A/N: So part of this was originally published quite a while ago as the first chapter Dantana fic, and I had the second chapter in the works, but I kept reading it over and over and something about it just wasn't working for me, so I rewrote it as Bechloe, and what do you know? It seems to have worked. I can't guarantee I'll be updating it with a lot of frequency, but I'll do my best to keep it up at a decent pace.

It starts out as super fluffy, etc., but then it just morphed it something else as I was writing it tonight, and now this is what happened. It may be confusing, but I hope you enjoy. Plus, I never had any intention of writing something with Emily in it, but she just kind of showed up in the way that characters like that will do.

Reviews are love. Let me know your thoughts.

Loves!

Teddie

"Our dried voices, when we whisper together, are meaningless."

- T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men

Chloe pocketed the small sum of coins, tucking it carefully into the folds of her patched dress, and shivered as yet another bought of thunder shook the sky. The scruffy, bearded man behind the peddler's stall looked up at the sound. His eyes seemed to get caught halfway up; they wandered over the young girl's figure, searching, before settling on her weary face. Twice he had nearly suggested that she wait out the squall in tavern – he would have been more than happy to herd away any unwanted aggravators who came too near – but the expression of hardened determination in her eyes had unsettled him each time. Now, though, as she was clearly preparing to leave, he decided to speak up before it was too late.

"Ye sure ye don't want to wait out the storm here, miss?" he asked, his kind brown eyes peering at her worriedly. "It's awful dangerous out there, and ye in such a condition and all." The young woman shook her head mutely as a refusal. Beneath the tattered shawl draped across her shoulders like a wet rag, her swollen belly stretched the rough material of her dress.

"Ye sure? That child won't thank ye if ye catch cold." She looked up, met his eyes with her own of stunning sapphire.

"No. I have somewhere to be." Her tone was softer in cadence than his and slightly more sophisticated, as if she had once been of a higher position, but time had worn it away somewhat. Beneath the more educated language, hints of a rougher accent lingered.

He nodded gravely.

"Best be going then, lass, and find some shelter until the storm breaks. Best of luck to ye." He turned away, going back to reordering his precious few items, and she took the movement as a signal to depart. Shivering slightly at a flash of lightning, she began to trudge her way up the muddy street. A rumble of thunder followed her, seeming to chase her slightly lopsided figure up the alleyway of houses and gristmills. She shuddered; the baby inside her jabbed with what must have been tiny elbows or knees, knocking into her ribs and forcing her to halt momentarily, bending over to ease the ache in her spine.

She needed to get to shelter before this storm got worse – if not for herself, then for the baby. She had started out that morning with a clear idea of where to go, but now that it was growing dark, her plans seemed to be falling apart. She was starving and exhausted, and the small amount of money that she had made would allow perhaps for no more than a small slice of bread from any market stall. It would take a miracle to find the royal castle in this weather; even reaching the end of the street was going to be a chore.

She had only gone several yards and already was nearly caving to her knees beneath the combined weight of exhaustion, hunger, and the baby that was growing less and less active with every step she took. Several days ago, when it had first lain still for a number of hours, she had presumed that it was only sleeping, but now she knew instinctively that it was becoming listless from a lack of proper nourishment. She had not eaten more than scraps in nearly a week, and had not slept in over a day and a half. Her baby was dying.

It was the worst feeling that she had ever experienced, knowing that her child was near death and that she was the cause. She felt desperately that she needed to do something – anything – to sustain it, but she was quickly losing hope. She had been on her feet for so many hours, and likely would continue to be so for at least several more. With a heavy heart, she thought of how ecstatic she had been the day before upon receiving word that a maidservant was wanted in the castle; she would be able to work, to perhaps earn a small living for herself and for her child. Now she was in a state of great desperation; she needed to reach the castle soon. Otherwise, she didn't know that she would be able to go on at all. She was swiftly becoming weaker.

Her feet continued to stumble in an unknown direction, but her mind was not in the task; eyes closed against the rain and sound of thunder, she reached down with her thoughts to the child within her and up to the unknown entity dwelling somewhere above the storm, and she prayed.

Seven hours later, Chloe stumbled at last through the gate, not even bothering to look up at the looming castle in front of her as she tripped her way across the courtyard to the massive front doors. Weakly, she pounded on the wood, her small fist barely making any sound. Nothing moved; no footsteps called in the distance to announce their approach. After waiting a moment, she tried again.

Still there was no response.

With a small sob, Chloe slid to the ground, her knees giving out at last. She didn't even mind the feeling of freezing stone pressing through her thin clothing. Hot tears streaming in rivers down her face, she grasped at the sides of the blanket on her shoulders, attempting to draw it on over her belly for extra warmth. Her fingers knotted into the loose threads and stayed there, gripping desperately but unable to move any further. She was absolutely exhausted; she couldn't even muster up the strength to knock again on the door. All there was left for her to do was to hope that someone would find her in the morning on their way out to run an errand. For now, all she wanted to do was sleep.

Chloe's eyelids were just sinking closed when the door opened and a small crack of light shone down across her face. Scrambling up into a halfway sitting position, she squinted upwards hopefully. Maybe they would let her in now, and she could finally have some food.

"What the fuck?" A man stood in the doorway, a lantern held high in his hand. His body loomed tall above her, and to Chloe, his eyes seemed beady and malicious in the dim light. Her heart sank – she knew of men of this breed.

"What are you doing here? We don't have room here for beggars. Get the fuck out," he snarled angrily, swinging out a booted foot to kick at her in the darkness. Chloe squeaked out in fright and attempt to roll away, only to be caught in the ribs by the heavy, steel-toed footwear. At the feeling of hard steel against her ribcage, she let out a louder sound, a low moan that sounded almost like a wounded animal.

"Came – to – apply," she choked out once the pain had dulled enough for her speak. "Maid position. Good at cleaning." She scooted backwards again, but wasn't fast enough to avoid a second kick. This one landed on her hipbone, dangerously close to the bump that held her baby. A short burst of anger filled her, but was quickly suctioned away by fear when a foot swung out yet again, aiming for her face. This time, she managed to avoid it, squirming away painfully across the cold stone like some sick kind of serpent. She continued to recoil even after the appendage had retreated. Was this how they treated people here?

"Jesse! Get the fuck away it. What have I told you about respect?" A new, higher voice broke in just as Chloe cringed, hearing the swish of a boot through the air for the forth time. She braced herself for the impact, but it didn't come; apparently the newcomer had stopped the assault. She only hoped that they wouldn't do something even worse.

"It's a beggar, your highness."

"I don't give a shit if it's Robin Hood, Jesse. You leave it alone. Now get the fuck out and let me deal with this – don't you have somebody else to abuse?" As the pain in Chloe's ribs and hipbone grew dull enough for her to focus on what was being said, she realized that the second voice was female. When she registered a low muttered apology, followed by the departure of heavy feet, she was even more astonished. How did a woman have the power to chase a man away?

