Nathaniel’s gaze found mine—a flash of heat and history that made my skin burn.
That look carried too much: afternoon secrets, desperate touches, truths about the child growing beneath my heart. With Maeve knowing everything, shame crawled up my throat like bile.
"Why are you still here?"
Kathrin's voice cut through the courtyard like a blade through silk. She materialized from the main doors, her gray dress severe as judgment, eyes locked on Nathaniel with predatory focus.
"I work the eastern grounds, my lady." Nathaniel straightened but didn't retreat. "Came to greet your guest properly."
"Your propriety is noted and dismissed." Kathrin advanced, each step measured violence. "Return to your duties."
"The new guest might appreciate knowing the grounds' dangers—"
"The new guest will be informed by appropriate parties." Ice could have formed on Kathrin's words. "Not by employees who forget their station."
Nathaniel's jaw locked, muscle jumping beneath skin. "Of course, my lady."
He bowed—perfect form, ironic depth—and withdrew toward the stables. His retreat carried that particular grace of a man choosing not to fight.
Kathrin wheeled on me. "This familiarity ends now."
"He saved us from—"
"He's a servant." Each word dropped like a gavel. "If I observe another exchange that breaches proper boundaries, I'll dismiss him myself. Without reference. Without wages owed."
"Mother Blackwood—"
"Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal."
She pivoted to Maeve with the seamless transition of a woman born to rule. "Lady Carrow, welcome to Blackwood Manor. I apologize for that unseemly display."
"No apology necessary." Maeve's smile could have frozen flame. "I recognize maternal protection when I see it."
"Indeed." Kathrin's assessment sharpened. "We'll speak properly at dinner. Helena, see your friend settled."
She swept back inside, leaving arctic silence in her wake.
"Christ." Maeve exhaled hard. "She's magnificent and terrifying."
"She's exactly like your parents. Different weapons, same war."
"At least your monster-in-law focuses her venom on you." Maeve linked our arms, steering us toward the guest wing. "I'm just collateral damage."
We laughed at this bitter truth.
The afternoon bled into logistics—unpacking Maeve's trunks, touring the manor's labyrinthine corridors, explaining which doors stayed locked and why. By dinner, exhaustion weighted my bones like lead.
The formal dining room blazed with candles that threw our shadows large against damask walls. Kathrin presided from the head, interrogating Maeve.
"Your parents must be pleased you're observing Helena's maternal journey."
"Ecstatic." Maeve's tone could have curdled wine. "They believe pregnancy might cure my rebellious nature."
"Will it?"
"Unlikely. Helena's condition has only reinforced my desire for autonomy."
Kathrin's smile turned razor-thin. "Another willful woman. How delightful."
The meal progressed like a chess match—Kathrin probing, Maeve deflecting, each woman taking the other's measure. By the final course, they'd achieved a kind of armed détente.
I escaped to our chambers, finding Alistair at the desk, bent over correspondence that couldn't possibly require such focus.
"Did lady Maeve survive the maternal inquisition?" He didn't look up.
"Barely." I collapsed against his shoulder, breathing in his scent—winter wind and something darker. "Kathrin threatened to dismiss Nathaniel."
"Good."
The word landed cold. I pulled back, studying his profile. "You want him gone?"
"I want many things." He set down his pen with excessive precision. "Few of them possible."
"Alistair—"
"You're tired." He shifted away, creating distance. "Rest."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." But his control rang too perfect, like ice before it cracked. "Everything proceeds as it should."
I knew that tone—the same careful distance he'd maintained before revealing his transformation.
But exhaustion won. I let him guide me to bed, let his cool hands arrange blankets with mechanical care, let sleep drag me under while questions accumulated like snowfall.
***
Three days then passed, executed with careful planning.
Alistair invented evening obligations—estate business requiring immediate attention, correspondence that couldn't wait, hunting expeditions that stretched past midnight.
When he returned, I'd pretend to sleep while he settled beside me, maintaining inches that felt like miles.
Maeve noticed, of course. And she'd taken to shadowing Nathaniel from safe distances, cataloging his movements with scholarly precision.
"He's not planning anything immediate," she reported over breakfast. "But he watches your husband like a hawk tracking prey."
"Let him watch." I pressed my palm to my belly, feeling the flutter that grew stronger daily. "Alistair barely acknowledges either of us exists."
"The child deserves better than a ghost for a father."
"Yes." The word cracked out harder than intended. "It does."
That evening, I didn't wait for Alistair's manufactured excuses. I climbed the tower stairs, key heavy in my pocket, and unlocked his study without knocking.
He sat surrounded by ledgers that meant nothing, candles burning low, playing the part of the devoted lord managing his holdings.
"We're going to talk." I closed the door with deliberate force. "Now."
"Helena—"
"No." I crossed to his desk, palms flat on oak. "No deflection. No careful distance. You'll explain what changed, or I'll take this matter to your mother."
His eyes snapped to mine, gray gone silver with surprise. "You wouldn't."
"Try me." I leaned closer, close enough to feel the cold radiating from him. "Shall I tell her you're abandoning your pregnant wife? Again?"
"That's not—"
"Then what is it?" My voice rose, sharp enough to cut. "Because from where I stand, you're repeating the same pattern that drove me to—"
I caught myself before Nathaniel's name escaped.
"The pattern that drove you to seek comfort elsewhere." Alistair finished, voice flat as hammered steel.
"Yes."
Silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring. The candles flickered, throwing his shadow large and strange against stone walls.
"Talk." I straightened, arms crossed, every line of my body demanding answers. "Or I walk out that door and make good on my threat. Your choice, husband."
I waited, watching him wrestle with whatever darkness had driven him back to isolation, prepared to fight for the family we'd promised to build or lose everything trying.