Brielle picks at the beds of her fingernails, their angry flesh begging her to stop. If she stops now, the sliding screech of the swords above will torment her.

Caldwell watches the ancient ceiling, his eyes following the crumbling dust as he asks her if she thinks either of them will survive when the fighting reaches them.

Her toes feel like an entire building fell on them, but she cannot step down. She's too short to see over the balcony overlooking the training grounds. Too short to see what will happen to Harry if his step falters. Four men surround him, taunting him with false arcs and trick steps.

Harry glances up, looking at her with such mischief that she knows he's planned to look weak.

"Yes, he's come too far to fail. He likes to show off."

The rocks holding together the ruined ceiling collapse, dropping Harry in the center of the foul smelling cell.

Harry grins. "Told you I'd come for you."

She blinks hard. Once. Twice. He's still lying there, smiling up at her with his stupidly perfect teeth. Calwell hauls himself to his feet and extends his hand to Harry, who's still watching Brielle, but his smile is faltering.

"Elle?"

A grin springs to her lips: he's really here. He doesn't take two steps before her arms are around him, hugging him as tight as she can manage. She wants to ask what took him so long, but all she can manage to do is laugh.

"How did you fall through the ceiling like that?" Calwell stares at the gaping hole in the brick, watching dust fall as men race through the hallway above, their feet stumbling as they rush over the damage.

Harry follows his gaze, a slow laugh lurching from his throat. "A loose brick caught my shoe. Aylwin will be here soon, his guard drew his sword just before I fell."

"Did you manage to grab the keys?"

The answer in his eyes is obvious enough.

Brielle sinks to the floor, her hands in her lap. She might as well get comfortable until Aylwin's lazy guards discover where the Prince fell. If they're lucky, the bastard will pay them a visit himself. "Stand by the bars with your sword hidden. If they think you're unarmed, they'll come closer."

Harry looks at her as if she's just spoken to him in a made up language.

She laughs and nods to Caldwell for an explanation. "You get to know your guards very well when you're locked in a cell. She's right, though. Aylwin's men are too bored to pay close attention to anything other than conversation."

Sometimes they don't even pay attention to that. More than once, Brielle and Caldwell made up ridiculous stories about their childhood and mythical creatures and not a single guard laughed or bothered to turn their head.

Brielle looks to Harry again. His expression has lost its initial surprise, but the confusion lingers in his eyes. He's cute, even with dirt all over his face.

Harry turns to Caldwell with a mischievous smile. "Would you prefer a sword, or a dagger?"

Metal clashes down the hall. "Dagger, of course." He looks at Harry like they've been brothers this whole time: trading insults and secret jokes their entire lives.

A loose string scratches Brielle's chest. She didn't take the proper care when she mended her dress after Aylwin took it upon himself to inspect what he already knew to be true.

The guard that was down the hall makes it to the cell as she's searching for a needle tucked in the fabric near her hip. He's too surprised at Harry's presence to form a proper sentence, staring at him like he's walked out of a dream. Brielle finds the needle and watches the movement of her fingers.

No one screams. She thought men made more noise as they died. That they screamed when the skin broke too deep, clutched at helpless wounds and groaned. All this man does is fall, his body making more sound than his mouth.

Harry's not used to fighting people to kill them. He stares at the blood coating his sword, his eyes downcast.

Caldwell reaches for the keys through the bars. The guard fell close enough for him to reach, but only with a lot of painful stretching. He struggles with the lock, turning the key at an awkward angle that makes his wrist feel like it's on the verge of breaking.

Harry shakes his head and returns his sword to its sheath for the moment. His words are trapped in his throat, struggling to be swallowed and determined to take root in his mouth.

Brielle drops her needle and offers him her hand. She knows the action won't bring much comfort, but it will keep his head where it needs to be until they're back inside the castle. "Let's go home."

They follow Caldwell up the stairs, listening to the dwindling sounds of swords and the loud cracks their bones make with each step. Brielle can feel her heartbeat in her throat, hear it in her ears, threatening to break into the hall and draw anyone nearby to their location. Four familiar King's guard rush past them, looking for any stragglers: swords dripping crimson behind them and marking their path.

"They're going the wrong way, you know." Aywlin steps out of the room he interrogated her in, his face blending into the shadows. "Here to take my Princess and her playmate?"

Harry's straightens his shoulders, his expression ice. "I came to end this. No more games, brother."

"Who said we were playing games? Last time I checked, war was not a game."

"Then wage a war like a man and fight me yourself."

Aylwin eyes Brielle and Caldwell. "All right. Once they step away, we'll duel for the crown."

Brielle grips Harry's hand so hard she can feel the bones beneath the surface. Nothing about the duel will be fair. She won't leave his side only to leave it forever. He returns the pressure and places a kiss on her cheek. "I need to do this."

"And I can't live without you. He's a liar! He'll kill you before you unsheath your sword!"

"Do you honestly think that little of me?" She doesn't believe the hurt Aylwin's forced into his voice. He's learned to manipulate where it matters.

Caldwell taps her hand, pressing the smooth hilt of the dagger into her palm as he speaks lowly in her ear. "Wait until he moves. There's a guard hiding behind the door."

She swallows her fear like medicine. He's taught her enough about aim and precision with rat bones, a dagger can't be too different. There will be a lot of blood if she hits the space she's aiming for on his neck.