"Hey. You there." Chloe panicked slightly when she realized that the feminine voice was now being directed at her. Placing her hands on the stone, she attempted to lift herself up. Unfortunately, her motions were halted abruptly by a surge of pain in her ribs and pelvis. With a low cry, she dropped back to the ground hard, her cheek slamming into the rock numbly. Once down, she made no move other than to bring her knees up as far as they could go given her situation, wrapping her arms protectively around her stomach. A faint, fluttering kick met her motions, and she nearly cried with relief to know that her baby was still alive.

There sharp gasp from above.

"Oh my – shit. Benji! Cynthia Rose!" the voice bellowed urgently, echoing off the walls of the courtyard. A scrambling sound, and the speaker dropped to their knees beside the injured young woman. Chloe kept her eyes tightly shut on purpose, hoping against hope that this savior of hers would not turn her away. She had come too far, had endured too much to be shunned now. This was her last hope, and she was still holding on frantically to the prayer that it would not be ripped away.

One hand came up to touch her face gently, the other reaching down to cradle the side of her stomach. The heat of foreign skin pressed all the way through the dress and into her body, relaxing her with the sensation of warmth. She allowed herself to breathe more freely. Warmth meant life.

"Did he hurt your baby?" The tone was low and mild, quieter now that the man called Jesse was gone. Yet it was urgent; the unknown woman seemed to be waiting anxiously for an answer. Chloe mumbled from behind her hair. She could feel the hand on her jawbone shift as she spoke.

"Just missed it." Though she could not see it, Chloe felt the body beside hers relax to a degree. The hand smoothed over her abdomen, readjusting and tucking in the blanket around it from where it had fallen open.

"Praise be to God. Are you able to stand?" Chloe hesitated for a moment, not wanting to seem even more vulnerable than she already was, but quickly decided that she was past caring. At any rate, it would become obvious if she tried to get to her feet.

"No." A pause.

"All right then." And in a movement so swift and surprising that Chloe hardly had time to register it, the stranger had hefted the young woman into her arms. Chloe let out a squeal of surprise, her eyes flying open in shock. She could not see her rescuer from this angle, but she could tell from the height her own eyes were at that she was quite small. Certainly, the arms encasing her were littler than her own, but they were strong – stronger than Chloe's had ever been.

The stranger was mumbling to herself.

" . . . Fucking Jesse. I ought to castrate him. Who the fuck beats on pregnant women?" Chloe stirred slightly at the words. She didn't want to defend this Jesse character, especially not after he had made an attempt to injure her, but she didn't want to get him in trouble, either. Who knew what sort of powerful position he held? She didn't want to make an even worse first impression than she already had.

"I don't think he knew I was pregnant," she said quietly. The steps halted; the arms around her froze slightly into position. Anxiously, Chloe waited for the strange woman to speak, hoping that she had not said the wrong thing. Apparently a response had not been expected of her.

When the woman spoke, her voice was slightly strained.

"He should pay more attention," was all she said, but there was such a tinge of rage and finality to her words that Chloe took them to signify the end of the matter. Not wanting to push any boundaries, she contented herself with rubbing a hand repeatedly across her belly, her eyes closed. She knew that their situation was becoming more critical by the minute. If she didn't eat very, very soon, any chances of life for her or for this baby would be over.

The stranger seemed to read her mind, or at least have some sort of sixth sense that informed her of the more than dire circumstances, for she stopped suddenly, partway down a corridor. Opening her eyes, Chloe realized that she hadn't been paying any attention to her surroundings, but honestly, she couldn't care less. She would go sightseeing when she knew that her baby would live.

"How long has it been since you've eaten?" the stranger asked. Chloe thought for a moment. The gristmill, the market stall, the tavern . . .

"Six days," she answered after a moment's pause. A sharp breath was drawn somewhere near the top of her head.

"Six days? And you're pregnant?" A horrified tone had entered her voice. "Jesus Christ, we need to get some food in you right now. Hold on – Benji! Cynthia Rose! Where in the actual fuck are you? Get down here, now!" Chloe flinched at the sudden increase of volume. Immediately, it seemed, two other bodies shifted out of the darkness. Squinting, she attempted to get a good look at each – one seemed rather angular and tall; a man, she realized. The other was not much shorter, though slightly heavyset – female. How they had appeared so rapidly, she did not know, but she did not care to ponder. She simply didn't have the energy left for curiosity at this point.

"Easy, Hobbit. We're here now."

"Where have you been? I summoned you minutes ago, Benji." The strange woman's voice was reprimanding; though Chloe couldn't see her face, she could sense the frown of disapproval.

"As I said, we are here, so no need to worry. What do you require?" It was the man, Benji, who spoke. Even through her rapidly dulling state of mind, Chloe could hear the refinement in his tone; he phrased his words with an elegance that was entirely unfamiliar to her. Anyone who spoke in such a polished manner would surely have to have been raised among royalty.

"Go immediately to the eastern wing, and prepare the largest bedchamber. Tell Lilly to send a hot meal immediately, and that Bree should draw a bath – warm, not scalding. Inform her that it's to be no hotter than body temperature; she's such a perfectionist that it should be asking nothing difficult." Benji nodded promptly and sped off, the clacking of his heeled boots echoing down the stone corridor. The woman – she had been called Cynthia Rose – remained behind, hands clasped before her dutifully as she waited for instruction.

"And I?"

"Help me to the eastern chambers, and gather your supplies. She is in dire need of care, Cynthia Rose; I expect that you will do your utmost to aid me."

"Of course, your highness. Do you require assistance?"

"Not in carrying her, no, but I cannot open the doors to our chambers. I shall need you to take care of that."

"Whatever you need, miss." As they settled into silence and began to walk once more, Chloe was vaguely aware that they had been speaking of her. In any ordinary circumstances, she would have objected to being spoken of as if she were not present, but her mind was falling into such a stupor that she was surprised she had even registered their voices. Her vision was quickly fading, and the world around her had long since become muted and hollow-sounding. Even as her body rocked with the motions of the woman's steps, she felt herself slipping away.

"Hello? Hello? Don't fall asleep, do you hear me? Not yet." Chloe was jolted only partway out of her daze, but it was enough to allow her to recognize that she was being spoken to. Almost without her knowledge, the question stumbled its way numbly out of her mouth.

"Why?" she mumbled loosely.

"You might not awaken; you are far too weak. Only a little longer, and I promise that you may rest." Chloe was partially surprised by the response; certainly, not being aware of her own query, she had not been expecting an answer. Indeed, the moment the words met her ears, they faded away again, sifting out of her brain and into the air as though being carried away on some distant breeze. Yet, though its meaning slipped away, the sound of the voice remained, strong and steady, and she found herself clinging to it with every last ounce of consciousness she retained until that too began to die away.

