Wind ruffles the blue silk curtains, peeling them apart to let in brief waves of pale light. Brielle cannot tell the time of day. Filtered through the curtains, the light is too dim for it to be morning, yet the glimpse of sky is still too bright for it to be night. The world around her feels too quiet; the room too empty.

She rolls onto her left side, eyes adjusting to the dimness in the room. Small bumps coat both her arms and travel toward her stomach. At some time in the night, the fire had fallen to embers and left a growing chill in the air. Having grown accustomed to the warmth of a long-tended fire, Harry would have said something by now and called the servants up to rekindle what little was left of the previous flames.

The only thing beside her is a mound of pillows, fluffed up and lacking the imprint of Harry's head. A stale odor drifts through the air. Brielle forces her gaze to the embers, a distraction to keep her mind from childhood shadows. "Harry?"

No answer.

Brielle bites the inside of her cheek, removes the quilt covering her body, and screams.

Rust-colored blood covers the space beneath and beside her. Something small is wrapped in a soiled sheet near her knees. Her hands are useless pressed against her face, but she can't force them away. Tremors run through every part of her body and shake the tears from her eyes. Brielle doesn't feel the crown slipping down her forehead as her hands reach toward the bundle and remove the covering. Stolen, butchered, and left as a gruesome present, is her child.

A had carrying the summer warmth covers her cheek. Brielle holds her breath and blinks. Green eyes framed by firelight are staring at her. Her heart is still wild with despair and battering her ribs, choking off any attempt of speaking.

Harry's thumbs brush her cheeks. She can see his mouth moving but can't hear the words. The firelight swims in her eyes and she hears him on what must be his fourth attempt. "Elle? It was only a dream. You're alright, dove. I'm here. I'm here."

She cries in his arms until the tears refuse to come and his breathing slows. Unable to find sleep, Brielle stares at the walls, desperate to fill her mind with any detail other than the small, innocent face coated in blood. Darkness is near gone when she calls her ladies to fill the tub for her. Harry moves only to roll onto his side, still at ease with his dreams.

Soon, tendrils of steam float from the bathwater and coat the air in an induced fog. Absent from the heat surrounding her body, Brielle places her hand atop her stomach, feeling the swell of the child beneath, yet not believing the flesh real. When she was younger, she'd heard stories of women who dreamt their child born still as stone. Women who drove themselves to madness in their refusal to rest or leave the child alone, eventually producing the child before it was meant to be born and often killing themselves in the process.

Brielle knows her child is still there—can feel the movement of tiny limbs against her hand—but the thought of blood and small, closed eyelids stains her irises. She won't let the image drive her to madness, yet, she can't help but wonder if the thought itself is a warning of things to come.

The Lightning men from the North have returned to raid again, targeting cities farther inland in search of wealth to rival that of the last conquest. If Alaria doesn't move to forge an alliance with them now, Wayland could sway them first and bathe the Kingdom in crimson fields.

Clarise bursts into the room in a flurry of skirts. "Elle...the Queen wants to speak with you. I told her you were busy but she insists—"

Brielle sighs. "Might as well just let her in." She doesn't know why her mother-in-law would be up at such an hour, but trying to stop the woman will only add fuel to whatever argument she has in mind this time.

To her surprise, Anne takes her time. She isn't wearing any shoes, but she's dressed in her usual finery. "You're up late."

"So are you. Might I ask what I've done wrong this time?"

Anne stands a few feet away from the wash tub, hands folded in front of her. For a long moment, she says nothing, staring at her daughter-in-law's face and twisting her rings. "I'm afraid I'm the one who has done wrong by you. Tonight...I should not have held that dinner, or invited anyone in that room to it. You were right to react as you did, as was my son."

Another nightmare is preferrable. Brielle has observed long enough to know there is always something a royal wants, no matter the act, word, or occasion. She can never tell what Harry's mother wants or if she's being genuine with anything she says. "Have you really come to see me at this hour to apologize for one night?"

