Brielle taps her fingers against the table, trying to count the rain through the window panes. Lessons are the last thing she wants to do, but without them, she's not beside Harry the way he's beside her; then she's not willing to step into a different sphere of life the way he's stepped into hers.

Anne is staring into her soul as if it is made of parchment and droning on about what is proper charity to dole out and to whom it is acceptable to help. She didn't make eye contact until about an hour into the lessons, refusing to make herself equal to someone of a lower status. Brielle tried to at first and gave up after an arduous half an hour, choosing instead to listen and let her eyes wander the lavish room.

There are hundreds of small objects from varying Kingdoms and countries that don't seem to fit together in any sort of harmony. She wonders how much belongs to Harry and how much belongs to his parents. They've each been sent out so many times that she lost track around the age of six.

"It is highly improper for you not to listen when being spoken to."

Brielle straightens her back, ignoring the pressure building in her lower spine. She lifts her chin the way Harry taught her to and does her best to retain the distaste building in her mouth. "Begging your pardon, I am listening, your Majesty."

The longer she looks at Anne, the more visible the venom building in her throat is. Brielle wants to ask what she's done to bring up such horrible feelings in a woman she hardly knows more than fabrics and jewels, but forbids herself. Asking isn't worth making an already volatile relationship worse.

Anne folds her hands atop the table, her rings dim under the washed out lighting. "Very well. Repeat to me the last sentence I said."

"Every morning, it is your duty to attend morning mass at the chapel and distribute charity to the poor. After mass, you are to busy yourself with your counsellors for government affairs." All of which she'll have no trouble doing aside from government affairs. She has yet to learn much about what happens within such meetings, and is uncertain of whether she'll be able to act at the capacity expected of her.

Pleased with her answer, Anne continues with the lesson. Now she's moved on to clothing and fabrics and how each must look at all times. There's no room for flaws of any sort, only decoration and extravagance. Everything she's saying is a waste of time though, Brielle made all her dresses until recently so she knows what's expected of her in terms of fabric.

She sits for three more hours, listening to her mother-in-law instruct her on basic things that her actual mother has already taken great pains to teach her. It's as if Anne believes she hasn't been raised with any social graces, regardless of the manners she presented at the Royal lined dinner she was forced to attend without prior knowledge.

There's another feast this evening, this time more regal than the last. Harry won't like it as he's been preoccupied with her health and the unborn child. He's at her side every spare moment he manages amidst the council meetings and military deployments to known areas of unrest. Aside from that, he hates being around so many people who forget what it means to be normal human beings with real feelings and concerns.

Kinsley will be there, too. She's since been married to the Prince of Dion, she'll have a lot to say in regards to her marriage as well as Harry's. His parents have taken great pains to concoct a pairing of temperaments meant to play off one another in the most unfavorable ways possible. In his current state of stress, Brielle isn't certain Harry can manage to keep a stranglehold on his temper.

Decorations litter the halls, half-strung and limp under storm-cast clouds, yet the halls are bare of servants. Brielle continues down the corridor, ignoring her previous intention to head back to her home. A few lanterns are lit, drawing shadows inward rather than expelling them. Harry is toward the entrance, standing over a stool and reaching higher than his arms are capable. There's a string of ornate silver filigree in his right hand, his left reaching for the top of the wall.

Afraid for him to fall, Brielle makes her steps as loud as she can manage and clears her throat. "You aren't doing the entire hall by yourself, are you?"

Harry groans and drops the string he's holding, pressing both his hands flat against the stone. "Attempting to, at least. I don't like it when mother springs things like this on the servants at the very last moment. Supper is already difficult enough in such quantities." He steps down and dusts his hands on his trousers. "Your lessons are over already?"

Her hands drift toward the table, feeling for the smooth and molded textures she's felt countless times before. "Yes, your mother is angry with me and believes me unworthy of instructing multiple times over. I don't believe she thinks people capable of listening without looking the other directly in the eye."

His eyes open so wide that Brielle is afraid he's going to choke on the air. He looks at her for a long moment before laughter bubbles from deep in his lungs. "Tell me you didn't."

She bites her lip to refrain from laughing. "I couldn't help it! She was teaching me things my mother already taught me!"

"I suppose that's my fault. I forgot to tell you she's all about eye contact. What is she teaching you, anyway? All that you need is politics and recognition at this rate."

Pointless. Everything she's been taught in the last few hours has been close to nothing except for the names of the families attending the feast this evening. Very little has she learned about politics aside from whose side Harry's family stands by in most matters. "Mannerisms, image, and names. I know everyone attending the feast, but that's about all I've learned."

