Music trails behind Brielle as she weaves through the crowded market. So many people have migrated from the neighboring Kingdoms, bringing market days to festival quantity on every occasion. The increase in people does nothing to stop the whispers.

Discontent is festering, turning everyone in the castle against each other. Harry can't stand to be around either of his parents, passing his hours training and strategizing with Caldwell in the War Room. Often times, they spar instead to release the boiling anger threatening to set their skin on fire. She sees him for a few brief moments in the mornings and sometimes not at all. He doesn't even take the time to step out to see his people anymore.

Her ladies in waiting returned a week ago and trail by her side, their hands lingering on trinkets of the stalls they pass. Brielle walks as slow as she can manage, making small talk with anyone nearby and passing the few sweets she's picked up to wandering children. Anything is a welcome distraction from the vacantness welling within her heart. She knew marrying Harry would come with its downfalls, but she didn't anticipate missing him this much. Or that being the Prince's wife would entail a personal following by the Queen herself.

Harry's mother is relentless in keeping an eye on her when she's absent from lessons. Now that Brielle is a day or two away from returning to the castle for her lying in, Anne has taken it upon herself to follow her every move.

She'd like to say that she doesn't mind—that having her mother-in-law's attention means much more than the crown she carries—but she can't. Watching Harry grow up, his life always seemed to be caught in a perpetual hurricane of failures centered around mannerisms and actions. He rarely did anything the way he was expected to and his parents punished him for it in ways he couldn't escape even if he wanted to. If Harry couldn't measure up to the standard he was born for, she'll never do enough to make them happy.

Clarise purchases a bushel of lavender and places a single stem behind Brielle's ear. "The smell is soothing and flowers suit you."

Brielle smiles and touches the delicate buds. She's too afraid of being questioned or taken away if she visits her rose gardens on the castle grounds to visit them as much as she wants to. Caldwell and a few others always escort her, their presence a welcome distraction from the fears still clinging to her mind. Even so, Brielle is certain her world will always be tinged with a layer of trepidation. "Thank you. Did you know they also help if you are want of sleep?"

"Do they? All my mistresses said the only thing that. helps are buckets and buckets of wine!"

The rest of the ladies erupt in laughter. Her own laugh sounds a smidge brighter amongst the jubilant tones of the others. Brielle wonders if she'll feel like that again once her baby is born and all this war business comes to an end. Painting on a smile is much more tedious than she anticipated.

Brielle passes the last of her sweets to a sweet redheaded boy who whispers his name so fast she can only manage to catch the syllables. "Only if you want to throw up for the entirety of the next morning. They must have taken that up from the men.  Only, when the men drink, they aim for the more distasteful spirits. Caldwell once gave Harry something from Scotland that messed him up for days. The man swore he was dying."

Sabina's laugh is so loud that it sends a nearby elderly woman into a coughing fit. "All men say that for one reason or another. He still looks well enough, otherwise the ladies wouldn't swoon over him the moment he enters a room." She drops a coin in a nearby vendor's basket and smiles at Brielle like a younger sister anxious to marry. "What do you think your child will look like?"

Between lessons and attending a few Council meetings, Brielle hasn't had enough time to think about anything child related except for the giant lump her stomach is becoming and how lonesome it will be to sit in bed for weeks at a time. "If I'm being honest, I don't know. But, I hope we have a girl and that she has his eyes. They're the most beautiful color I've ever seen." A boy won't be able to escape the chains of the throne, but a girl...a girl can be just as defiant as her father and more.

Eva, still chewing on the biscuit she'd bought ten minutes ago, pokes Brielle in the side.  "Whatever the case, that child will be a legend to everyone here. Perhaps your Prince isn't the Golden King and we're meant to have a Golden Queen instead."

Despite being watched, the words in her head land in the air between them. "Or perhaps we will have no Kings or Queens at all."

* * *

Weary of her vacant home, Brielle returns to the castle for the night. The walls still retain the last remnants of winter, cool beneath her fingertips as she wanders the halls. She doesn't know what she's looking for, just that she couldn't stand to be cooped up in her chambers, staring at drawings that make her chest ache.

Bored of watching her linger in the market, Anne stopped following her after the first two hours. Perhaps now she will be satisfied that her daughter-in-law isn't gathering arms behind her back. Guards roam the halls with her, tracking her movements and following orders given long before she'd chosen to remain in her home without the aid of servants or guards. Their boots seem heavier under the cover of night's solitude. She wonders if that's Caldwell's doing or her mind playing paranoia around every corner.

