Morna pressed her way through the crowd, squeezing between men drinking in laughing groups and women gossiping as they tried to sell warm cakes with drizzled icing to those who came to watch the spectacle. The sidewalk and side streets were so tightly packed that Morna felt almost as if she had to flatten herself into a splinter just to regain the spot where she'd left Afton by the main road. She used her elbows to cut through walls of arms and backs when no one would step aside for her. But, thankfully, eventually she spotted the familiar light hair and worn blue coat standing by a light post. With a sigh of relief, she came up from behind him, offering him the wrapped bread he'd sent her to buy while they waited.

"You split it," he said, shifting the baby in front of him.

Morna did as asked, dividing the rather coarse brown bread into three hunks. She placed one in Afton's free hand, kept one for herself, and handed the last to Adair's swaying form.

Morna knew what those near enough to see the small group must think. That the young couple had their elderly mother or aunt with them, but if anyone were to look close enough they would see there were no lines on the haggard face, no twisted bones in the hands or stoop to the back. In fact, the white haired woman was barely past the prime marrying years, and had an air of grace to her, despite her vacant eyes.

"Adair, bread," Morna said, tapping the crust that Adair held in slack fingers.

Knowing she couldn't force it, Morna let Adair stare into the thin air without saying anything more. Turning away, she took the baby from Afton and kissed his fat cheeks. Her lips pressed against the fine blonde hair that had started to grow into curls around the edges.

It had taken her so long to collect this little family. Adair hadn't even said a single word yet, but Morna held out hope that perhaps one day she might come to realize the love that Morna and the baby were willing to offer.

In the six months since his birth, the baby had filled out to be a picture of Glenfarrow handsomeness. He bore Afton's chin and eyebrows and downy hair. For the longest time, Morna thought she be afraid of the squalling bundle, knowing just how much it hurt to lose someone that ingratiated into her heart, yet she knew she couldn't fear such perfection. She'd named him after her father, knowing he couldn't go by the name of the heir if she wished to keep him from the pain of the gaping hollow that surrounded the throne.

Afton reached over a twirled a finger through one of the baby's curls, smiling through his bite of bread and catching Morna's eye. A four-strong family, more than Morna had had in a long time.

Standing on the side of the main road, it was not a happy day for them, though the crowds were jovial and boisterous. What was about to happen was not a thing they relished, though they knew they had to witness it. Morna pressed her cheek against the baby's head, closing her eyes as the sun beat down and they waited and waited.

Finally, a trumpet sounded from far away. The crowd became louder, shouting and shoving, all hoping to see the procession that emptied from the Latterstill palace. As the row of black horses and armed guards came closer, Afton grabbed Morna's elbow gently, though she was well aware of their presence. Adair even seemed to come out of her fog enough to move her eyes in their direction, her nervous fidgeting stilling to just a tremble in the fingers still curved around the bread. Morna watched with baited breath as General Cooke rode by them, oblivious to the presence of not only Afton Glenfarrow's widow, but Afton himself, and the son that should have been heir. In fact, no one knew they were there, or at least had no idea of who they were. They had long ago been declared dead, and so Morna could hold the rightful heir to the country and know that she did not have to carry the burden that made General Cooke's almost bald head now even barer.

As the black horses slowly passed by, their ranks seemingly endless, Morna's eyes searched for the one they wanted. She passed over the soldiers and generals, noting that General Rydon did not make an appearance. Rumor was he made the same exit that Robbin did.

At the same time Morna spotted what they were looking for, she felt Adair's touch on her arm. They both stared at the black horse that bore a rider dressed in the same color. A widow's gown covered her from ankle to wrist, and a long black veil blurred the edges of her face, but her sisters would always recognized her. Morna's breath caught in her lungs and her skin prickled at the sight of Brenna's wrists in thick iron.

"Should I...?" Afton asked, sketching a small wave to demonstrate. Morna shook her head.

"No, let her be," she whispered.

The crowd hushed as Brenna rode by, staring at the woman who had tried to grab what was not hers. There was not a single friendly face in the bunch, but a sort of strange respect radiated from their bodies, as if they were slightly in awe of how far Brenna and Robbin had been able to go. Yet, no one would shed a tear as the General escorted her to the women's prisoner in the nearby city of Pishora. Even Morna, who felt a twinge of sorrow that her sister had fallen this far, could not bring herself to cry for her sister. Even if Brenna had not helped, she couldn't help placing some blame on her sister's shoulder for Afton's near death and her torture in the asylum.

Brenna's horse came level with Morna and the rest, and suddenly Brenna looked up and her eyes settled on them. As if she'd known they'd be there. Morna saw her linger over Afton and the baby, his sleeping face pressed against Morna's shoulder, and then skitter to hers, and then Adair's. She knew her family, and Morna could offer only a small nod. Brenna's lips pressed together, and Morna thought she saw her eyes glisten, but then the horses walked by and they were looking at the back of the long veil.

The crowd began to break up when the last of the soldiers rode by, taking with them the excitement of watching the criminal queen being dragged off to her just rewards. Morna and her small family stayed put, staring after the dwindling sight of the black horses. The baby cooed softly, pushing against Morna's chest in the way of new babies as it lolled about. She cupped its head, petting the downy hair, and Afton stepped closer. She stepped back so that his hand was on her back and her head could relax into his shoulder.

Morna glanced at her other sister, back to the vacant shell that she'd been since they'd found her. She swayed gently in the breeze, staring into nothing. Morna swallowed past the pit of pity in her throat. They were all broken now, a collection of three sisters with not a whole piece between them. Brenna rode away to some distant prison, a queen without a crown. Adair was more ice than human at this point. And Morna, herself, could never get rid of the tears in her heart.

Yet, she knew they'd be all right. Brenna may have been sentenced to a life of imprisonment, but she had her life. Adair was a statue, but Morna was determined to bring her back into the land of the living. And Morna had the baby and Afton, both of which she knew were hers forever.

Afton took a breath and looked behind them at the path they would have to take to leave Latterstill. They didn't know where they would go, but they knew they couldn't stay in the city that had caused so much pain.

"Are we ready?" he asked.

Morna shifted the baby so that she could take Adair's hand in hers, pulling her older sister close. With the baby nestled to her neck, Adair at her side, and Afton leading the way, Morna walked away from the capital of the country that might once have been hers. She didn't look back once.

~~~~~~~~~

And there we end our story, with the weakest becoming the strongest, and the strongest the weakest. With two loves dead—a brother for a country's foolish crown, and a faithful companion from the fear and pride of another. However, not all is doomed. A babe was born, his family his treasure. A mother with strength that surpasses his knowledge, a father filled with fierce love, and an aunt he is taught to treat with kindness despite her mute stares. He will become a brother, sworn protector of his siblings and never far from their home and his mother's kisses and his father's embrace. His bloodline is a secret held from him-- and it does him no harm. No one will know him as anything but the son of the family down the lane.

And that is, perhaps, the best thing for a child.

THE END

A/N: Thank you so much, everyone, for coming with me on this long journey! I never thought anyone would read this, as it was another one of those stories that are "purely me", but it just goes to show that I'm not as alone as I think I am! I have loved all your comments and your support, and I just want to say thank you thank you thank you! I couldn't do this without you! Mwah mwah mwah! --Cassie Rose

If you want to read a similar story to Sisters Three, think about checking out The Price on my profile! It shares a lot of vibes with Sisters Three and has a similar romance to Morna and Afton (but far less tragic, I promise!). 

Nadia, an orphan, must battle against her obsessive mentor and a brewing revolution in order to be with the young man who awakens her lonely heart.