Reluctant, she releases Harry's hand and walks a few paces down the hall. All she has to do is watch for a slight change in Aylwin's face: that stupid quirk of a smile when he thinks he's gotten his way.

"She's got quite a pretty face, you know. Even covered in filth."

Harry doesn't react, not even a slight turn of his head. Either he's learned how to control his temper, or he's too angry to say anything. Is this how she's supposed to act while she sits on a throne beside him?

Aylwin grins. "What? No witty remark?"

"Stop talking and draw your sword."

Brielle's eyes burn from the lack of blinking. She'll stare at him for an hour if she has to.

Aylwin pouts, observing his brother's armor. He doesn't look like anyone special. Just another puppet sent to spill blood for someone else. "Pity father sent you to kill me. We were becoming such good friends."

He reaches for the hilt of his sword, the right corner of his lips lifting. Caldwell is across the hall in the span of a blink. An unfamiliar guard rushes toward him, sword drawn.

Aylwin is too busy watching the struggle, eyes wide enough to frighten a small child. He doesn't see her hand, doesn't see the glint of the blade until just before the shart metal pierces his skin. Just like a needle.

Brielle's lungs can't keep up with the pace of her breathing. She stumbles backward, tripping over her own foot as she removes the dagger and blood gushes from the wound. It's everywhere. All over her face. Covering her shoes, her dress, her eyes. Harry's saying something to her, tugging on her arm. She can't move, can't tear her eyes away from the dying man, clutching at his throat and writhing on the floor.

Against his rapidly paling skin, his eyes look like chasms.

Harry pulls her away, gripping her arm in a vice so tight she has to turn away. She doesn't protest, ignores all the words he offers about safety and loss. The air outside spreads through her lungs like acid, biting and raw like the first winter winds. "I want to go home."

He doesn't say anything, just stares at the ruins behind them. Caldwell hasn't come up yet. He's either tormenting Aylwin in his last moments or looking for the remaining members of the guard that held them prisoner.

"Harry, I want to go home." She begins walking toward the woods, searching for one of the horses behind the treeline. He shouldn't have had to camp too far away.

Brielle rests her right hand atop her stomach, trying to feel something she's not sure she should feel yet or not. Harry follows her, falling into step bedside her and glancing over every few seconds. He opens his mouth, but swallows his words.

"If I didn't do it, he would have killed you instead."

She walks ahead of him, desperate to get away. Harry sighs and reaches for her hand, slowing her and pulling her back to him. "Are you all right?"

Brielle doesn't know how to answer. Parts of her are all right and other parts feel like collapsing. All she can see is his face, that hopeless look of confusion foreign in his eyes. He deserved it, but the truth doesn't make her feel any better. Silence is answer enough.

Half an hour passes before they see Caldwell again. He's coated in blood and smiling like he's been knighted. Harry places a hand on his shoulder and nods. They're headed toward the castle after a few careful blinks.

Songs break out every few minutes. The men forget the endings of songs and switch to others without a moment of thought. She can still see his face around every corner, beneath every rock and twisted tree root. They must be far from Alaria. The route back drags on for what feels like a century's worth of trees and collapsed buildings. She's following the rhythm of the horses hooves for too long and doesn't notice the familiar patches of flowers until they've already passed her home.

"Stop."

Harry looks at her, hardly turning his head to meet her gaze. "We have to go to the castle first. The midwife is waiting for you."

She stares at him for a long moment, her eyes wide. He's rescued her to keep her a prisoner under a different guise for God knows how long. "I don't care who is waiting for me. I want to go home."

"Elle—"

Caldwell interrupts him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Let her be, Harry. It won't hurt to let her relax for a day. Lord knows we both need it."

A few heads turn to watch the simmering verbal altercation. Brielle slows her horse to a stop and dismounts, tripping over her feet the moment they hit the ground. They're still arguing amongst themselves when she makes her way inside.

Everything is the way it was when she left it. The curtains are drawn, the blanket she wrapped herself in to sit by the fireplace is still resting atop the chair, and the broom is propped up against the wall in the kitchen. Harry's not been here since the last time she asked him to, opting to stay in his castle rather than retain the little sense of home beginning to seep into the walls.

She sighs, feeling the weight of her heart in her stomach as she heads into the bedroom and begins to undress. Such a beautiful dress reduced to filthy rags.

Leaden footsteps follow her, stopping in the doorway. "I just want to make sure you're all right."

Brielle scrubs her face as hard as she can with dry hands, pressing her palms into her eyes as hard as she can manage before scratching at her cheeks. "Tell them I'll be there tomorrow."

"Is it true?"

She gives up, her face raw and burning as she crawls into bed, pulling the gentle fabric up to her chin and facing the wall. "Is what true?"

Harry clutches the door frame and closes his eyes. "Are you with child?"

She waits for him to open her eyes, trying not to smile and cry at the same time. "I wanted to tell you the night of our wedding."

"I—" He glances between her and the door, holds his hand up, and disappears. Cheering erupts among the ranks and slips through the open doorways. She can hear him saying something, but it's drowned by the murmur of at least one hundred voices.

Men are still cheering and whistling as he returns, shutting both doors behind him and crawling into bed beside her. "Sorry, I couldn't keep this one a secret."

He kisses her neck and wraps his arms around her. Brielle smiles and closes her eyes. "You weren't supposed to."

Author's Note:

Any predictions on what happens next? Hope everyone is doing well!