Whispers play at her ears even when she's sleeping. Aylwin's face has faded some, preferring to cling to her shadow rather than her pupils; nevertheless, Brielle thinks about the chasms in his eyes far too often to find any semblance of comfort. She wonders if Harry sees them too. He hasn't spoken a word about it since, either holding his tongue or relishing in the victory Aylwin forced him to choose.

She hasn't seen much of him, only brief interactions between meetings and training and God knows what else. At the forefront of her mind is his anger, how he lost every ounce of control the first moment her life was placed in danger and how calm he was in the face of the main culprit. If it's festering beneath the surface, she'd never know. And how bad will he snap if it is?

Harry's voice leaks from the space uninhabited by the Throne Room's door, halting her steps. "...I understand that, but she's not like you. She didn't want any of this and she's doing the best she can to make everyone happy. Have you not considered what it does to her? You can't spy on her and expect her to fill the mold you've created in her crown."

Afraid to venture too close, Brielle keeps her distance from the door, straining her toes to lean closer without drawing her body toward the floor. There's some muffled sound as Harry paces the room, picking up a vase to examine it and avoid his mother's disapproving stare.

"Why did you have to choose her?"

Silence chokes Brielle's veins. He doesn't answer in the minute that passes and her breath is tethered to a thin line caught between despair and affection.

"We don't get to choose who we love, mum. And even if we did, I would still choose her."

Anne sighs and traces the rings on her left hand. She meets Harry's eyes. "You've put us all at risk."

Harry laughs and shakes his head, unbelieving that a mother who spent his childhood at dinner parties away from him is afraid that someone else has replaced her. "The only thing that put us at risk is our crowns."

The vase emits a dull thud as he places it back where it stood. Harry turns on his heels, feeling Anne's like swords in his back until the door falls shut behind him.

In her haste to avoid the door, Brielle's feet misstep. She doesn't breathe until the wall steadies her. Three paces down the hall, Harry stops walking. His shoulders straighten and he pauses, listening for a sign that he hasn't imagined the presence of another person.

Brielle counts five heartbeats before he turns around. He didn't know she was in the castle, let alone wandering around in the dark with a parade of guards following somewhere close behind.

"Elle? What are you—"

Losing all of the etiquette she's learned, Brielle shrugs and allows her eyes a moment to glance at the floor. "I didn't want to stay in an empty house, and I was bored waiting for you." Something falling too short for a smile lifts the edges of her lips. She doesn't want to address what she's overheard and hopes he'll leave it alone as well.

There's a stain just above the right sleeve of his tunic, a diagonal line stretching from his shoulder to his breastbone. He starts to speak and Brielle's thoughts erase the half-formed words. "What happened to your shoulder?" Her hands ache to run over the fabric and feel the warmth of his skin bleeding through the fabric, but they haven't seen each other in so long and the action carries a strained tension she doesn't want to prod.

Unaware of the mark, Harry's eyes pull together. His tunic was fine when he put it on. "My shoulder?"

Every word feels cloddish in her mouth. "Yes, you're bleeding. Or, you were, anyway."

Neither one moves, staring at the other as if they're meeting for the first time. Harry shifts his footing and absently rubs his right shoulder. A dull pain flares and he winces. "I challenged Prince Tobias to a duel."

Brielle steps toward him, her hand hesitant to reach for the wound. She doesn't want to imagine him risking his life for anything, but she can't hide from the image of him standing in a field, weilding a sword and covered in blood. Aylwin stands behind him, with his lips quirked in that stupid little smirk. She blinks hard and removes his hand from his shoulder instead, threading her fingers between his and tracing the ring around his index finger. "What for?"

He sighs, drawing out his breath until his lungs are forced to take in more oxygen. "Does it matter?"

"Anything that risks your life matters."

Harry kisses the top of her hand and smooths down her hair with his free hand. "It was for you, dove."

Words cut her breath short. "For me?" She knew marrying him would put him at odds with most, if not all the other royals, but she didn't realize their marriage would risk his life. If that's why he's become so distant then maybe—

"It's not what you think. Tobias...he's crude and doesn't like his wife, so he decided to make use of his time with me to degrade you. He finished a sentence before I challenged him and the imbecile chose longswords." She doesn't have an answer so he continues. "And if my mother weren't my mother, I'd have challenged her, too."