Harry shakes his head, disappointment in his mother radiating from his features. "I don't understand. What does she think you've done that has made her lose all affection for you?"

Brielle decides not to answer knowing it will upset him. She married him and ruined the line, and thus ruined whatever affection his mother had for her in their earlier days. There is little hope to mend the relationship, but she'll continue to try in the ways that she can.

"I wish you would get some help."

She practices reigning in her smile as he shrugs his shoulders and glances down the hall.

"I believe I'll manage. Do you have everything you need for tonight? I can have Caldwell bring anything you may be want of."

Nothing she has is want for anything, all the fabrics and the jewels placed in her home are more than she needs—more than she would like. She'll be want of his company for a few hours, but that allows her the time she needs to finish the shirt she's been making him. With any luck, he'll be able to wear it to the feast.

"No, I'm all right. Please be careful." She kisses him, a brief peck that leaves only a faint taste of the imported mints he's been chewing all morning. Restraint is practice and she'll need it for tonight, otherwise she'll want to kiss him as they've done behind closed doors since their relationship first began.

* * *

Violins sweep through the room in bright major chords, dancing over crowned heads and near-empty cups. Richard is looking fatter than ever in his seat, gnawing on a duck bone. He's received an extra meal as his preference is for the fishier birds like duck or swan. Anne sits to his left, glaring into her wine and putting on a smile when anyone addresses her. She's only stopped staring at Brielle because Kinsley mistook the look for affection and commented on it.

Harry's hand rests atop Brielle's on the table, his smile as bright as the candles that surround them. "No, no, not at all! The people love her. I believe our marriage has given them cause to entrust the crown more than before, as Brielle is one of them where I could never be,"

Prince Weston of Tylkum nods, but his expression isn't as thoughtful as he's trying to make it. He switches his attention to Brielle, his eyes trapped in the rubies surrounding her throat. "And what about you? Do you believe the people of Alaria are drawn to the crown because of your marriage?"

She crafts the most attractive smile she practiced three hours prior and gives a slight shake of her head, making her earings bob against the top of her neck. If no one had noticed them, she would be rid of them in a single breath. "Not at all. You've met with Prince Harry on many occasions, yes?"

Weston returns the question with a nod and a sip of his wine.

"Have you seen him outside of the castle walls? People flock to him the way they flock to Cardinals and the Pope for blessings. I don't think it matters whether or not someone like me married him, they love him as he loves them."

The look on his face changes to one of genuine curiosity as he picks at the remnants of his plate. He wants to say more on the matter, but is interrupted by Anne, who leans forward until her elbows are pressed against the table in what appears to be a painful manner. "Nonsense. They love him because they are meant to, and they love you because they have to."

Richard glugs what's left in his cup and signals for another, avoiding everyone's attention as he speaks. "Oh, let it go. She's his wife now, give her some sort of bloody break, woman. At least she has manners and common sense."

Silence falls over the table but the violins continue to play. Anne stares at Richard with wide eyes while Harry grips his cup with loose fingers. The men and women around them wear varying degrees of shock, mouths open and eyes staring.

Brielle straightens her posture without thinking and wears the smallest genuine smile she's capable of as not to seem too zealous to accept his attempt at peacemaking. "Thank you, Majesty."

He nods and returns to what's left of the duck on his plate. Anne doesn't say anything and the chatter resumes with an intensity twice as loud as before. Everyone is speaking over one another, all addressing the Queen and Brielle at once.

Most of the questions concern the child she's carrying and Anne's lack of affinity for her daughter in law. Harry gets a few comments in between about his decision and how he plans to run the Kingdom now that he's married a commoner instead of a noble.

Kinsley grimaces and stabs at the little meat left on her plate. Her husband ignores her entirely, leaning toward Brielle and Harry as if they are made of jewels. "When exactly are you due for your lying in?"

Brielle's learned that brash questions are common for nobility and does her best to appear unphased by the question. "Soon enough. I am nearly four months from what the midwife can gather, the appearance looks small because of my...previous circumstance."

Thomas looks amused but drops the subject. Brielle places her free hand over her stomach and does her best not to look toward Harry for support. He's supporting her, she knows it, but she has to look like she does instead of wanting to see the love on his face.

"So you were intimate before wedlock?" Kinsley wears a smug expression, intent on intimidation where it is not needed.

