Change.

A small word. Innocuous in its simplicity, unassuming in its form, and yet can oft bring the boldest of persons to their knees. Change. A shudder ripped through my belly as I, Elizabeth Darcy, stood at the edge of a precipice, and all it would take to cast me over the side was the barest gust of wind. A breath.

A scream. Like the one building inside of me, aching to burst out from my bones.

"Mrs. Darcy..." The man delivering a most unwelcoming message waved a hand before my eyes. "Have you heard a single word I've said?"

"Yes." Drawing deep within myself, clawing down to my toes for every ounce of strength I as yet possessed, I brought myself upright. Shoulders back and spine straight. The time for weakness had long since passed.

I was no longer a girl who lived in simpler days of dresses and social gossip. 

I was a woman steeped in a world of death and misery, where the living dead swarmed the fields, invaded houses and tore whole families apart. Where the night rang with cries and the air was stifled with the stench of fire and burning flesh.

"Lady Catherine's death is a vicious blow to our forces. Her loss has staggered the men's confidences. Shaken them to their very marrow." The messenger swiped a hand through his wet hair, scattering droplets to dampen the parchment of the letter on the table. "His Royal Highness, the Duke of Wellington insists you must honour Lady Catherine's final wish and take command of her camp on the front lines. We must leave at once, Mrs. Darcy. Your presence is required immediately."

A collective gasp sounded within the room, reminding me that I was not alone but in the midst of a tea-party with what remained of London's high society. A celebratory gathering of women in honour of recent blessings, now all dashed to dust at my feet.

"Surely you don't mean to take her this instant," Jane said. She rushed to my side, stroking a hand over her swollen belly where her first born rolled and kicked in obvious awareness of her distress. "Our guests..." Jane looked to me, helpless. 

"I am afraid I must insist," the messenger answered with a hint of regret. "His Royal Highness is not pleased about this change of command, but respected her Ladyship enough to honour her final wish in this world." 

"This is Wickham's doing," I said and at the utterance of his foul name, my hands clenched tight into fists that longed to pummel into the walls of his rotting flesh. The Black Battle of York had waged now for the better part of two years. With a man of his military skill and knowledge at the head of a salivating Horde, our losses had been great and our reserves were nearly crippled.

A recent alliance with France's King Louis XVIII promised a fighting chance, but only just. And still, those men were a week away from reaching our shores while Wickham's army of the Dead were ever growing.

Swallowing England whole.

For no fault other than proximity, Scotland had almost been razed to the ground and so she'd built a wall across her boarders, leaving us alone to fend for ourselves. Not that I could blame our neighbours for abandoning us in our hour of need. For all the centuries of Scottish blood spilled for English vanity, I could fill an ocean.

No. Our only hope was to survive long enough for the French troops to deliver us from our plight.

The door to the library whisked open and a dark figure strode in. Proud and fierce and mine.

My heart tumbled at the sight of my husband, ever so handsome and distinguished. He reached my side and gathered my hands in his, eyes soft with love but features set in stony resolve as he embraced me. 

"Darling," he sighed in soft-spoken words only I could clearly hear. "I hate to add to the night's unfortunate tidings but it appears a Horde has wandered into our midst and descends upon us." 

My grip tightened in his as I searched his face. "How did they find us?"

As he slid back to gaze down at me, his eyes shifted with the barest flicker and I needed no more warning or indication. I knew my husband's mind as I knew the depths of my own soul. So attuned to one another, we moved in synchronicity. Dagger unsheathed from my thigh, his knife freed from the cuff at his wrist, in three fierce moves I had the messenger on his knees and Darcy, with his knife, plunged his blade into the soft side of his temple.

Squeals and cries erupted around us as the body slumped and blood poured in the woven threads of an antique rug.

"A Breather?" I asked, sheathing my blade and adjusting the folds of my skirts around my legs to restore propriety.

"Why was he not searched?" I demanded as Darcy lowered to his haunches, ensuring the corpse was in fact dead. "Have our standards fallen so lax in the years of hiding?"

"He was searched. Thoroughly," Darcy said, rising to stand. "He was not bitten. And yet for reason I cannot ascertain, he has chosen to ally himself with Wickham's cause. A sympathizer."

I cursed a hot vicious stream in fluid Mandarin for the sake of sparing delicate ears. Sympathizers were rare, but they were dangerous. Living persons who had chosen to support Wickham's cause of overthrowing the wealthy born and noble class—to tip the scales for the favour of common man. Or so he'd claimed. Far as I could tell, Wickham thought himself a God, and lusted for an empire. 

An empire he intended to build on the backs and bones of London's oldest families, which is why I had been assigned the task of keeping a houseful under my protection within the walls of Pemberley.      

"I think he planned to take you," Darcy said, tugging me out into the hall for discretion though every ear within the room strained to hear his words. "You would be of significant value to his cause. A symbol he could exploit to fracture what little strength our armies have left."

After the fierce battle the night of our wedding, when Wickham stormed Pemberley grounds, he'd come with a Horde five hundred strong. A sizable host that should have crushed us all. And yet, in large part thanks to Pemberley's strong gates, we held them off for three whole days before the Horde pulled back, their numbers greatly affected—as was Wickham's pride.

News of our victorious stand spread from tongue to tongue, swift as the plague itself, and the details of which were vastly exaggerated, as is the way with gossip. And so I'd become a woman of repute. A figure of defiance to rival the harrowing legend of Lady Catherine. A prize to ignite the flames of Wickham's cause.

"So...her Ladyship is not dead?"

"No, apparently that was all true. T'was a clever rouse to ground their deception in truth so as not to raise alarm. You're a formidable judge of character," Darcy said, a smirk tugging his lips and fondness filled his voice. "You would have seen through him had he lied."

Though I was warmed by my husband's praise, I had to concede to his point of logic. A clever rouse indeed and one that had almost succeeded..."How long until the Horde reaches us?"

"Scouts estimate a half hour at most. Not enough time to see our guests to safety, I'm afraid. I have what is left of our household guard sealing the gates, arming the fences, but we can't hold them off for long." Worry flickered in his eyes. "We're too long in disrepair. It will not hold."

I nodded, swallowing hard. Part of what had allowed us to remain in sequestered safety had been to play on the illusion that Pemerbely had been long since abandoned. The grounds had sustained heavy damage during Wickham's assault, and we'd decided to let it appear as though we'd fled and moved on elsewhere while hunkering down in the lower chambers that flowed beneath Pemberley's estate.

Only few knew where to find us, and having a sympathizer sent to our home in guise of a courier meant Wickham was on to our ploy. The Horde coming for us was meant to wipe us out. Was meant for me. 

"Jane..." I whispered, clutching Darcy close. "I can't let them. Not her. Not the baby."

"I will lay down my life before I dare let an undead hand touch her," he vowed and pressed a kiss to my lips. Allowing for a single, bracing moment of passion.

"But we must prepare them. All of them. See to the women. See them armed. I will take to the grounds. And Lizzie," he said,squeezing my hand before I pulled away.

"Pray for a miracle, for we are badly in need of divine assistance."

***

What do you think so far? I've always wanted to do a fanfic and after watching PPZ I realized it had to be this (with another surprising twist yet to come) for Wattpad's @Fanfic 'BIG CHANGE' challenge. I'm actually having way more fun writing this than I'd anticipated and I hope you all enjoy the read.

:D