Author's Note: This is the end, but I may write something 'M' just to round out the ending a bit. Let me know if you'd enjoy that.

Chapter 3: Broken Healing

Bone white knuckles grip the bars of his cage. His only company, desperate screams of his lover's name. Over and over again until the echoes are all that remain of his resolve. Morning has passed into afternoon in this prison, and still no one comes. Overhead, echoing through the vast, empty space, drifts the sound of music softly playing.

'No!' Panicked, he beats the only thing he has, his frail body against the bars that hold him. 'No, I have to stop this! She'll never be happy with him!"

Now cheers, so quiet he thinks them perhaps a phantom of his imagination, but the adrenaline, the very urgency with which he struggles flows from him, and he collapses into a puddle, weeping into the dirt below.

She's chosen someone else, after all.

The demons dance and sing along with happy celebrants above. 'You see?' They cry. 'You were nothing to her, and never were.'

"NO, NO! I can still stop this! I can still stop her! She loves me! ME!" Like an animal, desperately he tries to claw free. But no amount of wriggling can wedge him through the bars.

Day passes to night, and something within him snaps. The wedding must have ended long ago, but he still hears the music, the cheering. It seems to haunt his mind, growing louder with each hour ticking by. The weight of his ill-decisions carries him down, deep into the pits of self-loathing. He should have stayed in his tower. Never does a man such as him deserve to eat the forbidden fruit.

A week passes, as all hope for redemption fades.

Then two.

Not even the raven, his steadfast companion, has ventured to aid him. Who really could he depend on then, if not Sofia? She must have heard what happened in the vault, and assumed the worst.

The idea cemented in his mind, he reasons she never truly cared. No one could truly care and leave him to this fate.

A month goes by.

Each day a new meal of molded bread and curdled milk is set by the side of his cage, the days' prior meal, now bitten by rats that feast in the night, is returned from whence it came, barely touched.

But Cedric stays. There is nowhere to go, and nothing to do but sit and stare as small particles float by.

"I am a fool. A worthless, pathetic fool for believing that she, that anyone, could actually love me. No one cares." He weeps into the long nights, utterly alone.

Two months have passed. The summer heat swelters the castle, the dungeon worst of all. Twice he's sure that death has finally taken him from this prison of earthly solitude. Each time he's awoken to fresh water and sad tidings of loneliness. He thinks it cruel beyond measure, even murderers are not committed to solitary confinement.

Still no one comes.

There is nothing to do. No one to speak with. Nothing but his own thoughts, which twist and turn into living nightmares alone in this dank wasteland of lost promise that has become his life. It was all her fault, he reasons. He had turned away, minded his own business.

He'd at least tried to distance himself.

Purposefully, to be sure. It was HER fault, not his. She came to him in the afternoon when she should have been focused on her wedding. She goaded him on.

She never loved him, so why should he ever have loved her? As days pass, he convinces himself, through broken bits and measures, that he never did, in fact, love her. This was all a mistake. A game of entrapment gone wrong. He was to be the cat, but somehow ended up the mouse.

A morning, as any other passed here, comes. He's lost count of the days. But this morning, the routine breaks. The bars are flung open; arms encircle his frame. But after so many months of staring into the nothingness, the people surrounding him seem shadows, not flesh and blood.

It's his mother. The woman weeps, pulling on Cedric's odd angles. Finally, she gets him upright, and, muscles atrophied, he nearly collapses.

He's caught by soft arms, chestnut curls toppling into his face. Barely able to life his head, he knows the girl who's caught him is Sofia. He cannot bear to look her in the eye. So destitute he must seem, so frail. But she is here.

That wellspring of hope he'd fought against for months springs up, quite involuntarily. Knowing he should simply let it go, but can't, he looks down to the girl's hand, now gripping his shoulders.

The ring encircling her finger is beautiful.

It's sickeningly, horrifyingly beautiful. His stomach turns, as the words his mother is spewing take shape.

"And what with the mix of potions we found up there, it's no wonder you were poisoned by the fumes from that brew."

