God must hate me. Quinn decided as her stomach churned again right in the middle of breakfast. Ever since last night's dinner, she'd been feeling somewhat off. She thought it might've been the veal, it smelled funny to her but her parents had eaten the same thing and they looked perfectly well. She held in her sickness while her father rambled on about how the country had taken in an idiot of a king. Never mind that Finn had been king for little more than a month. The latest decision he made was to give back some poor man's title and land; land that her father had taken when the man's father passed. Quinn rolled her eyes at her father's complaint. It sounded like the king was being, God forbid, fair.

"This never would've happened if the old king were alive. He would have the sense to uphold the late Lord Abrams' dying wish to disown his son!" Marquis Fabray snapped, cutting into his breakfast with fervor, inflamed by the whole topic.

"His land was of little use anyway. Poor soil, weak workers, and let's not forget it is on the border of our good neighbor. Heaven knows when they'll sense weakness and try to claim their share of our country." Marchioness Fabray tried to reassure him. It did little to settle his mind. He scowled into his wine. The Marchioness realized she could not calm him down and instead turned to Quinn. "Quinn, you have barely eaten. Is everything alright?"

"I'm not that hungry, mother." Quinn replied.

"You've hardly eaten all day. It was the veal, wasn't it?" Her mother guessed.

"No, mother, I..."

"I told you, I don't like that new cook you hired. She gives me dirty looks every time I see her. I think she may be poisoning our food. You should get rid of her immediately." The Marchioness demanded.

"Perhaps it is because you demand too much." Quinn muttered to herself but her words were louder than she intended and the Marchioness glared at her.

"That tone is not befitting of a lady. Perhaps you really are ill. Go up to your room and I'll send some food up later." Her mother commanded. Quinn rolled her eyes. She wanted to leave anyway and she pushed herself away from the table, stomping up the stairs. It had been more than a month since Duke Harrington humiliated her and since then, her parents seemed to have given up on marrying her to someone of a higher class. Instead, they contended to match her with lesser nobles, often far too old and disgusting to look upon. She wondered if her parents were mocking her or punishing her for her failure but even so, it was too much.

She slammed the door to her room and sat on her bed. The way things were going, she would be no better off marrying that idiot stable boy Puck. The thought startled her and she sat up straight. She had not thought of Puck for a very long while. She had been too engrossed in her own problems that she had simply forgotten him. But now, thinking of his dark skin and his strong arms holding her carefully, she wondered how he was doing and if he still thought of her.

It would be better if he didn't. She thought, casting her gaze down at her hands. Nothing good would ever come of it.

Puck ran his hands along the small of Noel's back, kissing at her neck while she giggled at the way his lips ticked her skin. He bit down hard enough to leave a deep red impression and she pulled away, squealing with displeasure.

"You are fortunate that our clothes hide that spot!" She exclaimed angrily. Puck growled and wrestled her into the ground. He propped himself over her and she lay passively and invitingly. Her hair was spread wildly under her and Puck reached for his belt. Her brown eyes bore into him and he paused, remembering the cloudy, wet, blue eyes of a certain noble woman. He remembered her small, soft cries when he took her and he marveled at how delicate they sounded in comparison to the women he normally bedded. But it was what she said after as she slipped into sleep that made him remember her the most.

"Please love me." She had pleaded. She probably did not even remember her desperate request but Puck did. It was exactly then that he fell for her. He did not question why she had said it, nor did he ponder the tragic circumstances that had caused her to utter the words. Instead he silently fulfilled her request. And it suddenly felt wrong to be there with Noel. He pushed himself away from her and sat away from her, all the lust drained by the memory of Quinn. Noel angrily got up.

"What are you doing?" She demanded.

"Nothing." Puck replied.

"Clearly." Noel sneered. She meant to berate him more for his sudden disinterest in a warm female body but she saw sadness in the way his shoulders sagged. Years of experience told her that he had not been thinking of her when he pulled away. She smoothed her mussed hair and heaved a loud sigh. She placed a hand on his shoulder and by that action, they were no longer lovers, but companions. She did not ask questions; it would hurt his pride. She simply got up and left after that small gesture. They were nothing more than friends and occasional lovers. She was old enough to know that he was too young to be more than that.

