me. Please?" He stared deep into her eyes, holding her gaze until she looked away.

"I need you to be there too," she said.

"I will," he replied, but she shook her head.

"What if he comes early? Yours is the first voice he should hear. You can't do that if you aren't there beside me."

"I will be there," he repeated.

"Promise me," she said, putting her hand over his own.

"I cannot." His voice broke, remembering how he'd vowed to keep her safe before, and failed, over and again. "But I swear to you, im-uvnya, I have every intention of whispering our child's secret name in her ear, the first breath that she draws." He rested his forehead against her hand, closing his eyes.

"I know you do," she murmured, running her free hand through his hair. "But I'm so afraid of being apart from you."

His throat constricted, but he made himself speak. "You were alone then. You will have your royal mother, and your sisters, and...."

"Hush," she said softly. "I will do as you wish. But," she added, as he pulled away to face her, "you must come as soon as you can."

"I promise," he told her, and rose to kiss her forehead.

She wrapped her arms around him, and he let her, pretending they weren't being watched by half a dozen servants. When she let go he sat beside her, taking her hand. It was still healing, but she hadn't injured herself further, thank the gods. Now, when she walked at night, he merely sat with her until she either lay back down or awoke on her own. It had only been a few times this past week, but still he worried.

He, too, was terrified of her traveling the mountain roads in her vulnerable state. By tradition, she should have left for home as soon as the child quickened. But she had stayed, waiting for him to be freed, against her family's insistence. He wanted to stay beside her, now, to see with his own eyes that she was safe, to lend his own body to protecting her and their child if necessary. But his conscience would not allow him to abandon his duties as king. It was only the first time, he knew, that he would have to choose between his heart and his people. He could only hope he was making the wisest decision.

At length his wife announced she was hungry again, and they returned to their room, where her stepmother was waiting to hear their decision.

"I will go home, royal mother," she said, and his mother-in-law sighed with palpable relief.

The two began discussing preparations as he left to retrieve food. When he returned, the servants were already bustling about, packing.

"When do you leave?" he asked his wife, sitting down across from her.

"Tomorrow," she answered.

His heart constricted painfully. "So soon?"

"If I don't go soon, I fear I'll change my mind again," she confessed, and he smiled at her candor.

"You had better not make them turn the carriage around after it leaves," he teased lightly, and she rolled her eyes.

They continued chatting comfortably as they ate, and afterwards he found himself dragging his feet, unwilling to leave for his afternoon meeting with Idano and the Anderthan lords.

"Stop dawdling," his wife told him, and he sighed, rising to leave.

"I will see you at supper, im-uvnya."

She smiled. "Yes, im-uvnyan."