"Yes, yes indeed Winnifred. Come, Cedric. I've managed to convince the king you were hallucinating on fumes from a potion gone wrong. Now, buck up, and let's get you out of here."

So his salvation had come in the form of a lie. From his parents.

It was humiliating, and to have Sofia witness it, while that ring, the other man's ring, glistened in the light, was too much.

It might have been violent, if he'd the strength to yank away as intended. Instead he lurched backward, Sofia letting him slip from her grasp. She stood there, mouth gaping, arms reaching out to him, but all he saw were ghosts of his fears haunting her frame. They took the form of that man's hands upon her, the reflection of his own failings. The demons had won.

"Cedric, please, I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I—"

"The sapphire." When he speaks, both his parents and the girl fall silent. Quickly the girl clasps her hand over the ring, but she cannot hide the truth. Not from him.

"The sapphire" he repeats. "Matches your eyes. Congratulations." All the love he'd felt has turned to poison, and with it, he spits the word with venom.

Regrets swells within him, as her timid hopefulness turns to horror, the corners of her once-bright smile turn down, and tears flow from her eyes.

He cannot bear to look, pushing past her he bolts for the door, and hopefully far from the insanity that was his wasted life.

But there is no salvation. Goodwin is upon him, yanking him and admonishing his existence, as it always has been, and ever will be. This, Cedric realizes now.

"Listen Cedric, I've stuck my neck out for you. This is your last chance. My reputation is on the line. You've no right to be angry at anybody but yourself, so don't blow it by hurting Queen Sofia's feelings."

Queen.

The knife in his belly turns harder. Trotted before the king, who laughs off the ordeal with no admission of guilt, he's made to sit, now in his tower, once more. A stack of potions to his left, the raven, still there, to his right.

He's expected to carry on as if nothing happened. The orders stack up, none fulfilled. Baileywick resumes his schedule, and life continues onward as the daily coming's and going's of the castle pass through the gilded gates.

But not for Cedric.

Sofia no longer lives here, this much he's gathered. He's made to stand, to attend certain things, listen to the staff complain about being shorthanded, but cannot perform. He doesn't even try. Birthdays come, and go. Oddly, Cedric notes that Sofia does not attend the twin's annual extravaganza, which he spots from his tower window.

'Now she's the one embarrassed'. The voices cry. A certain self-contented smirk grows upon him, that somehow from his complete and utter humiliation he's managed to salvage some of his self-image.

But the days are long, and lonely. The nights are worse. The only daily activity he can attempt, a walk through the woods, leads him always to the grass below the old oak tree. That place time has forgotten, where she, used him? loved him? Let him touch the pinnacle of being but then so cruelly yanked it away. Life's greatest joke, but the last in a string of lies he was told to accomplish in life.

It's harvest time, and true to form a great ball is to be held. The king hasn't even bothered to request anything be conjured for this event, not that Cedric would fulfill the wish. But the music, that horrible, melodious tune he can barely stand is echoing up through the courtyard to his tower. It forces him to sit and stare, remembering that day, when she promised herself to that man she didn't love. How he must be giddy each night as she lies beside him, bending to his will and desires. A timid knock echoes off his door, disrupting his thoughts.

He knows that knock. Refusing to open it, or his heart again, lest it be torn asunder, he resumes staring into space.

"Cedric. Please, it's me."

Minutes pass, and though he strains to hear her footsteps trailing off into the night, they do not sound.

"Cedric, please, I need to talk to you. It's important."

He wants to open it. How he hates himself so, but she's at it again, tempting his weakness. 'She'll only tear you asunder once more' the voices cry. 'Don't trust her'. He thinks that a wiser strategy. Why is she even here? simply to torment him no doubt. She's chosen her companion, and it isn't this lonely, slip of a man.

But the girl won't leave. She's still standing there, the shadow of her feet extend under his door.

"Cedric, I really need your help. I need you."

What for, he cannot bear to remember. Not with her here. He has to make her go, and leave him to his memories.

"Your husband is waiting for you downstairs. I suggest you find him to satisfy whatever, problem, you may have."

