Their life went back to the monotony she remembered before conceiving their son alarmingly fast-and it left her bitter, angry even. But when she went to confront him in the guardhouse, Rileus had to tell her that Althalos resigned the day they came back home, and he didn't know where the man was at the moment.

It galled her that she was left out of this-although he had warned her in the meeting with her father. She found herself wandering the city with guards in tow, for well over her normal length of time. She was too rattled to go back in at noon, just to bend to that man's damned will again. That, and it had been weeks since she had spent a scant few minutes with her own son. The rage went out of her at that thought, just to be replaced with a despair that she couldn't see an end to. That's what finally dragged her back to the castle, worn and feeling useless.

In their living space, all the tighter a fit due to it's emptiness-how in the world would a child fit in here with them? She felt like hurting something, but instead picked up the gloves and carvings that she had clumsily worked on over the months. Her grip was sure and the knife wielded beautiful cuts, but she couldn't get them to start and end where she wanted them to. It caused the little animals to have lopsided grins that mocked her damned useless hands. She threw the one she was working on at the door to her prison-that's what it felt like at the moment-only to have it bump off Althalos' chest as he strode in. She still held the knife, not knowing what the hell to do with the thing at this moment in time, although a few darker thoughts came to mind.

The Prince looked into the face of his betrothed. She wasn't beautiful in this moment, face red and raw. She must have had very ugly thoughts passing through her mind, perhaps wanted to cry, too. The woman didn't do much crying, not even this provoked. Instead of drawing nearer to her, he bent down to pick up the figurine. It's little comic face had more life to it than he expected. It suited her, and he knew she hated it-wasn't the first time she said as much, even. "I owe you an explanation, don't I?"

She winced. The man spent most of his time being deliberately obtuse, and in this moment he made it damn clear that he knew why she was upset. "I want my son."

He made no response, as usual. Damn him, he wasn't going to make this easy.

"What are you planning on doing with us? Do I have any say in what we are, going forward, or does my son stay with your parents until he's of age, while I sit here with not a damn thing worth my time?"

"I plan on us being wed in a few weeks, and the three of us living in our own dwelling, for a start." He glanced around the room. "This would become quite cramped with children in a very short space of time."

"Children? Can we spend some time with this one before speaking of more children?" She sighed, letting go of the tension that held her in place, then picked up the knife, guessing that was why he kept his distance this long. "Are you going to come and sit by me, have this talk you've denied me?"

"No, we're going to take a walk. You aren't going to believe what I have to say without seeing it yourself."

"What?"

"I love you."

He was right-she didn't believe him. The last time she heard a laugh so bitter and raw, it had come from him in the midst of tearing apart his past, not from her own lips. "The hell you do. The thrice-curse hell you do! Love doesn't do half the things you do to hide from me. I'm about as close as I've ever been to walking away from you."

"You wouldn't leave your son, Esme, and I told you that you wouldn't believe what you couldn't see. Come." He held out his hand to help her up, if she would take him. His grim look didn't instill trust.

She supposed she could go along with him this one last time. After all, leaving could happen today as well as tomorrow.