No Fury

Now: Sixty Seven

Because everything happened so fast.
Zayn gave us the word of the Queen's child, and we moved in unison to the door.
Our plans were thrown out the window.
Our child was handed to her grandfather.
I warned Harry he was not to be away from me, and with a small nod of understanding, we set off.

"What if it is mine?" he whispers. "How can-?"

"It isn't yours."

He pulls back, eyes narrowed, and he shakes his head a little. Zayn paces in the distance, anxious, but giving us privacy.

"How can you be sure?" he hisses, pained. "I know I . . ." He swallows, returning me to his chest. "I know it's possible, because those few times, I . . ."

I pull away to bring my hand to his lips and gently rest my fingers there. "We will face whatever is up there. But this does not spare her life."

Without hesitation, he nods in agreement.

"I love you," he says. "Do not leave my side."

"I won't."

And with my hand curled inside his, he turns, and we make our way to the village.

~~

We crest the hill and stop as a group.

My heart is a drum, beating a savage tempo inside me.
My heart is steam, slowly expanding until I cannot breathe.
My heart is a beast, clawing its way up my throat.

I grip Harry's hand and he squeezes it back.

Together, we stare before us, gazing at the castle towering over the village. After all these weeks, the river seems wider, the trees taller, the castle more imposing.

It is odd to be home.

Chickens scurry as we step from the trail onto the dirt road. They cluck sweetly, pecking at the dirt, and otherwise it is eerily quiet.

I hold my breath as we walk around the bend of the river and come into view of the village.

The cottages expand in a line down the road, and deep to the edge of the mountain. They seem both brighter and dustier, as if my eyes have not seen this much light, and this much dirt, in many weeks.

In a breath, I am acutely homesick.

Tearing my eyes away from the village, I turn to Zayn, placing a hand on his arm. "Who knows?"

He looks at me, confused.

"Who knows she is with child," I clarify.

"Only I." Glancing away, and then quickly back to me, he says, "To my knowledge, no one else is allowed there. She is isolated."

Nodding, I look to Harry. "We do not have time to alert the Council. But I do not want to go to her rooms unguarded."

"Zayn," Harry says, "you shall fetch Liam and Niall, and meet us there."

"Aye."

"Give me your cloak," he says, and Zayn quickly shuffles out of it. "And your cap."

Without hesitation, the guard gives Harry whatever he asks.

Harry pulls the brim low over his face, adjusting the green cloak to cover clothes that would already allow him to blend into the commoners: brown trousers, a cream linen shirt.

And yet, nothing about his posture, his height, or his presence is dulled by the guard's uniform. Worry tenses in my gut. If he is recognized, there will be mayhem. And without having to discuss it, I know we both want to see the Queen, ensure that she is in fact giving birth, and see whether the child may be Harry's before anyone else knows of this.