The callousness of it astounds even him. Crying comes from the opposite side of the door, and instant guilt swells in him. The door is flung open, his feet moving of their own accord, but rather than see his angel he hears footsteps hurriedly shuffling down the stone steps amidst dimming sobs.

Well, he's done it. She's gone and he cannot bear to follow. He's tried that already, and failed. He deems himself good at failing. Why, the best! And resolves to never try at anything, again.

In the shade of the old oak tree minutes turn to hours as he daydreams of happier times. This place has become his sanctuary, where none in the palace would think to search him out. In sadder moments he remembers the way the stream looked that day, the way she felt to the touch, and with each passing week the king grows angrier at his lack of progress, his lack of presence. Something has to give.

It comes in the form of parchment. Simply stated, it's delivered into his hands by Baileywick, Cedric having been summoned to the throne room to be delivered the news.

A small satchel, severance pay it would seem, and Rolland's long tirade about giving Cedric more chances than any man deserves.

'It's fine'. He reasons, he's never liked this job, never felt appreciated, wanted or loved. Why should he care about the title, anyway? It was all for appearances, and if nobody ever cared, he felt no need to care about any of them in return.

"Come Wormy."

Raven mounted on his shoulder, he sets out, but finds he has nowhere to go. He wanders, for the sake of wandering, to find somewhere untouched by Sofia, free of beautiful, haunted memories. It proves a difficult task. It seems every corner of Enchancia is inhabited by his once-lover, and past friend.

In a tavern one night, self-soothing with drink, he hears old men chortling between guzzles of ale.

"Ten pence it's a son!"

"I'll take that bet."

"Buffoons." Cedric mutters under his breath, the raven cawing in agreement, assuredly.

"Best not to be insulting them two, they're passionate about royalty."

Sneering at the uninvited comment, Cedric turns to see others have now joined in the pot. One looks up, engaging him. "Ey stranger, you wanna place a bet?"

The unintended eye roll doesn't seem to put off the man. "Why ever would I want to 'bet' on some trivial nonsense."

"It's not trivial." One of the loud, drunken men interjects. "The Queen's due in a month, and I'm betting it's a boy. They'll be a crown-prince for sure!"

It made no sense. Miranda was much too old to be expecting a new addition. Cedric, having been the royal sorcerer, knew she was beyond her natural ability to produce such an heir. Notwithstanding biology, James was next in line. No 'crown' anything would be affixed to a new family member. Unless the prince was somehow deceased.

"I believe you are mistaken, for Queen Miranda cannot be expecting."

"Not her you dolt, Sofia. My wife saw her in Dunwitty a few weeks back. She's supposed to have another month but my wife thinks it'll be any day now."

"It's gonna be a girl." Snarked another shorter, stouter man. "They say she's been a pile of nerves, it's a bad omen. I'll tell you."

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Sofia's expecting, and it's that dolt of a prince, no KING, that's given her this gift. That night, as Cedric lies in a makeshift hovel in the forest, he begs that lightning may come and smite him for his sins, wiping him from this world and the sorrows in it.

Another month passes, and snow now blankets the tri-kindgoms. Potions ingredients are hard to come by for a sorcerer on a budget. No longer does he have the king's unlimited purse at his side. The shop keep in Kaldoun must know this, and the mild disdain Cedric suffered from before is met with outright defiance now.

"It's six shekels for eggshell powder."

"But last week it was two, TWO. Do you mean to tell me that somehow the cost of eggs has tripled?!"

"Aye."

"Of all the insufferable…" Cedric flares, wishing to smite the old man where he stands. Unafraid, the man shorts with derision.

"Pay up or leave."

Cedric reluctantly opens the purse, and not but two shekels are left from the King's remittance. Purse-string snapped taunt, he leaves in a huff to hopefully disguise his dire straits and salvage some dignity.

Now seated on a fountain, near the old town square, he looks with envy on the town beggar, who munches happily on a snack. He could conjure one, he reasons, but it wouldn't be enjoyable. Nothing is. Since that night in the tavern he's thought of nothing but Sofia, and the child on the way. Will it have her eyes? Her smile? That vivacity for life she exuded? Or will blonde hair and chubby cheeks from her husband distort its features.