She was almost asleep when the swaying motions halted, and she woke slightly, realizing that they had come to a stop. She barely was conscious of the bright light that leaked in through the corners of her eyes as they entered a new, brighter room. The unknown woman sat down upon what appeared to be a pile of cushions, pulling Chloe back into her body, and the ginger almost relaxed into her before she was met with the sensation of the touch of hands on her face.

"Hey there – stay with us. I know you are tired, but you must eat. For your child. Eat." The voice was strong and firm, leading her out of her weary state of mind. It was the mention of her baby that tore her from her hazy thoughts, and her eyes snapped open. A sea of thin dark hair and strange, foreign-shaped eyes swayed before her. A gentle hand caressed her jaw, cradling the side of her face, and coaxed her lips open.

"Eat, sweet one. The food is hot; you should not let it grow cold." Obediently, Chloe accepted the warm food, allowing herself to be spoon-fed like a young child. It was only with tremendous effort that she managed to swallow, but the possessor of the odd, narrow eyes was insistent, and soon enough, she found that she had consumed the entire bowl of the warm stew. As she finished, dutifully swallowing the last bite, soothing words were murmured into her ear, and she was being lifted again, and carried across the chamber.

Her exhaustion remained, but the food had done wonders for Chloe. She had eaten very little compared to a normal day's consumption, but already her mind was clearing somewhat. She could practically feel the nourishment being drawn from her own body and into that of her child. Relief gripped her as the baby inside her stirred, and she permitted her mind to relax.

"We must wash you now, and care for your baby," the stranger's voice warned. "Don't be startled by the water." Chloe nodded, understanding but not trusting herself to speak loudly enough to be heard. She watched the movements of the foreign woman and the one called Cynthia Rose as they helped to lower her into a bathtub. The warm water encased her body as if in an embrace, calming her and easing her mind. A soft, cushiony object was slipped beneath her lower back and her neck for support, and as she could not see the hands that did so, she knew that the woman who had found her had done so. Upon realizing this, she remembered that she had not yet laid eyes on this savior of hers, and grew somewhat curious in spite of herself. Her curiosity was only spurred on when she caught a flashing glimpse of dark hair shining in the lamplight.

Beca hadn't been this concerned for another human's wellbeing for as long as she could remember. This young woman was so weak from exhaustion and lack of nourishment that she was unable to stay awake; Cynthia Rose had placed her in the bath at last half an hour ago, and her blue eyes had been closed almost since the moment the water had come into contact with her skin. Beca could see from her uneven breathing that she was still conscious, but she doubted if that would be the case for much longer.

"Cynthia Rose." Beca gave no further instruction, but the darker-haired woman understood her wordless command, and placed a hand on the pale, trembling one that lay on top of the young stranger's swollen belly.

"Hun, we've got to see if your baby's all right. May I touch?" For a moment, Beca didn't think that the redhead had heard; a long moment passed in silence. Then, slowly, she nodded, her eyes still tightly closed. The bruises on her hip and ribcage showed brilliantly lilac beneath the swaying water, but despite the injuries, she was stunningly beautiful. Her face, while weary, was almost angelic. Beca tried hard not to allow her gaze to linger too long on the gorgeous body laid bare before her – this was not the time for admiration. This woman needed her help.

The brunette watched Cynthia Rose's hands press down in different places across the thin woman's stomach, and reached out suddenly when the redhead arched her back with a surprised hiss.

"She's all right. It's just turning over," Cynthia Rose reassured, sending Beca a knowing look. Beca settled back, her grip tightening upon the towel she held ready. She couldn't understand the concern that shot abruptly through her at the clear expression of pain that clouded the stranger's features – only that she didn't want to see it happen again.

Beca Mitchell, protective. What a day this was turning out to be.

Chloe's eyes remained closed as steadying hands helped her gently out of the bathtub and patted her frail body tenderly dry with a soft cloth. She did not speak while the woman called Cynthia Rose dressed her in a thin nightgown and wrapped a robe around her, tying it carefully around her swollen belly. She did not even resist as arms slipped beneath her and lifted her, carrying her bridal style despite the added weight of her baby, and laid her down on a soft mattress. She curled into as much of a ball as she could manage, feeling slightly chilled, and someone drew up warm, heavy blankets and covered her body. Soothingly, they tucked her in and stroked her hair back from her closed eyes.

She was asleep before she could remember to thank them, or to wonder at the gentleness of the fingertips that danced along her cheek. The last thing she heard before she drifted off was a soft, melodic voice singing a lullaby that caused her baby to stir slightly within her, and then to grow still, soothed.

Chloe's eyes snapped open, her body jolted into action at the feeling of a particularly hard kick being landed near her ribs. Her eyelids felt hard and crusty, as though they had been painted with salt water as she slept; bringing a hand up to rub at them roughly, she blinked blearily until her vision had settled from vague blurs of color into more defined shapes. As soon as she had regained some semblance of eyesight, her gaze flickered sideways, checking for possible dangers. Living on the streets was all too hazardous to allow for any sort of carelessness; she was shocked that she had slept so deeply, ignoring any possible threats that could have come up. Her eyes travelled the length of the ceiling . . .

Wait. A ceiling?

Faster than she had imagined she could, Chloe had pushed herself up into a sitting position, head twisting wildly to examine her surroundings. She was lying in a bed. The chamber she resided in was small but comfortably roomy, filled with odd bits of furniture, lighted lamps, and several strange, foreign knickknacks. This was most definitely not the alleyway she usually found rest in; it was warm here, and there was even a bathtub set up in the center of the room, arranged with towels, scrub brushes, and bottles of what appeared to be lotion.

Then, in a flash, she remembered. Even as she did, she found it slightly surprising that she could recall anything, given her state upon her arrival here. All she could bring up as far as images were vague and blurry, but her other senses seemed to have honed in stronger. She caught a memory of hot food, of gentle hands, of warm water, and of soothing voices murmuring in her ears. There was the memory of pure fear, too; there was pain as someone kicked relentlessly at her frail body, and then the arms that rescued her and carried her inside. There was a vague recollection of fear for her child, fear that it would not live, fear that she would not make it to the castle in time . . .

It seemed that she had made it.

"How are you feeling?" Startled by the voice, Chloe flinched slightly. The sound was achingly familiar, and after a moment of muddled contemplation, she placed it as the voice of her rescuer. Her eyes immediately fell upon the speaker, her gaze raking the slender, delicate figure. Sleek chestnut hair flowed down across slender shoulders in graceful waves, framing her angular features and wide, steady blue-grey eyes. She was dressed in light trousers – held up by a thin black belt – and a thin, flowy blouse that was unbuttoned far down her chest, revealing planes of smooth, tanned skin, accentuating the curve of her breasts and her delicately structured collarbone.

She was stunning.