In the dim light, the wrinkles beginning to decorate her face are less visible. "One night and many others. Tonight you made me realize how unfairly I've treated you, and how wrong I was about your character. I don't want to make you into the woman my crown made me."

Brielle reaches for Anne's hand and is surprised when it is accepted. "Thank you, that's all I wanted."

The smallest smile appears on her lips. "How are you feeling now that you're so far along?"

"Like a cannonball. I can't do anything and everything feels like it's made of lead. I'm thinking about asking the Lightning men to take me away for payment to help us." She can't stop thinking about the blood.

"The Lightning men?"

Brielle sighs and drags her hand through the cooling water. "We're waging war, are we not? If we don't seek them out for help and Wayland gets to them first, we're as good as ashes."

Men desperate enough to roam the ocean for gold can be bought, if not persuaded to make an arrangement for a future peace. The expression Anne wears reminds Brielle of the odd faces younger children make when they're seconds away from soiling themselves.

"What help could we possibly expect from those...those barbarians?"

"Ships." Brielle can hear the sound of waves swishing against the shoreline, can feel the shifting grains of sand beneath her toes and smell the brine in the air. As beautiful as Alaria is, the Kingdom holds almost no command over the sea and the people it draws ashore. No one in court believes her words to hold any merit, but they will listen to Anne. "We have little more than thirty ships to match up against the combined fleets of Moria and Wayland. If we can't find some means to negotiate a peace treaty, we won't last.

"Alaria has enough food for a seige, but not enough armory's, let alone weapons, to defend ourselves with regardless of whether or not they come by land or sea. The Lightning men have more than enough ships to compensate as well as arms. From what I've heard, they've changed how they structure their raids. Instead of gold, they're fighting for land to settle on, land much different from their own. If we get to them first...we might have a chance to end this war before the fighting starts. Or, at the very least, ensure that we can make a stand."

Anne's jaw hangs open in the most unrefined manner. Brielle laughs much louder than she thought herself capable of, she's too tired to bother feigning apology or excuse. She earns herself a brief scowl before Anne regains control of her stone features.

"What about this situation amuses you?"

The baby is restless and maneuvering its small limbs, adding pressure to Brielle's bladder. "Nothing. I just never thought something I said would make enough sense to break your composure." Brielle is certain she'll never be a woman Anne will approve of, but the slight removal of her mother-in-law's royal mask gives her hope. Maybe one day, she'll make her proud.

A chill sweeps through the room.

Anne has regained her regal stare. "I'll have to think upon it." With a brief wave of her hand, she dismisses herself.

Sunrise greets Brielle with a vibrancy that beckons a headache. Once removed and toweled dry, she reaches into the armoire for a dress she doesn't look at and conducts her routine as her ladies rest. She's trying her best to tend to the rose bushes when Harry wanders out, his shirt full of wrinkles and his hair a mess atop his head.

"I thought I'd find you out here."

Brielle smiles, glancing at him for the smallest of moments before returning to her work. After her discussion with Anne, she didn't feel up to sitting through lessons or trying to parse through where every other Royal was at. Returning to the roses felt natural and eased the vile images resting inside her skull for a moment. Leaving Harry to rest felt right as much as it pained her to leave him alone and wondering what she was up to. "I couldn't stand being inside much longer. Did you sleep well? I'm sorry that I woke you up so early."

He shrugs and reaches to adjust the crown, absent from his forehead. Finding nothing, he blinks and clears his throat. "What was your nightmare about?"

Knowing that silence will only spark his interest further, Brielle examines the rose trapped between her fingers. "Our baby."

Routine shouts from the guards drilling nearby disguise his response, but she knows he's only repeated her words in a question. "It's nothing. All new mothers have such dreams during pregnancy. Really." Even her own words lack conviction.