"Come back here you!" Through the bustle of the crowd streaks a girl. Beautiful and brunette, for a moment time stands still. Out from behind a few passersby jumps a bulky man, twice her size, running after the terrified maiden.

For a moment all sanity is lost. His hating the world at large, all of it. The girl is Sofia, he's sure, and she's being chased by a nefarious character down a side alley.

"S-S-STOP There, I command you to stop!" Not sure how, Cedric's chased after them, wand drawn. The man turns, laughing openly at Cedric's challenge. He can now see this ruffian has the woman by the wrist, twisting her painfully. It ignites a rage within him.

"This girl owes me, and I'm gonna collect. Now scram."

A flash of the girl's sapphire eye, and Cedric loses himself to the moment. "BOMBARDO!"

The behemoth is powerless before the might of Cedric's spell, and goes crashing into a pile of manure at the end of the alley.

Stunned, the girl turns from looking at the unconscious pursuer, toward him.

It's not Sofia, but the girl he'd met in town the day prior to his beloved's wedding. The lady of the night. Hoping he can turn and run is useless, for the girl has recognized him, somehow, despite the unkindly march of time on Cedric's features.

"Wow, thanks! I didn't expect to see you here." Unfortunately, there's little he can do to shake the girl, and so he sits, gnawing on something the girl offered from her pocket, on the outskirts of town.

"I guess you can figure out what I 'owed' him, huh?" Embarrassed, she looks down and away.

"I thought it better not to ask." To that the girl giggles. Again, it's not Sofia's pleasant laugh, and the pain is real once more.

"Yeah, well, I do have some limits. My personal safety, and all." Shyly she pulled at her skirt. It appears all people wish to maintain some dignity, no matter their profession.

"If it is dangerous, why do you do it?"

Sadly, the girl drops her head, "I don't know how to do anything else, actually. I've been doing this since I was twelve."

The number shocks him. "Twelve, did you say?" She nods. Cedric's mind races back to Sofia at that age, her youthful exuberance was concerned with flying derby and dragon riding, not the perils of life on the fringes of society. A great sympathy rears up within him, that this girl was a victim of circumstance, not a moral pariah. Perhaps she too never had anyone who believed in her.

"Did you ever think of doing something else, then? If entertaining men is not to your liking, that is."

"Well I always wanted to be a seamstress, but who'd ever hire me."

Who indeed. He resolves to try, and extends his hand out to the girl. Extracting her from Kaldoun is the first step, and the journey to Enchancia and Madame Coelettes home in Dunwitty the next. "Now's the perfect day to start."

Stunned, the girl agrees to accompany him back to Enchancia. Perhaps it's the men who haunt her in Kaldoun, perhaps she really does want a fresh start. Whatever it is, he's now traveling with this woman, and the words will not cease. At least Sofia knew how he appreciated silence.

When they finally arrive, Cedric knocks on the door. Madame Collette does open the door, and Cedric introduces the girl as a distant cousin in need of work. Far from being shunned, as he anticipated, Collette looks at him with great sadness, a heavy heart weighing her down. Confused, he takes heart in that this girl now has a refuge, and a skill to learn. With that, he turns, to leave this place and it's memories far behind.

"Wait!" It's the woman. "I can't believe you did that. For me. Thank you." He hasn't smiled in months, but almost did. "You're a really descent guy. I really hope that it worked out with that girl you liked." His heart sinks as his shoes do into the newly fallen snow. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did it, not work out?"

"It's not your fault, particularly. I can blame most everyone else I've ever met, but not you specifically."

"You're funny." She giggles as she says it. "Hey, is this the kingdom you're from? Oh, do you know the princess from here? I think her name is... Scarlett, no that's not it, Sarah maybe? No…"

Pulse quickening, he feels the blood drain from his extremities.

"Sofia."

"Yeah, that's the one! I heard she left her husband and came back here, and that she went into labor days ago, but there's been no news of a baby. Everyone's… worried? Are you okay?" He'd risen, panicked. Sofia was suffering, horribly. He needed to get there, fast.