Brielle forces a smile to the surface. She doesn't want him to challenge anyone, let alone on her behalf. "Has Master Avery seen it yet?"

He shakes his head, a smile rising to align with the stars. "Of course not. He would tell my father the instant he saw and I would never hear the end of it."

Fear radiates from deep in her stomach. If no one has looked at it and it isn't well, he can die of fever. When she was eight, she watched a man in the village die the same way after he'd been attacked by a bear. "Did anyone look at it?"

Sidetracked by conversation and tired of being stagnant, Harry begins leading them toward their chambers, leaning closer to Brielle with each step. "Yes, your mother, actually. Well, I suppose she's also my mother now, too. She scolded me the entire time. Told me I should be more cautious when I have a wife with child to think about."

"Good. Luckily for you, you'll remember that when I fix your stitches."

Harry's grip on her hand tightens but his calm expression remains intact. "Fix my stitches? Why on earth would you have to do that?"

Brielle smirks, enjoying the knowledge that she can punish him in some small way for keeping such knowledge from her. She doesn't like holding things over him, but he could have died and she wouldn't have known until a messenger came to tell her whenever his parents saw fit. "If you're bleeding through them, you tore some, hence, they need to be redone."

He groans. "Next time, I'll be sure to tell you my dueling activities in advance."

A restless silence settles between them and only breaks upon the entrance to their connected rooms. Bottles line the floor and the windowsills. Brielle raises an eyebrow.

Harry shrugs. "Caldwell wanted to celebrate my win. Who am I to refuse a celebration in my name?"

One of the bottles still holds some liquor. Using the little information she remembers from her time in the medical wing, she removes the stopper. "Take off your shirt."

The look he responds with is playful until he removes the thin fabric. This time, his only hint of pain is a slight grimace. Brielle stares at the wound, bright and angry in the fresh air. Her mother did a great job with the stitches. Harry's stubbornness didn't like them and are likely to leave an angerier scar.

"Have you thought up a story to tell our child yet?"

His laugh sounds sweeter than she remembers. Staying away from him so long makes everything seem more like a memory and less like a daily experience. "Not yet. Perhaps it will involve Caldwell, I'm sure that would be interesting."

Brielle returns his laugh. "Only if you don't make him the villain. What would Farah think!"

Finally, a genuine grin emerges."That I'm full of horse shit."

She pokes his good shoulder. "She already thinks that."

"She doesn't like me. I think she tolerates me for the two of you."

Brielle grabs a needle and thread from her room. She doesn't warn him before the point breaks the skin and he grinds his teeth. "You're not wrong, but she likes to poke fun at you. And she likes learning the strange things you know."

Harry fights the urge to swat her hand away. "Weird things?"

"Yes. You can talk about art or wine for hours and we have no idea what the hell you mean by half of it. They don't teach us the same things when we learn. We have to learn trades, and that's all we know until we're taught otherwise." She avoids his gaze and finds a new sketch near his bedside. "You're drawing again?"

Every muscle in his body wants to shrug. He fights the urge and gestures with his left hand. "Sometimes. I keep that one there because it's how I see you in my dreams."

She finishes the stitching and walks over to the bed for a closer look. He's drawn her in full figure, covered in vines and flowers of all kinds. The smile drawn on her face is genuine and gentle, and there's no trace of the child she carries. He must have seen her in his dreams for a while. "Why haven't you come home?"

Harry's fingers dance over an empty bottle at his side. "I didn't want to bother you. My temper isn't...always contained these days."

"Then I suppose it's a bad time to tell you that I've changed my mind."

"Changed your mind? About what?"

Brielle traces the lines of her face on the thin parchment. The image he drew looks better than any mirror image shows her."Taking my lying in here. I can't do the things I need to by myself in that house. And you built it knowing that I didn't want servants. I don't want servants, but I can't do certain things on my own soon. And I don't want my ladies in waiting to be crammed into a single room for my sake."

He takes her hand again, forfeiting the squeeze he wants to add. "My parents won't have a say in how our child is raised. Say the word and it will be done."

She kisses his cheek and starts to undo the lengthy ties of her corset. "Our child will choose its own path. We need only wait."