Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All characters, places, and names belong to their respective owners.
The front room of what must be my apartments is gorgeous, and not in the overdone style of the Capitol. No, this place holds on to the simpler, yet still opulent style of days gone by. The walls are not covered in gilded moldings or shiny, extensively weaved tapestries. Instead panels done in subtle shades of blue and bronze tell tales of beasts and lords, well-made furniture that doesn't need to be painted gold in order to resonate, and breathtakingly detailed carvings make the rooms noteworthy. There are still hints of the heavy gilded Capitol style, but it is offset by heavy shades of navy and burgundy that make the rooms appear respectively regal rather than just a simple display of wealth.
I notice that Prim is flighty with me at first, almost hesitant to step out of line with me. Instead of being the sweet, carefree Primrose that I have always known she sits cautiously in her chair, barely taking sips of her tea as we share idle conversation.
Has my sister left me too?
"Have you enjoyed your time in Panem?" I ask her, resorting to simple questions.
My sister hesitates before answering, brushing a long strand of white blonde hair back into its place, "Yes," she says cautiously.
"Prim," I reassure her, "you don't have to hold your tongue. None of my people will hold your words against you."
"I don't wish to anger you," she responds, barely meeting my eyes.
"Prim," I say, frowning in confusion, "why on earth would I be angry with you? We are blood, when in our years together have you ever angered me? I'm your sister."
"But it isn't like that anymore!" she finally looks at me, "You're a queen, just like Mama, and it's different this time. You have a family now. One of your own, and a whole new country that makes Seam look childish. We have such little back home, and now you're a grown up, Katniss! Why would you want me when you have all of this?" her voice shakes as she settles into her seat.
"Oh Prim," I say, taking her into my arms, "you mean more to me than every single thing in this country. We're all we have, you and me."
Prim pulls away slightly and looks up at me, "But you have Peeta, Katniss," she sighs, "I don't have a family of my own and I won't until I'm of age, then Gale will come for me."
I shiver slightly at the thought of my Gale with my little sister. It would happen eventually; even my father knew the match between them would be inevitable when he signed me off to Peeta. There was no other way to keep Everdeen blood in the royal line.
"Peeta isn't blood, Prim. It is hardly the same. I have known you for most of my life, and of course, you have known me for the entirety of yours. We share the same upbringing, the same home, and that can not be replaced in any way, shape, or form."
"But you love him?" she questions me, her eyes lighting up, "I wished I had what you had, boys never come to whisk me away."
I laugh internally at the way she makes what Peeta and I have romantic. Sure, Peeta had turned out to be more than one could ever wish, but our marriage could have been disastrous. A political marriage between two people who barely knew each other was far from ideal.
"Prim," I say, "don't long for such things, you are lucky to have a marriage prepared in your own court," I ought to chastise her a little more, as older sisters should on such important beliefs, but my stomach suddenly turns at the thoughts of doing anything more and it takes everything inside of me to make it to the bucket in the hall.
"I'm sorry," I say as I tiredly trudge back to Prim, "I get nauseous on occasion."
"Oh," says Prim with a wistful sigh, "I forgot you were pregnant."
I blanch at Prim, of all people, thinking me pregnant. The 'pregnancy' ordeal was odd enough for me at it was, but Prim, my little sister, thinking I was with child? It was almost embarrassing.
"Prim," I say, trying to explain the situation delicately, "I'm not pregnant-"
She laughs, interrupting me, "Oh Katniss, you don't have to lie to me. I know the way babies work, I was training with the medics, remember? Your oddness and nausea, of course you're pregnant! I'm not a child anymore, I know of the birds and the bees."
I think about it for a moment. My cycle had always been irregular, so I hadn't fussed over its absence in the passing months. And it wasn't technically impossible, I had been feeling rather sick lately and it wasn't like I remained a virgin.
So I don't answer her, I just brush her off and change the conversation.
Dinner is served at dusk, a lot earlier than it was in the Capitol. The formal dining room here was more casual too, with heavy arches that somewhat separated the large room into smaller sections. For once they allow us to sit with a large group while eating, instead of being separated and exalted like we usually are.
Around six Peeta arrives at my chambers prepared to lead me and my accompaniment to the dining hall. He's dressed in a rich green velvet suit with an overly ruffled shirt that seems hilariously out of date.
"They had to dig something out of the closets here," he says, giving me an explanation.
I blanch as I notice the large tail of the jacket, "Well, it's certainly something."
"What," he says with mock concern, "you don't like it?" Peeta does a '360', twirling around in a circle and quickly picking me up as he comes back around.
"Hey," I say, squealing a little as his gives me a far from chaste kiss in front of our entire accompaniment.