The young brunette let out a light laugh at the sight of Chloe's inquisitive gaze, and the sound sent a thrill shooting down Chloe's spine. In her previous weariness the night before, she had not noticed how beautiful the woman's voice was. Perhaps that was why it had stuck with her so deeply – indeed, now that she thought further on it, it had wormed its way into her dreams. It was low, husky, and unintentionally sexual, though it retained too the softer timbres of warmth that spoke of great passion and empathy. The sound fascinated her; she was certain that she had never before heard a voice so captivating.

She would have to wait until later to wonder why the quiet tone gave her chills, or why her baby stirred slightly inside her at the sound, as though it found it familiar and invigorating.

"You need not be afraid, sweet one," the woman crooned softly, slipping off of her chair to sink to her knees beside the low bed. "You are very weak. When you came to us two days ago, you were nearly dead from hunger and exhaustion. You need care." Her eyes were deep, soft, and wilder than the nights Chloe had often been forced to wait out in taverns, but they were calm and gentle. Chloe stared straight back into them, slightly lost, until the words registered in her mind with a click. She had been asleep for two days? There was so much to be done! She couldn't remain in bed now, at their hospitality, when she came here with the intention to work.

"I – I came here in search of a position," she managed to stammer out, finding her tongue heavy and clumsy from lack of use. Her words sounded thicker than usual to her own ears. "I intended to apply for the maid position that was advertised at the tavern. I am good at cleaning, I am patient; I will not require much – only a place to sleep and food for my child and me. I needn't bother you now." She spoke rapidly, anxious to convey her usefulness and atone for her lack of effort and shameless acceptance of their generosity. She began to struggle to sit up further, attempting to rise and stand, but was halted in her movements by the touch of careful hands on her shoulders and ribcage.

"Are you out of your mind?" the brunette exclaimed, pushing her back down to the bed with cautious force. "You are weak, ill, undernourished! And what is more, you are with child. Your baby is dependent on you for its life; it relies on your body to keep it healthy. You mustn't use your strength just yet." Chloe shook her head, squirming to sit beneath the strong hands that held her down.

"I do not wish to be a burden. I came here only to serve, hoping that I would be allowed to live in return without fear of starvation. I cannot continue to be beholden to you," she protested, struggling to rise. A slightly rougher push met her movements, stunning her into silence and rendering her immobile upon the bed. Had she had the presence of mind to do so, she would perhaps have noticed how ludicrous she appeared – hugely pregnant, dressed in a bathrobe with her hair plastered to the sides of her face, weakly attempting to sit up.

"My darling girl, I would be damned to hell for allowing you to work in a state like this!" the woman chuckled. When Chloe showed every sign of interrupting, all hints of amusement vanished from her features, to be replaced by steely determination. "You may take on the position that was advertised, but not for many months. I would be a fool to allow you to do further harm to your body than this."

"But I – "

"No," the woman cut across her firmly. "You will spend the remainder of your pregnancy and the first critical months of your child's life being cared for by my servants and myself. I cannot, I emphasize, simply cannot allow a woman in your condition to undergo such difficult physical labor. Not in my good conscience. It will not happen." Her tone was gentle, presumably so as not to frighten Chloe, but it was steady and resolved. Much thought appeared to have been given to this subject during the hours in which she had slept.

Swallowing nervously, Chloe realized that there would be no further discussion of the matter. In any case, why should she argue? This woman was offering her safety and stability without her even needing to lift a finger. It went against her better nature to accept such a gift without payment, but surely she shouldn't resist.

"Why are you doing this?" Chloe blurted out abruptly. Immediately, she bit her lip anxiously, unsure of whether she had crossed a line in their communications. Was it polite for her to question this stranger's generosity?

A tiny frown met her words.

"What do you mean?" the young woman asked confusedly.

"Why are you helping me? I have done nothing in return; I can do nothing. We are strangers; you have no reason to give me aid," Chloe demanded. She almost sounded angry.

A tender smile passed across bow-shaped lips, and the deep eyes immediately grew softer.

"Because you are in need of my help, and I wish to care for you," she said simply. "I have a certain . . . soft spot, shall we say, for people less fortunate than I." Chloe's breathing was heavy with combined frustration and bewilderment; her eyes darted wildly between lighter ones, searching for any sign of an ulterior motive, before she relaxed and slumped back into the pillows with a weary sigh. This topic was clearly not up for discussion; she would simply have to find a way to pay this woman back after she had regained her strength. She would be a fool to refuse such a wonderful gift as this.

"All right then . . . thank you, I suppose," she murmured bewilderedly, reaching up to run her fingers through her snarled hair. The darker-haired woman smiled.

"My pleasure. Now, I believe that we haven't been formerly introduced," she said softly, absently tucking the covers around the redhead's trembling shoulders. "What is your name?" Chloe hesitated, contemplating the possible dangers as she chewed her lip worriedly. No one had known her name in months; she wasn't particularly fond of introductions. However, as she was bound to be in this woman's care for the next months of her life, she supposed she might as well get it over with.

"Chloe," she murmured, not removing her eyes from the ceiling. She felt somewhat uncomfortable speaking her own name after not hearing it leave anyone's lips in so long. No one had referred to her by name since about a week before she fell pregnant. "It is Chloe." The brunette smiled warmly, extending a hand to shake.

"It is an honor to meet you, Chloe. I am Beca Mitchell." Chloe froze, her head jerking sideways to stare in horror. A moment later – and neither of them quite managed to figure out how she maneuvered it – she was kneeling on the floor beside the bed as far as her swollen stomach would allow her to bend, head bowed as her pale, wasted hands struggled to grasp slender ones in a state of shock.

"Your highness – Queen Rebeca – I am so careless – I apologize; I should have known – I cannot curtsey, please forgive me, I . . ."

"Chloe. Chloe. Chloe," Beca cut off the redhead's desperate rambling, gripping her chin to tilt her head up so that she could meet her gaze. "Do not apologize for not recognizing me; I do not require anyone to address me in such a manner. Please, you are hurting your child." Her tone was urgent as she wrapped her arms around the girl's quaking figure and lifted her back onto the bed. Swiftly, so hastily that Chloe could not see the motion, she slipped a pillow beneath the girl's back and lowered her gently to the mattress. Chloe shook, several tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. For the first time, she noticed the thin, lightweight silver band encircling Beca's head. The finely spun silver strands rested gently upon dark locks, the front side angled slightly towards the ceiling.

"You are not angry, your majesty?"

"Not at all," Beca retorted, stroking auburn hair back from the pained and sweaty face. Oddly enough, Chloe found the touch and the movement to be strangely soothing. "And in fact, I prefer that you simply refer to me as Beca. There is no need for formalities in this castle, unless it is between other political figures and me." Her tone was so assured that Chloe could not help but be soothed. With a huge exhalation of relief, she allowed her body to relax, sinking back into the mattress wearily. At the movement, Beca abruptly stood.