It's all a blur of running and winded breaks until he reaches the castle gates. The guards are less than pleased to see him, but it is Miranda, who looks like she's walked through a war zone, pushing through to grab him. "Oh Cedric, it's you. We've been looking everywhere for you."

Now that he's here, he has no idea how to help the girl. Is he even capable? His confidence shattered from months of self-loathing, Miranda drags him up stairs, into Sofia's old room. This isn't right, he reasons, why would she have her child here. A different kingdom claims her now, a different family.

Past a pasty Amber and frustrated James, scores of nursemaids shuffle back and forth. Miranda's hair is down. She's practically disheveled, and beyond, through a crack in the door he can see a bed with a sole occupant inside.

"Cedric, please. We've no one else to turn to, she won't take any of the medicine they've given her. Even your father hasn't been able figure out what's going on. It's like, no one can get through to her."

There is no sight of Goodwin, but Cedric can scarcely focus, noting that despite the worried hum of servants Sofia lies relatively motionless on the bed, facing away. There is no screaming, no sounds that one would expect from childbirth. There is also no sign of the other, her husband.

Something is gravely wrong.

"Please Cedric, save her." Miranda's eyes are upon him, pleading for the very life of her child. Amber and James have come up too, their despondent stares a dark indication that lots of love and attention has been devoted to a problem none of them were able to fix.

As he enters her childhood bedchamber, the servants bundle up spoiled linens, leaving them a sacred space of privacy.

'She's lost a lot of blood'. He notes, wishing he hadn't. But his father would know the cure for that, surely. It must be, something else.

Stepping closer, he begins to hear her breathing. Labored, but not terribly so, given the circumstances.

He could scarcely look at her before, but now, seeing her in this state, he's overwhelmed with anger. That her husband could do this to her, then simply abandon her in this hour of need, fills him with righteous indignation.

Softly he sits on the edge of her bed. The mattress quakes, and she must know someone is there. Still, she doesn't move.

Now is not the time for his feelings, he reasons. She may very well die, unless he determines what specifically is wrong.

"Sofia."

She stopped breathing. Not a promising start. Purposefully she pulls her hair forward, covering the side of her face he could possibly see. Her ring, he notes, lies on the table adjacent them, alongside several expertly crafted brews, stored in Goodwin's signature vials. Slowly he reaches over, picking up the ring in his hands, realizing that pregnant women do remove such things from time to time. There's nothing to make of it, is there?

"You were right." Her voice sounds alien to him. Gone is the fanciful idealism of youth. In its wake, a hallowed out woman was left behind. "It does match my eyes. But not my heart."

Soft tears fall onto her pillow, as Cedric leans over her, pushing back the stray hairs. She cannot look at him, this much he knows, and shame washes over him.

"Your… heart. You chose him, as your husband. He must…"

"I never loved him." Again, she breaks out into a fit of sobs. He's no idea how to comfort her, and settles for letting his hand traipse across her hair. "I wish I'd never loved anyone!" Half sobbing, half yelling, she curls up as best she could, overcome with a contraction. He can see her entire body react to the movement.

"Did you…" He can't bear to ask. All these months of convincing himself no one cared, but he suppresses it. She's dying, it's all too clear. "Did you love me, Sofia? For I…"

"Don't you dare tell me you cared about me at all!" Gripping the blankets, it's the strongest reaction he's seen her make. Even then, it's a shadow of what she'd been capable of. "You wouldn't even speak to me."

"And what was I supposed to say Sofia? Thanks for the afternoon? Here let me just serve you my heart on a platter and watch you devour it, then languish as you traipse off into the night with him, leaving me forever behind?!"

It wasn't what he'd meant to say, but it had been said, and the sobbing continued, unabated. "No Sofia, wait. Please stop. I don't want to hurt you. That was never my goal."

"Then what was it? I was just an opportunity, wasn't I?"