Peeta laughs with glee, "You can't imagine how much I love you," he says as the guards open the heavy wooden doors and he leads me into the dining hall.
When we enter the room I can't help but notice the tired, weary state of appearance amongst the higher class. Their dresses are worn and wrinkled from being packed under a rush, wigs are either entirely lacking or without their usual ornaments, even the gowns themselves seem duller and flatter in appearance. But it's not just their clothes that are wearied, all the rogue in the world can't cover up the blatant appearances of the dark circles and tired faces that most of the nobles are sporting.
Peeta and I are seated at a long mahogany table with a small group of higher nobles. Duke Finnick and Duchess Anne, Lady Glimmer and her husband Lord Marvel, Countess Johanna, and a few of the stuffier, older type are seated along with us. Even Madge, who is not held in high regard, is placed directly to my side.
"Your sister, Primrose, is here?" Duchess Anne asks as the first course, a series of frothy soups and hearty stews, boiled fish, and vegetables all arranged in a beautiful centerpiece, is served.
"Yes," I tell her.
"That's good, that she's safe." Anne unfolds her napkin and moves on to the plum gelatin that is sitting in front of her.
I nod, my heart clenching slightly at the thought of my father, who didn't make it out safely. My body flutters slightly as I imagine what they did to him, what they would do to Peeta and me if they had the chance.
I can't help but see images of his body, his head separated and gruesomely tortured. The thoughts pound away at me as my breathing becomes erratic. I have to squeeze my eyes shut for a moment to avoid throwing up on the table.
"Is something wrong, Katniss?" Madge places a sympathetic hand on my shoulder.
Noticing something is wrong, Peeta stands up, causing the entire room of several hundred residents to take note, "I think we are going to turn in for the night, Katniss isn't feeling well," Peeta speaks to the table in an authoritative tone.
Wordlessly, my husband takes my hand and helps me out of my seat before guiding me towards the slate staircase and back into the main hallway. We don't speak while we walk, but I lean my head on his chest and manage to lay a few gentle kisses against his collar before we arrive at our destination.
Our bedchamber is breathtakingly simple. There is, of course, the usual ornate gold moldings and embellishments along the walls and ceilings, but the staff must not have had enough time to prep lavish bedcoverings or curtains because the room's fabric pieces are all a simple, clean white. I will have to request that they keep it this way.
Peeta smiles at me as he collapses against the bed, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," I reply. When did I ever want to talk?
He smiles, lying his head back into the soft white pillow, "I'd love to kiss you right now."
A breeze rustles through the room, causing the sheers to splay against the wall.
I sigh back into the bed, "Nothing's stopping you."
Accepting the challenge, Peeta leans across the bed, placing a light, soft kiss against my lips before settling back into his position. I can't help but feel disappointed at the briefness of his encounter, in all honesty I had expected him to take me here, for we had a rare moment alone and there was no reason to waste it.
"Please," I say, rolling over and straddling his legs with mine so that he knows what I want from him.
"Please what," he says with a grin.
I slide my legs lower along his and press my hands against his chest, slowly pushing against the fabric of his ruffled, white shirt until it is released from the forest colored velvet of his breeches.
"Come on," I say, lowering my face so that it contours with his skin, "don't play games with me right now." I press a wet, soft kiss against his chest and gently slide my lip against him.
He frowns with concern, lifting my body away from his, "Are you sure, Katniss? If you aren't feeling well, if whatever happened earlier is still bothering you, we don't have to do anything."
"No, I want to." I stand definitive in my answer as I slip my fingers under his shirt once again and pull the fabric over his head. He moves in sync with my actions, arching his back so that the shirt slides effortlessly over his body.
It takes some time and mutual effort for him to remove my hooped underskirt and light green silk stays, but it isn't long before even my blue and yellow embroidered overgown finds a home on the floor of the bedroom.
Our movements are quick, Peeta doesn't wait to remove his breeches and position himself under the covers. We don't even bother with foreplay or actions that would help us ease into the act, and he finishes quicker than he normally would, but we have both been deprived of this for so long and it's more than relieving to be with him again.
The next morning, after pulling myself from Peeta's sleeping arms, the first thing I do is is instruct my guards to arrange for a visit with Doctor Aurelius, the court physician under the guise of a migraine.
Doctor Aurelius is not an oblivious man. He was well aware, as both my physician and a member of the court, that there was never a confirmation of pregnancy, so when I approach the topic he doesn't even bat an eye.
"Well," he says, cleaning his glasses, "it's perfectly plausible from the situation you have describes, but I can neither affirm nor deny your suspicions at this point under the laws of learned medicine. That being said, if you are of more superstitious beliefs there are women healers I can suggest you see, under an unofficial recommendation, of course. I must say to you that I imagine with nothing more than an opinion that the answer to your question will be shown positive in a handful of months."