"Allow me to call for Lilly and Cynthia Rose . . . you haven't properly met them yet, and they'll be helping to care for you, as well as Benji," she explained, crossing the room in several long strides. Chloe watched as she opened the door a crack, speaking quietly to a servant that stood directly outside in the corridor. After a moment, she returned and pulled the covers back on the bed, exposing Chloe's legs to the chilly air. Chloe shivered unconsciously, drawing her knees up as far as they could go.

"Let's get you up and into the bath," Beca suggested, offering a hand. "I have sent for the doctor as well; she will want to examine you to be certain that your baby has not been harmed in any way." Chloe accepted the offered help, beginning to sit, and was surprised when Beca reached beneath her, wrapping one hand beneath her legs and one around her back, carrying her bridal style towards the bathtub. She tucked Chloe's head beneath her chin, subconsciously drawing gentle circles on the skin of the ginger's ribcage.

She sat Chloe down on her feet beside the bathtub, being sure to steady her with a hand in case her balance was no longer on point. Chloe held on gratefully, quavering slightly on her feet after several days of lying down. Once she had attained a firm grip on the side of the tub, Beca glanced up at her.

"Do you mind?" Caught by surprise, Chloe was puzzled. She stared quizzically at Beca for a moment before realizing that the woman was resting one hand on the tie of her bathrobe. Immediately, she shook her head. She had lost any remaining sense of privacy when she became pregnant; besides, she was used to people staring. Chloe wasn't conceited, but she was aware of the fact that the men and even some of the women of the kingdom considered her desirable. She knew that she was uncommonly attractive, though now, beside a woman whose beauty rivaled all others', she was beginning to understand that the attributes she possessed paled in comparison.

"No, I don't mind," she granted quietly. Carefully, the queen untied the simple robe and brushed it from Chloe's shoulders, allowing it to drop to the floor in a heap. She stooped to retrieve it and folded it neatly, placing it on a nearby chair. Then she turned back to Chloe, and shot her a questioning look. At Chloe's nod, she reached for the buttons of the simple nightgown that the pregnant woman wore. Gently, she undid each, blushing almost invisibly when the backs of her hands brushed the valley between Chloe's breasts. She did her best to avert her eyes once the troublesome garment had been removed.

Chloe felt somewhat ludicrous in a position like this; she had not been naked in front of another person since she had gotten pregnant. It wasn't that she was self-conscious – she was aware, as much as she could be without vanity, that she was attractive. Nonetheless, she knew that she was huge. She felt it, even without looking, in the odd curvature of her bones. Her hips had widened, her breasts were heavy, and her face had grown slightly rounder. That change was almost unnoticeable, made less obvious by the fact of her high, angular cheekbones.

She felt funny standing there, completely exposed, in front of someone she barely knew.

A light knock sounded upon the chamber door. Beca smiled reassuringly without looking entirely in her direction.

"It is only the doctor," she assured. She called out across the room. "Enter!" At her call, the door opened and closed with a resounding click behind a tall woman dressed in simple skirts and a linen blouse.

"Good morning Becs," she greeted, crossing the room quickly to set down a basket of clean linens and other assorted items. "I've just left Lilly in the laundry room. She's got a dreadful head cold; she won't be coming up this morning, though she may stop in later, and do refrain from making her work tonight, please, in the event that her condition worsens throughout the day." Beca nodded stoically. Surprised by her lack of response, Anastasia's eyes searched the room for what could otherwise be consuming the brunette's attention. Her eyes fell almost immediately upon the stranger standing unsteadily beside the tub.

"You must be the woman I am to tend to," she said graciously. "What shall I call you?"

"Chloe," Chloe murmured. Anastasia nodded.

"Very well, Chloe. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. However, there will be room for pleasantries later. Will you permit me to examine your body?" At Chloe's murmur of assent, she moved towards her with a series of quick, assured steps. Something in Anastasia's entire demeanor, from her straight back and set shoulders to her firm gaze, told Chloe that this was a woman who knew what she was doing.

Anastasia's thin hands landed on the sides of Chloe's swollen belly, and Chloe flinched at their initial chill.

"You are heavy with child," Anastasia commented, stating the obvious. "Perhaps twins. And you are quite undernourished. You may have a difficult delivery."

"I hope I have a delivery," Chloe murmured. "My body is weak; I spent nearly a week going hungry, and since then I haven't felt the baby move as much as it used to. I'm worried." Anastasia's hands fluttered at her sides, and then one wrapped around to her back. It tapped insistently for a moment at a spot near the base of her spine. Immediately, Chloe bent over in surprise at the feeling of her child squirming incessantly within her.

"You have no cause for concern," reassured Anastasia, sounding somewhat amused. "That happens sometimes; they'll stop moving for a few days. They get tired too, you know." Neither she nor Beca, standing several feet away, missed the bright smile of relief that graced Chloe's face when she felt her baby move.

"Thank you," she murmured. The taller woman smiled.

"Don't mention it. It is quite common to worry, especially if it is your first time. Now, I need to examine you further; I can see that you have been injured, and as you say, your body is weak." Chloe nodded her permission, and Anastasia stepped back, eyeing the girl critically with a professional stare.

When the young doctor had finished the inspection, she gathered up the laundry basket again and turned to face Beca.

"Take care of her," she said lowly, attempting to convey with her eyes the importance of what she was saying. "There has been no lasting damage done – she is a strong one – but she needs rest, warmth, nourishment, a relaxing environment, and consistent medical checkups. You will be able to handle it, I presume?" Beca nodded solemnly in response. "Good," Anastasia affirmed with a jerk of her head. With a courteous inclination of her head in Chloe's direction, she exited the room. Beca turned to the young, quivering girl beside the bathtub.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry," she exclaimed, quickly offering a supporting hand. "I forgot you wouldn't be able to stand for so long; I'm sure you're exhausted." Chloe shook her head, though she weakly accepted the aid.

"I'm fine," she breathed feebly, leaning far too heavily upon the shorter woman for her statement to ring true. Beca looked down at her with an expression of disbelief.

"Chloe! Out of all the things in this world that it is possible for you to be at the moment, fine is not one of them," she countered sternly. Chloe smiled feebly.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. But stop trying to refuse my help; you need it," responded Beca. "You are weak enough as it is without adding to it unnecessarily." Chloe did not bother to counter the statement; she knew the Queen's words to be the truth.

The Queen. Chloe could hardly believe it. After all of the stories she had heard, the countless tall tales of brutality and public humiliations, she was finding it nearly impossible to comprehend that this was the supposedly fearsome woman of whom everyone in the villages spoke. This woman – Beca – was tender and calm and compassionate, nothing at all like what the stories spoke of.

Chloe did not protest as she was helped into the bathtub. The water was pleasantly warm, though not quite as hot as she would have liked. However, she made no complaints; despite her less-than-royal youth, she had been well educated on the basics of all life skills, and knew that water of too high a temperature could be hazardous to an unborn child. Clearly, Beca was aware of that as well, and had made accommodations. For that, Chloe was grateful.

