We leave Anne with James, and as we tear up the hill away from the cottage, I glance over my shoulder at them standing at the door.
Harry's father's eyes are tight with worry, and my daughter cries, arms outstretched as she watches us leave.
Everything inside me aches. I do not want to leave her even for a moment, and I do not want to leave like this: in a hurry, emotional, full of fury.
Harry calls to me and I turn forward, moving as quickly as I can to catch up to him and Zayn.
"She'll be fine," he says over his shoulder. "We shall return at daybreak."
I watch the muscles in his back tense as he turns and continues on.
~~
I register once the cottage is out of sight that I have not been this far from it in over a month. The path back to the village is overgrown, as always; it hides James' secret home well. But I know the branches and roots as well as I know my own heart. I could travel this route in my sleep.
Even so, I struggle to keep up with Zayn's frantic pace, and Harry's grim, determined march.
I do not know what awaits us back at the castle, and my heart aches knowing this child could be his.
It could.
But I pray fervently in my heart that it is not.
By my estimation, the last time Harry lay with Maria was many weeks before he left for war. He was gone for five months, and has been back for just over one.
I look up heavenward, and beg for this one tiny thing.
It does not feel so huge to ask the universe, after all of it: You created us for each other. Our whole lives we have struggled to end up here. Please do not tear my little family apart.
Because if Maria tries to make one single, bloody claim to the throne, I shall behead her myself.
Twigs snap beneath my shoes and I can see the puff of our breath in the chill, dusk air.
There is a time when our minds enter a sort of trance. We move, we breathe, we cease to think.
All we know is the moment before us, and then the next, and the next.
We are reaction, we are instinct.
This is how I feel now, unable to let myself imagine what awaits us. I've already told Harry he is not to be out of my sight for one instant. When he walks into her chambers, I shall follow him there.
But oh, she will feel the chill of my wrath long before she sees me.
~~
I am breathless, choking on air as I jog, clamoring after their long strides.
"Harry," I gasp, bending at the waist and bracing my hands on my knees. "I cannot run uphill so far. Please."
He stops, quickly returning to my side and putting his hand over my back. His flattened palm makes slow circles from one side of my spine to the other, and I listen while he catches his breath, too.
"Sorry," he whispers, bending to put his head to mine. "Sorry. I wish Zayn had brought horses."
"It is all right," I tell him. "I just need to gather breath."
I feel the press of his warm mouth at my temple. "Let me hold you," he says against my skin. "Just for a moment."
I straighten, putting my arms around him and needing this tiny pause where it is just us again, and we take a moment to understand what lies before us.
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.
"We are going in through the servant's entrance to the kitchens," Harry tells Zayn. "You may inform Liam and Niall, but no one else, that we are in the castle. Is that clear?"
"Aye, my Lord."
"Fetch Catroina," I add in a burst. "The midwife."
Harry looks at me. "To ease Maria's pain?" he asks, voice thick.
"No," I say. "For the sake of the child."
After a tiny pause, he nods to Zayn, who offers a small bow before jogging off toward the village.
Harry looks at me, eyes searching my face. "Are you ready?"
~~
We are lucky, and have arrived when the servants take their evening meal.
The kitchens are quiet but for the dogs at the door, hoping for scraps when the cooks return. I hear the roar of the servants' laughter down the hill a ways, eating at the tables near the ale house.
Soon, I tell myself. Soon, this will all be over. It will be but one more trial in our wake.
For my own sanity, I force myself to believe it.
Pushing open the wooden door, I peer inside before gesturing to Harry to follow me in. The ovens burn hot and the room smells of fresh bread. It makes my mouth water and reminds me that we have not eaten in several hours. Harry reaches for a loaf on the hearth, taking it with us as we slip to the back of the kitchens, and into the dark curling staircase: the servants route to the bedchambers.
It occurs to me now that we did not ask Zayn whether Maria was locked in her own rooms, or in a room higher up in the tower. But we do not need to get very far up the stairs before I have an answer: her screams rip down from high above the landing.
"The high tower," Harry says, passing the floor where his bedchambers lie, and entering a steeper, narrower staircase. Wind whistles past us as we climb higher, and in the black eeriness, I long for a lantern, a sword, something more useful than a loaf of bread.
The stairs grow damp beneath our shoes and we press our hands to the stone wall as we climb, steadying ourselves.
Maria's scream tears past us, louder now, and something inside my chest blooms at the animal sound of her agony.