How she could lie there, and accuse him of such a thing when he'd been the one used, was infuriating. "I'm not the one who married a man I don't love, now am I Sofia?" His anger abated by her tears, he sunk lower, down to her level and whispered softly to her. "How could you marry him, Sofia? Didn't you know that I… that I loved you."

She groans. Another contraction comes over her before she manages out, "You did?"

"Of course I did; didn't you notice how your nuptials were tearing me apart? And now… now there's this." He let his hand drift slowly over her belly, feeling the life that flowed within it. The baby was okay, despite the prolonged labor. "I've spent so many nights, wondering, if this, if they will have your eyes."

"But what if… they're brown." He could feel his own heartbeat in his chest, throbbing into his very ears.

Her husband had green eyes.

Sofia's were blue.

Not that he was an expert in such things, but a child born to parents with that combination should never produce a brown-eyed child.

A whole stream of conscious thought barreled into him as Sofia sobbed. "I never wanted any of this. All I wanted was the life I had, with adventures and fun and my Amulet. Everything's wrong, everything's horrible, I wish I'd never agreed to marry Desmond. I wish, I wish…"

"I know."

His words stopped her sobs, and with great pains she managed to lift her head up. "What?"

"I know, Sofia. I was obvious you didn't love him, and I wanted for you, to have that which you loved. I did try to return the Amulet of Avalor to you, but your father stopped me."

"But I thought that the potion made you crazy. That's why what happened in the clearing, happened."

An exasperated sigh, and Cedric reached out, taking her weary head into his lap, finally letting all the sadness and pain flow out. "My father created that particular lie, to secure my release. I saw no point in correcting him, for you had already…" His hand found its way to her belly once more. "You had already, forsaken me."

"Oh no. Never. Cedric, I…" Pawing at him, the pain washed over her once more. "I loved you."

It's overwhelming, and for a moment he forgets the urgency of the situation. Her head pressed squarely into his chest, he savors the smell of her hair, the feel of her heartbeat alongside hers.

"All this time… is the child mine, Sofia?"

"I don't know." Is whispered, the great secret she's been keeping hidden from the world finally let go. "The day I got married, right after I realized you weren't going to come and stop this, I started feeling awful, and it just got worse as the day went on. When we got to his palace, I just couldn't let him touch me. It was weeks before I let him." It was more than he could bear, and thankfully she stopped. "But I just don't know, and that makes me feel so, incredibly, horribly guilty. I'm a horrible person. I wish I could take it all back. I wish."

She's overcome again, and the urgency of the situation falls on him. Taking her sternly in his hands, he begs her, "Sofia, none of that matters now. We'll figure out what to do, once you and the baby are safe."

He manages to coax several concoctions down her throat, and the obvious pain she's feeling subsides. Color returns to her cheeks, as does strength. "I've been afraid." She confides. "Afraid that it wasn't Desmond's baby, because it would hurt him so badly, his parents died right after we got married and I just felt so bad. I thought that I'd let everyone down, that I'd be shunned. But…"

"But what?"

"But, I finally realized that I was more afraid, that it was his."

The magnitude of that statement, and all it implied weight heavily on him. Her return to Enchancia, though heavy with child, the ring on the table. She meant to be free of this loveless marriage, but would never be free of the man, should the child be his.

"It'll be okay, somehow. Sofia please, you just have to do this."

Servants return, now that things are moving in earnest. Sofia's head is still against his chest, as the baby's progress is checked. Miranda returns, focused on her daughter but stealing sideways glances at the sorcerer, knowing all too well that the manner in which her daughter clings to the sorcerer is more than simply platonic.

"You have to live, Sofia. Please. I beg you." He whispers it, over and over again as she struggles through this, rage that her husband is nowhere to be found fomenting inside him.

That boy must know, on some level, that she was never his. All along, her heart belonged to Cedric.

Cries ring out, and a newly formed life is welcomed into the world. Relief disseminates as messengers race out of the castle, spreading the good news to those waiting near and far.

Never once did he let her go, but now Miranda, holding the most precious of possessions bends over, trying to hand the baby to Sofia.

She can't take it, and worriedly, Miranda circles around, afraid to pressure the girl. "Here, Cedric, do you want to hold her?"