Keen enough on the tone, Brielle keeps to herself and does not make any change in her neutral expression. Harry hasn't recovered from his mother's comment yet and speaks without fear of his own tongue.

"That is none of your concern."

"But isn't it? I was to be his wife before that other whore came forward, who is to say that your new wife wasn't of sinful nature as well?"

She cannot hold her composure any longer. "Just because I am of common nature does not mean I am full of sin. Yes, I loved him before that time, and yes, we shared tokens of affection, but what was done after you left and Catherine had her child is none of your concern. Our relationship is settled. We are married and that is the end of it."

"They won't accept you, you know. Not as a Queen."

Brielle swallows a large gulp of her water, saddened that it is not wine in the current moment. "That may be true, but that doesn't matter to me. All I ask is that they are treated well and I know Harry will do that to the best of his ability."

There is no response and the violins grow louder. Harry squeezes Brielle's hand but she refuses to smile and give Kinsley any more ammunition. Another face she's lost track of inserts themself into the conversation. "And what of yourself? How do you intend to share an influence over them now that you're stationed above them?"

The answer comes to her like she's known it all her life. "The same way any Queen should: through charity, kindness, and a firm set of limitations for the best interests of everyone."

Quite a few people pause their conversations to laugh. Brielle turns her head to Harry and glances at Anne. Harry isn't amused in any sense of the word and Anne doesn't look amused or displeased, her lips settled in a strange half-smile falling around the edges but not exactly frowning.

"Oh, she's funny! I like her!"

Brielle finishes the last of her water and clears her throat. She looks around the table and allows the room to calm before she speaks. "If you'll excuse me, I'm not feeling to well. Thank you for your attendance on such short notice."

Her hand finds her growing stomach as she rises from her chair and quits the room. Harry says something she doesn't bother to listen to and follows after her with quick steps. All she can focus on are the clicks of his heels and the low swish of his cape against the quiet corridor.

"Stupid fucking people. Who do they think they are? Gods because they wear sparkling crowns on their heads?" She's so angry she could tear through every painting and ornamental vase in the castle.

Harry reaches for her hand and thinks better of it. She's not volatile often and he doesn't want to push her temper further. "Unfortunately, they do. As do most people in any position of power. But you're not and you won't be; they just can't understand that. That's why they don't like me, either."

She waves him away and increases her pace, drawing them toward the courtyard. "Of course they like you! Everyone likes you! The snobs in there don't like you now because you've married beneath what's expected of you. Because you married a commoner without any wealth to offer even as dowry. They don't like me." Tears burn her eyes and she wipes them away so hard her cheeks sting. "They don't like me."

The crown on her head feels like it's pressing into her skull. Brielle rips the metal from her hair, pulling thick strands of hair out with it. She doesn't bother glancing at it as she throws the thin frame across the empty green.

Harry watches the crown land and bounce off the earth, his lungs heavy in his chest. "But I love you."

Brielle turns to face him, ignoring the water clouding her vision. "How can you stand all this? How can you want all this?"

He's spent his entire life contemplating the very same question. Asking himself what it was that inclined him to behave rather than question everything the way he desired to. He's learned to tolerate the position he's in rather than act the way he wants to.

"I don't..." He sighs and walks himself in a small circle. "Christ, I don't know. It's become part of who I am, and I can't change that, Elle. I can't." Brielle watches him walk toward her, her cheek caught between her teeth. He raises his hands and places them on her cheeks, his grip forceable enough to keep her head at the same angle. "But I won't change my mind about you. I chose you and I will always choose you over anything in this world, even over God Himself."

"What if I can't do this? Will you choose me then?" She doesn't want to hear the answer but she must.

Harry leans in and kisses her with enough force to knock her off her feet if he wasn't holding her in place. He doesn't break contact until her lungs are aching. "Yes."

She doesn't know what to say. He's always been forward but this is the most determined she's seen him. Whatever those people said to him when she was speaking must have sparked something new, some new flame of defiance resistant to even the remarks from his peers.

Brielle watches Harry walk across the courtyard, her breaths straining to break free of the more restraining corset she's been forced to wear on pain of displeasing her step-mother further. He bends over and retrieves the rubied crown from its place in the dirt.

"What are you doing?"

He doesn't answer, walking toward her with the crown poised between both hands. Eight steps.

She can't see the expression on his face through the fading tears, but she can feel the metal as it settles atop her head once more. 

Author's Note:

Happy New Year! It isn't New Year's here yet, but it's only two hours away so I feel that's close enough. Hope this update finds everyone well!