Harry reaches the top first, turning and holding his hand out to me as I meet him there. The tower landing is dark, the stone damp and slippery. The area reeks of wet earth and moss. Up here, it feels nothing like the warm sturdiness of the castle. Above us, a missing stone gives us a splinter view of the darkening sky above, and lets in a bracing chill.
I shiver at the aching isolation of this place. I do not know which is worse: being held in the dank blackness of the dungeons, or the terrifying chill of the tower.
Approaching the door, we hear her scream once more, and Harry looks to me, eyes searching for agreement.
We are here.
We are here together.
His mouth parts, and I feel his trembling exhale against my hair. But in the end, there is nothing more to be said.
Reaching for the handle, he turns it, and pushes the heavy oak door open.
Wind explodes in our faces from the cold, cavernous room.
A bed lies against one wall, a chamber pot in the far corner. The stone floor is covered with a wide, threadbare rug, but other than that . . . there is nothing.
At first I don't see Maria crouched in the shadowed corner. But when her dark, luminous eyes meet mine, her howl is one of rage rather than pain.
"What do you do here?" she screams, accent thick with anger and pain. Her hair is long and tangled, her dress torn.
And now that we are here, I have no idea what we are meant to do.
Even if I was capable in this way, I would not go to her, to soothe her.
She curls in on herself, letting out tiny grunts of pain with every breath.
"Leave me," she growls, pressing into the corner as if trapped by a predator.
And oh, it is an odd sensation to stare at the person you hate most in the world, and watch her suffer. Panting as another wave of pain hits her, she leans back, tilting her face skyward as she screams.
"My baby comes!"
I hear the pounding of footsteps and then Zayn, Niall, Liam and Catroina burst into the room.
Liam comes to me, folding me in his arms in greeting at last, but Catroina moves directly to Maria, silently laying out a basket of supplies beside her.
A kettle of water.
Some rags.
Something to bite down upon.
Maria slumps in relief, but at this birth, Catroina offers no soft words, no kindness. She moves as a cog on a wheel, a piece in a larger machine, without emotion.
Harry moves to my side taking my hand when Liam releases me. The two men look to each other, and then clasp hands, shaking once.
Something passes there, some acknowledgement of a trauma shared and survived, and then we all turn, staring at the woman across the room, writhing in pain.
"This is the woman who betrayed our king," Niall whispers, awed. "So weak. So pathetic."
"What will we do with the child?" Liam asks quietly.
No one knows how to answer him.
Maria's belly is broad, her forehead shiny with exertion. The agony is clear on her face, and still
still
still
I cannot find it in me to feel for her.
She is another human, another woman, but staring at her now, I feel nothing.
No hate.
No sympathy.
No tenderness.
No fury.
She screams in Spanish now, directing her anger to Harry, to me, to anyone in the room. And then, with a face as red as blood, she pushes her child free, letting loose a wail that shatters the air.
"A boy," Catroina calls, pulling the child into the blankets to clean him. She severs the cord with a clean blade, and swaddles the child. Maria collapses onto her side.
And in the answering silence, Harry looks to me.
I hate everything about this moment.
I hate the echoing of her pain in my ears. I hate the chill seeping into my bones. I hate the anguish on Harry's face.
The moment of truth is before us.
"My Lord!" Catroina cries, and our eyes tear apart as we look back to the corner.
A tiny cry emerges from the bundle of blankets in Catroina's arms, but it is not what catches our eye.
Blood.
It is everywhere.
Catroina rushes to me, handing me the child without thought and turning to run back to Maria to treat her.
But in a flash, Harry's arm comes out, capturing her by the arm. "Do not go near her."
I hear Maria's gasp across the room.
Catroina's eyes go wide. "She will die, my Lord. If you wish, I can stop the bleeding."
He does not speak again. He does not need to repeat himself.
I see on his face that he could not bear to save her only to kill her again. He does not want to have to gaze upon her for one moment longer than necessary.
And if she dies in childbirth, she is gone without execution.
Gone without beginning a war.
With a choking exhale, Catroina nods, and lowers her shaking body to her knees.
"Then let her die," she whispers, voice thick. "Let her die."
She babbles it over, and over.
"Hush, woman," Harry hisses, not taking his eyes from Maria.
"She made me take your daughter," Catroina spits, wild now. "Did you know that? She would not comfort her. She put her in a cradle, and would sit beside her, saying horrible things until she could not stand the sound of her hungry cries any more."
Harry's chin shakes with repressed tears of rage, and inside my chest my heart fractures into a thousand shards at the image of a tiny baby Anne, crying alone in a cradle.
"Stop," I beg Catroina. "I cannot bear it."
"She deserves to die! She took your-!"
