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and poked the backside of my left arm, numbness raced through my core and as I felt my body tumble forward I tried so hard to fall on my side and prayed that my child would survive.
 
    ***
 
    There are fingers sifting through my hair, whispering gradually downward to brush at my cheek. I wake from the darkness of slumber, bleary eyed to find that you have not miraculous returned to me. He looks upon me with those watery blue eyes, his touch upon my skin, one of familiarity. My flesh burns in protest, revolted at the thought that this man would dare touch my person. In my attempt to withdraw, he lashes out to keep me in place, the hold of my arm in his grasp nearly painful.
    “Do not look at me so.” He chastises, a skeletal finger sweeps across my brow. “Nothing but happiness should ever mar this face.” He grasps my chin and I look upon him with disgust, refusing to show a modicum of respect. “And I shall be the one to make you happy. In time you will come to accept the reality.”
    “What reality?”
    He fails to respond but rather stands to take the goblet by the bedside. “Here,” he invites, once more at my side. “You must be thirsty. Drink.” He bids, holding the goblet out for me. At my refusal, he hedges forward with a smirk. “Come now, little one, you must be parched.” Yes my throat ached terribly, pleading to be quenched I succumb.
    With bound wrists I am unable to take the goblet from him, so I accept when he holds it out for me to drink. The coolness of the water is balm to aridness of my mouth and for a small, fleeting moment I am grateful for it. But sanity quickly returns and with it my ire and ever growing concern for the child in my womb. My eyes stray to my abdomen and I am comforted in the small bump protruding from the sheets. I ache to feel it. My fingers itch to settle on the bump that has become so familiar these last four months. But alas, my arms are shackled by iron chains to the dark posters of the bed.
    “What have you done, Lord Valancette?” I finally gain courage to ask.
 
    “What should have been done years ago…I only righted a wrong.”
 
    “What wrong? Where are the others? The palace…”

“Do not worry yourself over them. They do not deserve it.”

“They were my family! What have you done to, Marik?” The tears fall, and my head spun.

“I am your family now.”
    He must have put something in the water. My vision blurs, dizziness overcomes me all at once and too soon I find myself in darkness.

 
    I am alone when I awake. The hour is lost upon me as the only source of lights comes from the candelabras at the walls. I raise my head in an attempt to assess the room I am in but in doing so I exacerbate the pounding at my temples. I am still bound, shackled to the bed. There are innumerable questions battering at my mind, the main of which wonders what has happened to not only you, my king, but those who’ve been charged to protect us. What’s happened to Kivar? Somia?  Salyn?

“Even in a time of war, you are still wanted by your enemies.” was that Krea’s voice? She came away from the shadows and approached me.

Her face when not contorted in scowl seemed almost pretty to look at, but at the moment she scowls down at me, her eyes so cold and malicious.

“You know,” she whispers, as though allowing me in on a great secret.” I can carve that abomination from your womb and happily watch as you bleed to death.” She brandishes her dagger, the blade catching the light just so emphasizes her deadly point.

“You wouldn’t…“
     
    “What is it exactly about you that make’s men act like idiots, hmm?” She draws closer. “Could it be your face?” the dagger licks across my cheek with lightening precision, drawing blood, but not deep enough to mar, but it hurts all the same. 

“Or maybe these lips?” She takes my jaw within her hand and draws the dagger across my lips. “I could make them redder.” She presses down, the pressure