"Shall I wash you, or would you prefer to do it yourself?" Beca inquired, reappearing at Chloe's side after departing on a brief mission to acquire supplies. In her outstretched hands she held a cloth and a bar of soap – market soap, not the slippery, homemade kind that Chloe had always used. Chloe accepted both items with a shake of her head.

"I can manage," she said graciously. "Though I appreciate the offer." Beca nodded solemnly, and stood still. After a moment, when she realized that the woman wanted privacy, she awkwardly inclined her head in Chloe's direction and shuffled to the door.

"I – then I'll just – I can – I'll go call Benji and Cynthia Rose," she finished lamely, ducking hastily from the room. Chloe suppressed the urge to laugh at the other woman's clear discomfort. She stared after her for a moment, her cobalt eyes curious, before dunking the cloth in the water and beginning to bathe.

Around twenty minutes later, Chloe's fingers were beginning to prune. She had finished washing, but had been reluctant to step from the tub on her own lest she lose her balance and fall. In addition, the water was swiftly growing cooler, and she found herself beginning to shiver. She was just about to call out for assistance when a knock sounded upon the chamber door.

"Come in!" she called out, struggling to sit up properly. Almost immediately after she had spoken, Beca re-entered the chamber with her arms loaded down with fabric. She was followed by two others, a man and a woman, each of whom carried a variety of other items. Scrutinizing them closely, Chloe felt a vague tug of memory in the back of her mind, and realized that these two had been present for her arrival several nights before.

"Oh my goodness!" was the immediate exclamation, and the man – he truly wasn't that much older than a boy – allowed the items he carried to go cascading to the floor as he brought his hands up to cover his eyes. "Beca, honestly! You might have warned me that there would be skin exposed!" Beca, who was setting her cargo down neatly on a chair, snorted derisively.

"You astound me, Princess Prissy-Pants; you spend your free time observing the carnage of bull fights, and yet you cannot handle a little bit of nudity?" she said in disbelief.

"I am not a princess!" the boy shrieked, throwing his hands up for emphasis only to bring them flying back to his eyes a moment later in horror. "And you know very well that I only attend those horrible shows to please Donald; he's grown quite fond of them of late, for reasons I can only imagine, but I shall continue to sacrifice my delicate eyesight for his sake! It is a simple act of devotion, I can assure you, and nothing more!"

"Benji, for God's sake, stop blubbering away!" the second woman cut in. She turned about to face him, her hands on her hips, before snatching away his makeshift blindfold and batting him once about the head. "We do, I believe, have a job to do here, and this poor girl isn't getting any help from your pervasive squealing. Why don't you show some manners and introduce yourself already?" At that, the boy allowed his hands to drop fully to his sides and turned to face the subject of their conversation. Chloe laughed to see him edging nervously towards the tub, eyes squinted halfway shut as though they might be blinded if he opened them further.

"Benji Applebaum," he introduced himself stiffly extending a hand. "I'm sure you are very lovely to look at, but I simply cannot bear the sight of a naked woman. Anyone you ask may confirm it."

"I don't need confirmation," Chloe laughed, accepting his hand with a smile. "I'll take your word for it. Chloe Beale," she added, when his closed eyelids twitched. A courteous smile spread across his tightened lips.

"Very pleased to meet you, Chloe," he said clearly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a table to set up." Chloe laughed to see him scuttle away, arms outstretched in front of him to feel for any impending collisions. He was forced to drop them when the heavyset woman stood up abruptly and a hand came into unfortunate contact with her bosoms. His eyes snapped open, and with a miniscule squeak of indignation, he retired to folding blankets and laying them out on the other side of the room.

"Chloe. You're looking better today," the darker woman addressed her once Benji had gone about his business. She looked appropriately scandalized, but began to shake it off once the boy was otherwise occupied. "Name's Cynthia Rose. Would you like a little tea to perk you up after that long rest?" Chloe found herself immediately to be nodding. She was feeling a little groggy, and tea sounded fantastic. She hadn't had the pleasure of drinking the beverage in many, many months, though it had once been a favorite of hers.

While Cynthia Rose busied herself with a teakettle over the fire, Beca approached the bathtub with a towel in her outstretched arms.

"Let's get you dried off, shall we?" she suggested. Chloe nodded the affirmative, and attempted to raise herself up out of the tub, but fell back. Her arms felt completely useless. She had once been strong and able-bodied, one of the hardest workers in her village – stronger, even, than a good deal of the men. It appeared that those days were behind her now.

"I can't get up," she admitted after another moment's struggle. She briefly wondered if she ought not to ask for any more of their help; hadn't she taken enough already? She needn't have been concerned; any worries she might have had of being a burden to Beca vanished as the Queen bent over her with a gentle murmur of assent, tucking slender arms beneath her back, and helped her out of the tub.

Tenderly, the brunette patted her down with a soft, thick towel. She took special care around the woman's midsection, the tips of her fingers escaping the warm cloth every once in a while to brush the edges of Chloe's abdomen. Once Beca had finished drying her, she reached for several of the many bottles of assorted lotions on the nearby table. She rubbed her palms together to warm the various substances, and then carefully smoothed her hands across soft skin.

Chloe felt her entire body immediately slacken beneath the calming touch, her tense muscles unraveling in a great, rolling wave of relaxation that engulfed her like sleep. A sigh escaped her lips, and she allowed her head to tilt back, her eyes fluttering closed. Beca smiled broadly at the reaction.

"There you go," she murmured, soft eyes resting on the woman's face. "Relax. It'll help you feel better." Chloe only let out a faint murmur in reply, too caught up in the blissful oblivion. The hands that massaged her were warm and strong, firmly kneading and pressing, rolling the oils into her skin with the most wonderful pressure. Dexterous fingers smoothed out her sore, exhausted, knotted muscles and massaged at the base of her neck and spine, where her ache was greatest.

It was over far too soon, and Chloe released a small whine of displeasure as gentle hands fell away. Before she could even open her eyes, her arms were being guided into the sleeves of a thin robe, which was tied loosely around her waist. She looked at Beca quizzically.

"I'm bringing you to the dressing room; I thought you might wish for a little modesty in the hall." Chloe nodded gratefully.

"Thank you."

"Not at all. Would you like a little support?" Beca inquired, offering an arm. Chloe nodded again.

"Please." She allowed Beca to wrap an arm around her waist, settling on her ribs. For a moment, she was afraid that her weight might be too much for the smaller woman to handle, but Beca's features showed no sign of strain, and she guided her steadily for the entirety of their journey down the hall and into another cavernous room. There, she was led to a comfortable, velvet-upholstered chair and made to sit as Beca busied herself puzzling over the various closets that lined the room. For a while, it seemed that nothing would satisfy her; she would pull an item from a hanger, only to scoff in distaste and toss it to the side. The pile had grown monstrously high by the time something seemed to occur to her. Chloe watched as she vanished from view through a door in the back of a closet, returning moments later with a gown of exquisite material draped over her arm.