"Enough!" Liam roars.
Maria gasps, sobbing for help.
But no one moves. Not Zayn, not Liam, not Niall, not Harry.
Surely not I.
~~
I have never seen anyone die slowly before.
I imagined it would be quick, like the death of my attacker in the woods, but it is not. Maria bleeds; it seems unending. She grows tired, but still, she breathes: shallow and quick.
In my arms, her baby is warm, and soft, and I have not yet had the heart to gaze at him.
I turn at the sound of more footsteps and feel my throat grow tight as Douglas steps in, eyes wide as he looks at each face gathered in the room.
"What are you-?" His words are cut off as he sees Maria, lying on her side in the corner, gasping.
He makes to run to her, but is stopped by Zayn's arm coming around his chest, holding him away.
"By order of the King, no one touches her," Zayn says with quiet authority. "Stand back."
Douglas strains forward, his face crumpling in grief. "Maria," he gasps, voice hoarse. "No!"
Harry's expression tightens in confusion, but with that single word, I know.
Douglas has known of this child.
He has loved her.
I feel my breath leave my body in a gust.
He would have betrayed Harry upon his return, he always meant to.
He steps back, and I watch it happen: the rage builds on his face as he sees Maria suffering in the corner and none of us are doing anything to stop it.
It all washes over him - his small life, his failed dreams, his general impotence, his lack of power. It builds like a distant storm crashing toward the village, and he looks to Harry, who has turned back to watch Maria die.
I have no sword, I have no dagger, I have nothing but my voice to scream to Liam as Douglas charges forward, knife in hand. Liam bends for his boot, frantically searching.
Before he can reach Harry, Douglas is thrown backward by the force of Niall's dagger landing squarely in his chest.
Douglas clutches it, eyes wide in surprise and then he falls back, stilling.
A sob rips from my throat, and Harry turns, eyes wide in understanding at what has just happened.
Something tears free in me, as if a strip of my skin has been yanked away. It is chaos in my mind, sheer exhaustion of my will.
Clutching the child, I fling myself against Harry, pressing against him as I cry in relief, and anguish, and horror. Had Niall not been here, Harry may have been killed.
And all I can feel is the tiny new life in my arms. The boy who is about to lose his mother.
"Stop!" I yell, turning. "Wait!"
But it is too late. Maria slumps against the wall, pale with death.
We have killed her.
And I am bewildered by my pain.
I turn to look up at Harry, feeling my eyes fill with tears. "Oh, my God, what have we done?"
"We have done what we promised each other we would do," he says, voice steady. "We have watched her die."
Closing my eyes, I let him fold me into his arms again and breathe in and out, in and out at the gentle press of his mouth to the crown of my head.
"Because of her the King is dead," he reminds me. "Because of her, you did not get to hold our daughter in these precious moments after she was born. Because of her we went to war, and you could have lost me. I could have lost you."
I nod against him, clutching his cloak in one fist, holding the baby in the other arm.
"She would have found a way out," he whispers. "Douglas would have let her escape, I see that now. I do not know why they did not get away while I've been gone, but I can only think they meant to kill me, together."
This causes me to sob all over again, and my certainty returns.
Her death was too easy.
"So do not get lost in the sight of this, in the tragedy of it," he murmurs against my hair. "Remember what she did." He says this again, and again. "I would watch her die every day for a lifetime, for you."
Finally, under his soothing touch, I pull air into my lungs, pushing it out again. I wait until I am no longer dizzy and then I move back, looking to the babe in my arms. I feel Harry peer down beside me.
He is tiny; tinier than Anne was. At the feel of the cool air on his skin, his little face scrunches up. He cries and it is the barest squeak. He is so innocent, so helpless.
And the resemblance is unmistakable.
I glance over to his father; his face is still frozen in shock.
"Congratulations, Douglas" I whisper. "You had a son."
~~
A/N: There must be some evil sadist in me because the flaily comments gave me LIFE yesterday! Most of you were pretty sure it wasn't Harry's and you all get a cupcake for knowing and/or hoping. Extra cupcakes to those of you who comment as you go - I love the reactions.
Good news! Harry isn't the dad. Bad news! I'm traveling this weekend so won't be updating until Monday. Hang in there, sweeties! Only a few chapters left. Please, please vote, comment, leave some love, I think we all need it. ~Spark
Edited to add: I am loving the ambivalent reaction to this chapter. Never worry that you are hurting my feelings by not feeling great about how Maria died. It's easy to think it's what we want -- isn't it? Fwiw, I feel both ways, too. <3