I nod, the terrifying thoughts sinking in. A baby, a real living human being could be inside of me at the moment. At that thought I could only feel trapped in my own skin. Even my gown felt like it was closing in on me as the realization swept over my body.
"My mother was involved with healers, I know their ways. If you could make an arrangement for me I would appreciate that," I say numbly, swiftly rising and allowing my guard to open the door.
I was pregnant.
After my visit with the physician I am brought back to my private quarters where I manage to spend a few hours making a dent in the dusty library that lied within. Most of the books were pious religious tales, reading 'suited for a woman', but I was desperate for some type of distraction from the situation on hand.
Around noon, however, an abnormally well-dressed page, a little blonde boy I recognize as Peeta's personal favorite, comes with a request from Peeta asking me to meet him in the south quarter of the back gardens.
The back gardens are a beautiful display of bright greens and amber leaves, but it still doesn't compare to the extensive grandeur of the Capitol.
Peeta is waiting for me when we arrive in the south quarter, which is slightly less well-kept and riddled with seemingly older stone paths that lead into the wooded area behind the palace.
"You left me this morning," Peeta says as he shoos the guards, wordlessly instructing them to keep at a more distant pace.
"I felt like getting up before you for once. You know, you always wake before me," I lie.
He laughs and pulls me in for a chaste kiss, "Well last night was just enough to tire me out."
I blush slightly at his comment. Even though we had been together time and time again I never quite got over him speaking so casually about what we did in our bed. "Where are we going anyways?"
"I was hoping to bring you to the beach. There is a small strip of sand not a few miles out from here and I was hoping that you might enjoy it." Peeta lets go of my hand and slides his arm around the curve of my waist, "We never really got the chance at Taraxa."
It's a good thirty minute walk before we arrive at the water. Peeta was right, this side of the ocean is a lot different than the crystal water and pure white sand we visited on our honeymoon. It's still breathtaking, of course, but the water is a translucent green and the sand is rougher than I remembered.
Blankets are laid out a few feet away from the waterline. Servants must have come here earlier and set it up, because a hearty lunch of turkey sandwiches and potato soup welcomes us as we arrive.
"Thank you," I say as Peeta helps me sit down, his hands smoothing the light blue fabric of the sack back gown I'm wearing.
Peeta only gives me a grin in response before handing me one of the delicately wrapped sandwiches.
"We could come here every afternoon, you know? It would be nice to see you during the day," he places his hand against my leg, warmth spreading through my body at his touch.
I give him a look. He was living in a fantasy world, we had just fled our supposedly permanent residence and the entire country was quickly lighting up in a fiery mess of rebellion and barbaric influences. He would never get the time to do meet with me in the middle of the day. I knew how many hours he spent in counsel under normal circumstances. With what was going on now I would be happy if he was coming to bed by midnight.
"You know that will never happen," I scoff at him.
He sighs, "You're right, probably not, but we could always try. I tire of being apart from you; perhaps we could request time on Sundays for vigil and sneak away?"
Laughing, I move closer to him, "You're not a very good influence, my King," I say, giving a mocking bow.
"I beg to differ. I think it's you who's not a very good influence on me," he says with false outrage.
"Here," he says, throwing his sandwich wrapper into the basket and grabbing my hand, "let me show you something."
Peeta pulls my body upwards and we make it about fifty yards with me lazily propped up against his shoulder. There's a little bank that forms as the strip of beach seems to come to a point. Some of the rocks form small cavelike structures, one of which Peeta and I find shelter under.
"Finally," he says with a hint of annoyance as he lays down against the rocks, "we can have some privacy."
"Mmm," I nod, pulling my own body next to his, propping my head up against my arms. The world was quiet around us, the guards were keeping their distance and for once it felt like we were truly separated from everything. The guards, the crown, in that instance it felt like none of it mattered. But it didn't last for long, because I was still most likely pregnant, and all the avoidance in the world couldn't change that.
"I saw the physician this morning, "I tell him, anxiously drawing circles along his back.
At my words Peeta's eyes widen, "You're sick?" he says, "I told you there was a fever going around, we should have taken up separate quarters."
"I'm not that kind of sick, Peeta," I let my words sink in.
"Oh," he says, faltering.
"I'm- or at least, I might be. There's no point in making such statements when I'm not entirely certain-"I pause, sighing into the sand, "I'm pregnant, Peeta."
Author's Note: Sorry for the slight delay there;) My vacation plans took up more of my time than I expected! How did you like the reveal?
As always, thanks to prisspanem for being a wonderful beta!
You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.