"Here," she pronounced softly, laying it carefully across a nearby table and pulling Chloe to her feet. "Let's find out if it fits you all right." Chloe acquiesced, permitting herself to be stripped bare again. Beca hesitated for a moment, the dress in her hands. Chloe could see confliction in her eyes; something akin to sadness, perhaps. It showed in the slight furrowing of her brows, and the tightness in the lines at the corners of her eyes. She longed to ask what was wrong, but before she could gather the courage to pull the brunette from whatever far-off world she had entered, silky material was being slipped over her head.

When she emerged from the tangle of cloth, it was to see an entirely different expression take hold of Beca's features. Deep eyes softened, and a warm smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she hastily buttoned up the front of the gown.

"Beautiful," Beca pronounced, and Chloe felt a blush rise in her cheeks. The honesty in the brunette's statement wasn't enough to make her uncomfortable, but it felt odd. She couldn't recall the last time someone had complimented her without it being lewd comments shouted from eager men on darkened street corners.

"Thank you," she murmured bashfully, ducking her head. Beca let out a low, enticing chuckle, and a tingly sensation shot up Chloe's spine. The baby kicked, pressing against her flesh hard enough for her to know that were she naked, a footprint would be visible from the outside. It had always seemed so strange to her; in all her life, sensations like that had come from the outside. It had made her a little uncomfortable, at first, to know that a small human was inside of her, kicking and punching and knocking against the inside of her flesh. She wondered what it was like in there, if it felt safe and sheltered in the warmth beneath her ribs, or if it was frightening to be alone in the dark. Was the sound of her heartbeat echoing against bones soothing, or was it terrifying to not know where it came from?

She hoped it was the former; she had seen enough of hardship, and she liked the idea that despite whatever troubles wracked her brain, her body could provide a haven for someone she had not even met. At least she could protect the child while it still lived within her. It was a bit of a scary thought – she alone was entirely responsible for the wellbeing of a complete stranger. Whether or not it had life was utterly dependent on her.

She knew it could hear her; she always felt a flutter when she spoke. It was comforting, at least, to know that it recognized her voice.

She wasn't certain yet, but judging by the frequent kicks in the brunette's presence, she was beginning to think that it was responding to Beca's voice, too.

"That was my mother's gown." The Queen's voice broke Chloe out of her reverie. Her head snapped back up to see the sadness evident in Beca's eyes. "You wear it well." There was something other than grief in her voice – pride, perhaps; Chloe didn't know, but it was lighter than nostalgia.

"It's an honor to wear it, then. Thank you, Beca," she said sincerely, and the Queen nodded.

"You're very welcome. I am glad to see that it serves a purpose other than gathering dust in the back of a closet." She paused for a moment. "Would you like a tour of the castle? I can have a snack prepared to take along with us." Chloe considered. She was still somewhat weary, but her long rest and the gentle care she had been afforded had instilled a little energy in her.

"Yes, I'd like that," she granted, and took hold of the arm Beca offered her to escort her from the room.

In all her life, Chloe had never seen anything quite so intriguing as the royal castle. It was an artistic conglomeration of vaulted ceilings, velvet-draped surfaces, and oak-paneled chambers filled with odd assortments of knickknacks, it seemed, from all around the world. Despite being large, it was nowhere near so massive as Chloe had envisioned. In fact, for all of its elegance, it was the homiest space Chloe had ever been in. It was even – though she found it hard to understand how – a little messy.

She decided that she liked it.

The grounds were something else, a tangled hodgepodge of forests and bowers, and they even, Chloe discovered, were home to a wide creek running straight through the middle. Birds and other wild animals roamed freely through the trees, unafraid, and Chloe got to watch as a yearling fawn stepped so close to her that she could have touched it had she not wanted to refrain from frightening it away.

All in all, it was the most peaceful afternoon she had ever spent, and more than the castle, more than the graceful rooms and flourishing gardens, Chloe found that she enjoyed the company most of all. There was something about Beca that was charming beyond what the stories told; besides that, she was kind and gentle, though her posture and the tightness in her eyes spoke of a hidden fierceness and burning strength that Chloe found herself yearning to witness in action. Beyond that, she was beautiful, and Chloe had never felt the need to deprive herself of the company of beauty.

She spoke with Beca for long hours, telling tales of her childhood and teenage years amongst the men and boys in her village; listening to Beca's stories of visits from strange and wonderful people and her love of music. They discovered quickly that it was an interest they shared, and Beca promised to sing for her later – if only Chloe would do the same.

They were just heading back to the castle for a meal when a distant thundering sound met their ears. Chloe paused, her delicate hand catching Beca's elbow in a gesture to stop and listen.

"What was that?" As the thundering grew louder, closer than before, Beca opened her mouth to speak with a combined expression of irritation and concern, but was cut off by a shout from a balcony high on one of the castle towers.

"Bandit! The Blue Jay has returned to the nest! Bandit, assemble! Bandit!" Chloe started, fear drawing up in her expression, but Beca merely rolled her eyes.

"Here we go," she muttered, much with the air of being overly familiar with the situation, and turned with her arms crossed to face the footbridge that crossed the river into the castle grounds. Instinctively, Chloe turned to mimic her, and watched with her eyes wide as the scene registered in her brain.

Across the river, on the far bank, a horse with a lone rider thundered out of the trees and made for the footbridge. Directly after, only a second behind, rode a second horseman. This one was hollering, whirling a rope above its head, as it rode with what was clearly more experience and precision. Right before the lead horse hit the footbridge, the second rider released the rope, sending a small stone hurtling through the air straight between the shoulders of the rider in front of it. The rider, who wore a black kerchief to cover his face, leapt angrily off his horse, followed swiftly by the other.

Then engaged the most spectacular swordfight Chloe had ever seen. It was nearly impossible to follow, characterized by swift, almost invisible slashes and footwork more fancy than anything she had seen even at challenges held in her village for sport. It was clear to her, however, that the pursuer was not only a more experienced horsemen, but a superior fighter as well. The spar lasted for less than a minute, and at its conclusion, the first rider threw up his hands in defeat, tossed down his sword, and, returning to his horse, rode back into the forest more swiftly than Chloe's eyes could follow.

The second horseman could be heard letting out a cheer of triumph before swinging back up into the saddle and cantering smoothly over the bridge to where the two women stood watching.

Chloe, who had up until this point watched the scene unfold with a tingle of fear and excitement racing through her bloodstream, looked up a little fearfully and felt her jaw drop when the features of the rider came into view.

The swordsman was a young girl, no older than fifteen, with waist-length chestnut hair tucked into a long braid and a fresh, youthful face. She swung down from her horse and patted it companionably before casually removing her hat.