When she left, Puck ran his fingers angrily through his hair. He had tried everything to forget her but nothing worked. He still wanted Quinn and his heart would not settle for anything less. He stood up. There were chores to be done, hopefully they would distract him from thinking of her.

Santana heard the delicate shatter of China as she reached the top of the staircase. It wasn't the noise that scared her and made her stomach drop, it was the stream of curses that followed. She gripped the railing as the swearing grew closer. Her father walked into the entrance hall, his hair a wild mess from last night's indulgence in wine and his temper no doubt the aftereffect. He started up the stairs but paused when he noticed Santana. Immediately the hard look on his face melted into one of exhaustion. The rage faded from him, replaced with shame that his daughter had witnessed his actions.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, princess." He sighed. Santana would have been alright if he had taken her into his arms and embraced her as a father would. But he walked passed her without another word or acknowledgement. He walked down the hall, passing Brittany who had an armful of clothes. He paused a moment and Brittany bowed respectfully. When she looked up, she saw something in his eyes resembling anger - as if he blamed her for everything that had happened. He had always regarded her kindly, but as of late he could not bring himself to look upon the young servant without some measure of hate. It sent chills down Brittany's spine. She hurried past him and he disappeared into the study. Brittany took her place next to her mistress. Santana watched the study door close. It had been a month since her mother left and everyday her father's mental and physical health declined. She did not understand why he loved her mother, but it wasn't until she left that Santana saw just how deeply he did.

"He has much on his mind." Santana said quickly. Brittany nodded. "What with the unrest..." She stopped quickly and cast a worried look over at Brittany. She did not say it but they both knew the cause. John Pierce's death, and the king's leniency on the woman who did it sparked rage across the country. King Finn meant to show mercy, but the poor citizens saw it as favoritism towards the rich. They claimed that if it had been a peasant who murdered a noble family, there would have been an execution. Suddenly reports of violence came in from all over the country. The lower class began attacking city guards, setting fire to their masters' farms. The King dispatched soldiers to the worst areas, but there were too many. The country was on the verge of chaos and the actions of their two families had been the spark that started the fire.

Santana glanced around for spying eyes before planting a kiss on Brittany's cheek. Brittany smiled.

"Come." Santana said as she continued down the stairs. Brittany did her best to smile for her mistress but the mood around the estate was heavy and weighed on her shoulders. They passed a servant cleaning up the shards of porcelain and Brittany could see the red mark on his cheek that matched the rings on the Duke's hand.

"What shall we do today?" Santana asked. Brittany snapped out of her trance. Santana went on, ignoring Brittany. "I think we ought to take advantage of this fine day and stroll around the estate." Brittany looked outside. In fact it was anything but a "fine day." Clouds hung ominously over the horizon and they headed for the estate. The smell of rain pervaded the air around them. She turned back to Santana and opened her mouth to object. But Santana was already halfway to the door. Brittany could not fight that determination. She obediently followed her mistress.

Santana's hair whipped wildly in the wind and it burned her eyes to stare directly at the horizon. But she stayed there, continuously brushing the hair out of her face. Brittany came up behind her.

"Miss, it's a little windy out here. Wouldn't it be better to go inside?" She asked.

"It's fine." Santana replied with a faint smile. She turned to face Brittany but caught sight of her father staring at the two of them. The smile dropped from her face. The Duke stepped out onto the brick path.

"I have some business to attend over at the castle." He said. "I will probably be a few days, no more than four. Take care of things while I am away, would you?" His speech was slightly slurred and Santana guessed he had taken to drinking when he entered his study. She prayed quietly that he would not make a fool out of himself when he entered the castle grounds and that he would sober up during the ride. Without waiting for her response, he turned right around and walked out the front entrance where a carriage was already waiting for him. Santana's eyes burned again, though this time not from the wind. Her father had said nothing about her foolishly standing outside in the impending storm. He showed no concern for her well-being.