"Her?" It's a girl. The baby is napping now, understandable considering the ordeal it's been through, and reluctantly Cedric lets the small vulnerable creature be laid into his arms.

"I'll give you two a minute." Miranda sighs a with a relieved but heavy heart, then closes the doors behind them.

The room now silent, Cedric gazes down at the sleeping babe. The spitting image of Sofia, he reasons. Yes, it has roundish sort of cheeks, but any babe would. Its head is covered, and suddenly he's filled with dread. More so than just a fear of dropping the fragile little thing.

No, the question lingers. Does it have blonde hair?

"I can't look." Sofia whispers, breathlessly. As tormented as he's been for these past months, he realizes it's nothing compared to the torture she's been inflicting upon herself.

Summoning every last ounce of courage, he gently slides back the blanket, revealing a bald scalp.

"She's no hair yet, Sofia."

"Are her eyes…."

"She's sleeping. Perhaps, you should do the same." Nodding, Sofia curls up as best she can, and drifts off while Cedric strokes her back softly.

The strangeness of it all doesn't escape him. He finds himself actually wishing by some miracle that the child was his, though he'd never wanted children. If it would spare her a lifetime of regret and afford her the dissolution of a loveless marriage, it's a burden he would gladly shoulder.

But the husband lingers over his thoughts, that newly-crowned King whose claimed her as his own. Will he let her go?

He'll make the whelp set her free, he reasons. With all the strength in him, if he can save a peasant maid from a ruffian, he can save his love from the timid man whom dared to claim her.

Still, it's a pleasant sight, and thoughts he's barely dared to dream have come true. Though ephemeral they feel, Sofia sleeps in his lap, exhausted. Not just her, 'his girls' are asleep in his lap. Does it even truly matter who the child's father is? Not to him, he reasons. He could perhaps cast some spells to ensure the child is mistaken for his own, in the event the other tries to reclaim them. He doesn't want to do this, though. To scheme and manipulate his way into Sofia's heart. No, he wants her love, and the love of this small babe, more passionately than he's wanted anything before. He could be what they need. He's already proven himself in his love's most desperate hour. The king even showered him with praise before Miranda shooed him away. "I'll be anything you need, Sofia, just please choose me this time."

Now, in the stillness of the afternoon, a sharper image of these past few months comes into focus. She's lived here for weeks, perhaps months. He even chides himself, perhaps if he'd obeyed some of the king's commands of late, delayed his firing, that she'd have returned. That he'd have known how unhappy she was in marriage, and avoided this, the closest of calls.

Tap tap.

The door creaks open, ever so slightly, to reveal the man, the other. Cedric clutches the child to his chest, defensive of that which this king would take.

"Um, how is my wife?" The words sting, and the grit of his teeth makes the timid boy retreat a few steps.

"She's alive, as is the baby." An audible sigh of relief comes from the boy, and he steps forward, eager to hold the child.

It can't end like this, and Cedric clings to the babe, still snoozing, "Stop right there, you, miserable man you." Desmond stops, confused.

"What?"

"How dare you, how dare you come here, now, to interfere with her healing. Out with you now, out." Ever in life he has shirked away, cowering from more powerful men. This time, however, his resolve is steeled. He has to do this now, for Sofia cannot.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know very well she is unhappy. If you care for her at all, you'll release her."

"Release her? She's my wife, not my prisoner. Now, let me see my daughter, please." He pulls away from the boy's grasp. Until Sofia awakens, he is the guardian of this child, and shan't surrender her, lest the dream die, and he lose them both. The commotion jostles his arm ever so slightly, rousing the sleeping babe.

The baby girl opens her beautiful eyes, for all to see. Such sparkling blue eyes she has; he's seen but one set like them. They match Sofia's, he reasons. Not brown in the slightest.

"No." louder now, he prays that, somehow, this man would simply disappear. That his sight betrayed him, and instead the child's eyes were brown.

"Awe, she looks like my mother, bless her departed soul." The other is peering over, cooing at the child before glancing at the sleeping woman on Cedric's lap. "I hope she'll snap out of it now. She's been acting so weird since my parents died."