Harry reaches for her hand and removes the rose from her palm to place it in her sleepless braid. His fingers linger on the thin strands. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Brielle sighs. "I'd rather not, but thank you for asking. Why aren't you with the Council? I thought they had another meeting this morning." She knows they did. Anne planned the dinner for more reasons than boiling her blood and embarrassment. With any luck, what she said will make an impact and sway the direction of everyone involved.

"They aren't interested in anything I have to say, and I would rather tend to my wife."

The sunlight accentuates his lack of sleep and gives him the appearance of someone much older. Smoke from the forges drifts toward the castle, coating the air in a gray haze.

Lost in some part of his head, Harry focuses his attention on the intricate patterns in the leaves of the rose bush. "Did my mother come to speak with you this morning? I thought I heard voices through the wall, but I couldn't tell if I was dreaming or not."

She'd been so caught up in her own feelings that she hadn't stopped to think about how loud she'd spoken. Had she kept him up as well? "Yes, much to my surprise. She couldn't sleep either and wanted to apologize. Do you think...do you think she's being genuine?"

Torn up with hellish images, Brielle didn't think about how out of character the apology was. Anne is a complicated woman, even more so because of her gold-laced veins. Everything seemed genuine, but then again, she was groomed to play a part and she plays it well.

"Hard to say. Mother is...complicated. Then again, I hardly ever see or hear of her roaming the halls so late. And supper went in a different direction than she had planned. Did she say anything else?"

"Sort of. She asked how I was feeling with the baby. Then we discussed what to do about this upcoming war. I suggested we make an alliance with the Lightning men, and then she left."

Harry is silent for too long. She can imagine his crown toppling into the roses if he'd chosen to wear it.

"The Lightning men?"

The tone of his voice has Brielle turning to face him. He doesn't sound amused or seconds from infuriated the way his mother had. She watches the thoughts flutter through his eyes and the thoughtful pinch of his lower lip between his fingers. "Their raids have started to change in both manner and location. The question is whether or not they can be persuaded to join us instead of the others...what did you propose?"

Brielle shrugs. Her fingers search for a loose thread in her dress and come up short. "That we offer them land and gold in exchange for their support with both ships and weapons. If we get to them first, they might be persuaded to join us."

Harry has her in the air with his arms wrapped around her. "Brilliant!" Realizing the new addition is wedged between them, he sets her down and kisses her until she can't breathe. "I love you!"

Another limb-stealing kiss and he's leading her to the Throne Room, a wide grin on his face. There's something off about it, though. Brielle is still trying to piece the strange feeling together as the guards lead them into Richard's line of sight.

He looks like he's just wandered around in the forest for a week. There are no rings on his fingers and he must have slept in his robes, to say nothing of the creases wandering closer to his eyes. "Pity you've come now. You've just missed all the fun."

For once, Harry regards his father with ease, frowning as his mind creates an answer. "We...fun? What happened with the Council?"

A long sigh fills the room as Richard exhales and nods toward both of them. "You chose well by not attending. That Kinsley girl was all over the place, shouting and pointing fingers. Not to mention the other one. A lot of words were cast in your directions. If you had come, I may well no longer have an heir of any sort."

The grin is long since gone from Harry's face. He's careful to avoid the open sentiment. "We are at war then?"

"It has become unavoidable."

Brielle clears her throat as modestly as she can manage. "I might be able to help with that. Have you spoken with the Queen yet?"

Richard waves his hand in front of him. "Not since last night."

A brief squeeze of her hand encourages her to continue. "I spoke with her this morning about a plan if it came to this. We may stand a chance if we act before the others." She explains her plan as briefly as she can manage and holds her breath the moment the words stop.

Richard's ringless fingers tap the arm of his throne. Something short of a noise of appraisal resonates deep in his throat. He looks at Harry and nods. "You're certain this will work?"

Harry's tongue sweeps over his lips. "Nothing is ever certain, but yes, I believe this will work if we act now."

"Take Caldwell and a chest full of gold with you. Send word the moment you have an answer."

Four guards escort them out. Brielle's knuckles are white and fisted in the sides of her dress.