I returned from the fair cradling two gifts: delicate dreamcatchers woven with willow hoops, moon-pale thread, and tiny obsidian beads that caught the dying light like trapped stars.
One for Kathrin, one for Alistair. Peace offerings, though I couldn't name what war I was trying to end.
The maid met me in the upper corridor, dropping a curtsey. "Milady, your mother-in-law rests with a headache. She asked not to be disturbed."
"Thank you, Mary." I turned the dreamcatcher in my hands, watching the beads click softly against each other. My heart jumped—perhaps this was providence. "And my husband?"
"In his study, milady. As always."
I climbed the tower stairs, each step echoing in the narrow spiral.
I knew his study would be locked; I also knew I had a key—given to me on our wedding day, though he'd likely forgotten. The iron key weighed heavy in my pocket, unused these many months.
The lock yielded with a protesting grind. I stepped in without ceremony.
Alistair looked up from a sea of ledgers and extinguished tapers, and his face went white as bone. Papers scattered beneath his hands as if he'd been caught at something shameful.
"Helena." My name emerged strangled. "You can't—you shouldn't be here."
"I brought something for our room." I lifted the dreamcatcher so its beads clicked softly, a sound like rain on glass. "For your sleep. You thrash at night, wake gasping. I thought perhaps nightmares—"
"How would you know?" His voice cut sharp. "You sleep like the dead."
"I don't, actually." I made myself smile, though the room's closeness pressed against my lungs. "I wake in the night, chilled, and watch you fight invisible demons. Your mother suffers the same restlessness. Perhaps it runs in the blood."
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping. "You spoke to my mother about my sleep?"
"She worries. We both do."
"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "Don't worry about me."
I crossed to the window, desperate for air, but found the shutters nailed closed. The study reeked of melted wax and old ink, too many candles choking a room that hadn't breathed in months. "Why do you lock yourself in this tomb?"
"It's not a tomb."
"Then what is it? A cell? A crypt?" I spun to face him. "You're killing yourself slowly in here, and for what? Numbers in ledgers?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
He laughed—a bitter sound that made my skin crawl. "Some things, Helena, are better left in darkness."
The room tilted suddenly, gray spots dancing at the edges of my vision. The heat, the smell, the weight of secrets—everything crashed over me at once. My knees buckled.
Alistair crossed the distance with inhuman speed, catching me before I hit the floor.
His arms wrapped around me, and God help me, his hands were ice against my burning skin—exactly the relief I craved in this stifling oven he called a study.
"You're freezing," I murmured against his chest.
"You're burning up." His voice rumbled through me. "Are you ill?"
"No." I leaned into him, raising my face to his. "Just tired from the fair. Just... tired of this distance between us."
He didn't answer, but he didn't pull away either.
His gray eyes searched mine, and for a moment I saw the man I'd married—not this cold stranger who shared my bed like a ghost, but Alistair who'd once laughed at my jokes, who'd danced with me until dawn.
"Please," I whispered, not even sure what I was begging for.
Something inside him snapped like a tether cut. He kissed me hard, devouring, all months of hunger unleashed at once.
His mouth was desperate, savage, and I answered with equal ferocity. We could eat each other alive and still be starving—that's what we'd become, two people dying of thirst while drowning in the same bed.
His hands tangled in my hair, and mine clutched at his shoulders, trying to anchor him before he disappeared again.
For a heartbeat, I believed we could bridge this chasm. For a heartbeat, I forgot Nathaniel's kiss at the fair, forgot the child whose father I couldn't name, forgot everything but Alistair's mouth on mine.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the heat guttered out.
He stepped back, breathing hard, his face closing like a door slammed shut. "Go, Helena."
"Alistair—"
"Take care of yourself." The words held weight I didn't understand. "Please. Just... go."
I fled, the dreamcatcher clenched to my chest, its beads cutting into my palm. Behind me, I heard the lock turn with finality.
Days blurred together after that. He didn't seek me after that kiss—not a word, not a touch, though he still came to our bed after midnight and left before dawn.
I'd lie awake, feeling the mattress dip with his weight, listening to his careful breathing, wondering if he was awake too, both of us pretending to sleep while inches apart.
From the solar window, I watched Nathaniel training his hawks in the lower field. He'd look up sometimes, as if he could feel my gaze, and I'd step back into shadow, refusing to be seen.
My body remembered his hands, the rasp of his mouth, the way he made me feel alive instead of merely existing.
"You're torturing yourself," I whispered to my reflection in the glass.
My hand drifted to the slight curve of my belly, barely noticeable beneath my morning dress, but there all the same. Every day it grew more real, more undeniable.
This life inside me—proof of my sins or proof of my marriage, I couldn't say. But I wouldn't risk it, not for Nathaniel's touch, not for anything.
"Admiring the view?" Kathrin's voice made me jump.
"The hawks are magnificent," I said, not turning from the window.
"Indeed." She moved beside me, and I knew she wasn't looking at the birds. "Your color improves daily. The child grows well."
"Kathrin—"
"Two weeks have passed." Her tone was gentle but firm. "More than two weeks, actually. Your body changes. Soon, the servants will notice, then the village. Alistair deserves to hear it from you, not from gossip."
"I know."
"Then why do you hesitate?"
I pressed my palm flat against my belly. "What if he doesn't want it?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Every man wants an heir."
"Not every man." I thought of his face in the study, the way he'd said some things were better left in darkness. "Not Alistair."
Kathrin turned me to face her, her hands firm on my shoulders. "Helena, whatever troubles lie between you and my son, this child could heal them. But only if you're brave enough to try."
"And if it doesn't? If it makes things worse?"
"Then at least you'll know." She squeezed my shoulders. "Tell him tonight, or I will. The choice is yours, but the secret ends now."
She left me standing at the window, watching Nathaniel's hawks circle and dive. Tonight. I had until tonight to find words that might save or damn me. My hand pressed harder against my belly, feeling for movement that wouldn't come for weeks yet.
"Your father might be the man who kisses me like I'm dying," I whispered to the life inside me. "Or the one who kisses me like he is. Either way, little one, we're about to find out if there's any love left to save us."