"How dare you" Cedric growls, "The girl pities your loss, and you've parlayed that into entrapment, it's obscene."

Desmond looks shocked. Cedric can't reveal the extent of his involvement, can he? It wouldn't be fair to Sofia. No, she'd practically killed herself to protect this secret. It would be unspeakably cruel to unleash it now, when she's at her most vulnerable.

But perhaps, it's all he has. The child has blue eyes, and her husband sees this as his child.

The hopes he had fade fast, as Sofia rouses. "Shhh, please sleep, Sofia." She's awake, and desperation creeps up. Massive fears shoot through his mind, the demons scream for him to flee, for he knows, deep down, that this is the moment of no return. The other can provide for her. He can lavish all this world has to offer on her baby, and Cedric has nothing.

Sofia will choose the father of her child, any woman would.

And the child has blue eyes.

"Desmond?" Bleary eyed, she tries to lift off Cedric's lap, breaking his heart in the process. He's still holding the child, but he's no longer welcome in their private family moment, is he? The birth of this man's child, not his after all.

With a heavy heart, he turns to hand the babe to Sofia. It's fully awake now, his meager attempts to lull it back to sleep utter failures. Inserted into her arms, Sofia gazes down at the small, irreplaceable creature, and starts crying.

He'd meant to flee, but can't while she's like this. The other backs away, "Oh no, not this again." Cedric feels as though he might breath fire at the boy, and leaps from the bed.

"That's ENOUGH! She practically died to bring that child into this world, and you've not the least bit of sympathy for her struggle. Out I tell you, OUT!"

Shocked, the room falls silent save for the small human, still crying.

"Cedric."

He cannot bear to turn and face her, to be told his help is no longer needed and dismissed out of hand. Instead, he snaps his eyes shut and stands, unmoving. "Cedric, can you get me some yogurt, I'm really hungry, and I need to talk to Desmond, alone. It's time."

He's being dismissed, in as kind a way as she could find. There is no dignity to be had, no subtle conciliation prize to be won, but he has not the strength to leave.

"You're divorcing me, aren't you?"

It came from the boy.

Stunned, Cedric looks up, and the other is at the window, staring out, hands fallen to his sides. "I don't want to give up Sofia, I really don't, but I just don't know what to do to make you happy."

Cedric stands awkwardly in the middle of this, the death of a marriage. This should be a happy time, he reasons, the birth of a first child. Instead, he's ruined this for her, with his selfish wants that hung this cloud of doubt over her this entire time. Perhaps he should have listened, and departed when asked.

"It's not you Desmond, it's me. I got married for the wrong reasons. I'm sorry, but it's never going to work."

The nerves he'd felt give way to a complete and utter relief, the likes of which he'd never known.

Cedric turns to her, unable to gloat at his triumph and weighted down by the sorrow of this situation, he can only muster, "Yogurt, yes, I'll return in moments Sofia. Wait for me."

It tears him to shreds to leave them there, alone, but he must. There are details of their life that need untangling.

That night the other leaves. A great sigh of relief escapes as his coach pulls away. Sofia isn't free, not yet at least. She may never be. It is a kingdom he rules, and nestled in Sofia's arms is the sole heir to that crown.

But for now, she is here. Laying up against him, the babe dozing softly in a cradle beside them. "You don't have to stay; I won't make you."

It startles the man, to his core. Slowly the beautiful girl turns upward, toward him. "I understand, I hurt you, and if... if you don't love me anymore, you don't have to stay. I'll be fine. I will. I-"

Perhaps he shouldn't have, but catching her lips in his, he hopes to quell the doubts that lingered within her. When finally he pulls away the stunned girl looks up, hope lingering in her eyes. "Then, I wished with all my heart to speak the words, Sofia, and all these months apart I have been adrift, lost to even myself. So believe me now when I say, ever shall I love you, my compass, the healer of my soul."

It will be alright, he reasons. They were but two broken souls, ever in need of the salvation that can come from simply being true to one's heart.