Disobedience [h.s.]

Twenty-Four

Screams wrench the dawn from the sky. Catherine tears at her midwife, reaching for anything in sight to ease the pain radiating through every inch of her body. Footsteps outnumber her breaths as servants bustle through their work to catch a glimpse of the rumored heir of Alaria. The Prince is not on the grounds and the Royals are furious, pacing the corridor outside the room, their vocal cords straining to maintain frigid sovereignty as guards are dispersed like rain.

Near the end of the hall, Caldwell sighs and abandoned his post, headed for a hole in the castle wall known only to the forlorn Prince and his good-natured lover. How Harry has managed to keep the breach a secret when he and Brielle use it as a daily exit is beyond his comprehension. Nevertheless, he is careful to avoid slighting his friend and takes leave of the grounds through the front gates.

Alaria watches the castle as if it will float away in the next moment, transfixed upon a moment they cannot witness. If the child is his, Harry won't be able to face them for a month.

The familiar field of pink flowers greets him alongside the fragrant smell of blooming roses. Brielle has begun another garden of her own with every color imaginable. As beautiful as they are, he did not visit to admire flowers. His knuckles collide with the door, a sound that mimics distant cannons. Neither one calls out in answer or opens the door.

"Harry, get up you dalcop! If I stand out here any longer I will drag you back to the castle myself!"

Brielle's laughter is muffled by Harry's hand. Despite the playful nature of his eyes, disquiet rests in his voice, "Be quiet! He will ruin our peaceful morning with politics."

Caldwell only seeks him out when something of importance has taken place and requires his attention immediately. Whatever it is, he would rather stay in bed with Brielle, painting her cheeks and tracing the faint purple outlines underneath her skin with his lips. She says something but the words are trapped and vibrating between his fingertips. The corners of his lips feel like clouds, "I'm sorry, I don't believe I quite understood that."

Brielle pushes his hand away and pretends to draw in gusts of air, her bright eyes giving her away. "I said I can't breathe!"

Harry threads his fingers through the tangles in her hair, lips drawing closer to hers on their own accord. "Then let me help you." She tastes like the blackberries they had for breakfast before the sheets called them back to bed.

A riotous boom jumps through the walls. Caldwell is done waiting. "Now look what you've made me do! My apologies, Brielle!"

Beneath him, Brielle sinks into the mattress, her lungs burning as they contain her laughter. "I believe you've made him angry."

More like irritated. Harry kisses her and labors to remove the sheets to cover himself without exposing Brielle beneath the blanket. Caldwell waits by the door he kicked in, annoyance as rigid as his posture.

The sheet does not settle in his grip, shifting as it pleases and threatening to fall to the floor if he moves the wrong way. "Why was that necessary?"

"It wasn't. You took too long and I have no desire to add to the storm building within the castle."

Harry dares a glance toward the bedroom behind him, voice as thin as the sheet that fails to cover even the smallest shadow. "The child is arriving? So soon?"

As if he's been counting the days. The unborn child is a spider building a home inside his skull, forcing his attention during every waking moment and gnawing at the festering guilt within his heart with ravenous hunger. Distractions have sedated the unwelcome guest in intermittent stretches, evading the inevitable progression of time only by thought. If the child is here he is out of time.