"Pardon me for not introducing myself, my lady," she said formally, sweeping down into a bow. "I had a spot of business to attend to." Chloe stared at her, dumbstruck. Beca gritted her teeth.

"Chloe, I'd like to introduce you to my niece, Emily Mitchell."

"My brother was eleven years older than I, and he married young; when I was seven, Emily was born. Since he was the firstborn in our family, Roderigo was crowned king as soon as he was married. Our royalty does not function the same way as other systems; it is upon marriage, not the death of a predecessor, that one becomes king or queen," Beca explained. Her hands had been folded neatly in her lap since the start of the meal, and while her companions had tucked in heartily – Chloe out of necessity, Emily out of what the redhead could only place as youthful enthusiasm – she had not touched even a bite of the delicious food. Chloe watched her intently as she ate, noting the use of past tense; the stiffness of her shoulders, and the way her eyes focused on the opposite wall, and felt distinctly that this would not be a happy tale.

"In any case, Roderigo was . . . strong-willed, I suppose would be an appropriate term for it. It runs in the family, as I'm sure you can see." She inclined her head towards Emily, who was just then reaching for an entire chicken thigh to stuff into her mouth. "I loved him dearly, and my parents doted on him, as anyone would their only son, but he was difficult. He could be stubborn and hot-tempered, and he often had a tendency to attempt feats that he knew he could not accomplish. He was a wonderful man, and a loving brother, but perhaps not the wisest choice for a king." She paused, drawing in the kind of breath that Chloe knew from experience could rattle the ribcage dreadfully.

"He was always sending off armies to do this or that, often without thinking through the consequences. When Emily was ten, an Eastern kingdom asked for a parcel of our lands in return for trading privileges. Roderigo was proud. He didn't take kindly to the idea of another kingdom possessing anything that had started out as his, even though the exchange was fair, and a wise one. He grew spiteful. He refused, and challenged the Easterners to a battle over the territory, thinking that with his superiority, he could rightfully claim the land as his and establish that no one could attempt such an act. He sent in our entire army, which included my father, who was still commanding though growing elder in years." She stopped to clear her throat, the sound loud and echoing in the nearly empty room. Her eyes remained steadily focused on the opposite wall. Emily's gaze had fallen to her plate; she had ceased to gnaw on the chicken bone, leaving it half eaten on her plate.

Chloe watched them both intently, curious yet fairly certain that she did not want to hear the conclusion of what she was sure was turning out to be a deeply troublesome tale.

"The Easterners took us by surprise. They had tactics of ambush and offense that our armies were unfamiliar with. They knew methods of – of torture that they used on those who were captured that were . . . utterly horrific. They captured and destroyed nearly three quarters of our army, including my father's battalion. In the end, we beat them, but only because our numbers were greater. There was no pride in our victory. Too many had perished." Her eyes were dark with grief, and a choked sound had entered her throat, but Chloe knew better than to interrupt. It was clear that Beca was telling this story for a reason, and she didn't want to be a cause of further distress.

Emily laid a hand over her aunt's and squeezed. Neither of them made a move to make eye contact, but Chloe saw Beca's hand tighten ever so slightly in response.

"My father did not handle the defeat well, though we had technically won the war," Emily continued. Beca shot her a grateful look, and then resumed staring straight ahead. Resting one hand protectively, instinctively on her belly, Chloe found strange comfort in the youth and firmness of the young girl's voice. It was grief-stricken, yet somehow less fragile than Beca's had been. In truth, they were not that much older than she, but it was enough to separate them by a wide degree. Youth, Chloe decided, was a powerful thing. She didn't know when she had lost the power to be so elastic; despite the sorrow in her life, Emily was not yet tired. She was eager for life.

Inwardly, Chloe wished the same for the child she carried, hoping that her own weariness would not be enough to tire it too soon.

"My grandmother could not take the fact of her husband's death. She was old, and already frail as it was. She passed away soon after receiving the news." Emily paused, as Beca had, but the brief silence was less weighted. She drew a steeling breath before continuing. "My father was angry. He had lost my mother at my birth, and now both of his parents were gone. He could not handle it. He attempted to challenge the Easterners a final time, to avenge his father's death. His intentions were noble, as they often were, but he was foolish. He lost the challenge." Emily fastened her frank brown eyes on Chloe's as though willing her to understand. "I do not blame him. He was as kind a father as I can imagine, but he was neither steadfast nor particularly wise, and those weaknesses would be the downfall of any man, let alone a king. When he died, Beca automatically inherited all that had belonged to him. With that came the throne – and me." She shot her aunt a small smile, and though Beca did not quite respond in kind, a small light of warmth flared briefly in her steely eyes.

"She could have left me to the duty of the maidservants, with so many at her disposal. I could have been brought up having no contact with her whatsoever. But Beca is not my father. She does not like to take the easy route. She raised me nearly single-handedly from the moment of my father's death, allowing no others to take part in her work. She has taught me everything I know. She is more than a queen, though she is an excellent one. She is a good woman as well, and you will be hard-pressed, I think, to find anyone else who is deserving of both those titles." The frankness with which she spoke was almost shocking to Chloe, whose first impression of the youngster had been of a polite yet rebellious spitfire. Perhaps her startling maturity could be attributed to the events of her childhood, or perhaps it was due to the upbringing she had been privy to at her aunt's hand, but either way, Chloe found that she had never encountered anyone quite like Emily.

The young girl stood abruptly, folding her napkin and gathering her plate from the table.

"I believe I shall retire to my room early tonight," she said, straightening the fabric of her trousers. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening. Please don't wait up for me, Aunt B. I may take a walk in the garden later on."

"Good night, Em. Don't stay up too late wandering," Beca spoke softly after her, not tearing her gaze away from the wall.

"I won't, Aunt B. Good night, Chloe."

"Good night, Emily. It was lovely to meet you," Chloe called. A faint smile flitted across the young girl's lips.

"Likewise, my lady." She stepped from the room, but poked her head back in a moment later, her young features serious.

"Oh, and Chloe?"

"Yes, Emily?"

"Don't be afraid that you're letting Beca give you too much. She needs it – maybe even more than you do." Before Chloe could pull up a response, the brown braid had disappeared behind the door again. The sound of booted feet on stone had faded down the corridor before Chloe could even register that she had gone.

They sat in silence for a long time after that, breaking it only to sip slowly from the glasses set beside their plates.

It was Beca who spoke first, breaking the silence with a voice low and contemplative from trying to keep it steady for so long.

"She is something else, my Emily," was all she said, but Chloe could hear the obvious sentiment ringing through it like a bell. The weight of it transferred in the air, and she could suddenly feel the heft of the baby more clearly than before.

For a moment, she wondered how it was that something in people was unable to withstand thoughts of a certain breed, and yet their bodies neither bent nor broke even with a human burrowed inside where it seemed nothing living should ever be, weighing down organs and bones and sinew and clawing at their insides like something dying to escape where it was never meant to make its home.