"Let's go back inside, Brittany." Santana whispered. It wasn't the wind that chilled her to the bone.

"Your Majesty, please, there are things that need to be done."

"I'm through with it all!" Finn's hand lashed out, catching a priceless porcelain vase and smashing it on the ground. Servants rushed to it like ants to a meal and cleaned it up in a matter of seconds. "I'm king! If I order you not to bother me, then you will not bother me!" The advisor sank back.

"Please, your Majesty, there are people from all over the country calling for you. They need a king."

"They want my head." Finn replied somberly. He sat down on his throne, sliding down enough so that only his shoulders touched the back of the chair. His posture pushed the crown over his eyes, and he took it off, much to the chagrin of his advisor.

"Please, Your Majesty, sit up properly."

"I'll do what I want." Finn snapped but his voice was less cutting. He was tired already and it was barely morning. All night he had to contend with the peasants throwing rocks at his wall and window. It left him with little sleep and a short temper.

"I've sent for Duke Lopez, he will be able to help." The advisor said. "But you must learn to make decisions for yourself."

"Then I order the guard to send them all away! By force if needed!" The guards in the room stiffened, as if they were prepared to carry out the King's order. His advisor looked around anxiously, motioning for them to relax.

"Your Majesty, that is not the solution. They want answers from their King, not violence."

"They don't?" Finn laughed bitterly. "They carry torches and have weapons hidden under their rags. They want blood. They want nothing more than for me to give them a reason to storm the castle." He sat up a little. "Not that I haven't already." His advisor wrung his hands nervously. He stole up near the throne and placed his hands behind his back, unsure of how to approach the volatile boy.

"Sir...the Duke will arrive any minute. Perhaps you will listen to his council."

"Let him run the country then." Finn muttered too quietly to hear. "He would do a finer job." Finn curled his legs inward, as if trying to block out the rest of the court. He rubbed his eyes hastily when he felt them burning with tears of shame. He could imagine his father looking down on him from heaven. The kingdom he had worked so hard to rebuild was now falling apart in the hands of his incompetent son.

Quinn felt another wave of nausea overwhelm her system. She sprinted towards the nearest bucket, tripping over the hem of her dress but somehow making it in time to empty the contents of her stomach in a matter of seconds. She lifted her head for a moment before another wave seized her and she dry retched. When the nausea subsided finally, she groaned and sat back, wiping the corner of her mouth on her sleeve. Being delicate was the least of her concerns. She thought back to last night's dinner, trying to pin point what had been the cause of her illness. It was the apples. I knew they weren't washed properly. They smelled of decay and livestock. But a part of her dismissed that idea as too simple. I do notusually get this sick unless it is that dreadful time of month. Quinn thought to herself.

And then it hit her.

I have not had it in more than a month.

She had heard of what missing a month meant. She'd heard it from the excited servants after they had married, she'd heard it hissed between gossiping nobles about some young tramp who bedded his own cousin. Suddenly a different kind of nausea welled up in her stomach and though she fought this bout off, the feeling was worse. It can't be. It can't be. I haven't...Her breath came in as a gasp. Puck. But the odds were astronomical. How could one night produce a child? She had heard that it took many tries, and couples lamented that it often took years.

An elderly servant walked into the room and cried out in shock from seeing Quinn bent over the bucket. She quickly regained her composure, even managed a laugh.

"Was the breakfast that terrible?" She joked. "Be careful now, one might mistake this for morning illness." It was meant in jest but Quinn pushed herself off the ground and slapped the servant.

"How dare you insinuate such a thing? Get out!" She screamed. The elderly servant apologized profusely as she scurried out of Quinn's room, leaving the bucket where it was. When she left, Quinn slammed the door shut and fell upon her bed, weeping. It can't be. It can't be. She tried to convince herself over and over again but deep down she knew the truth.

Even though she felt faint from before, her body found renewed energy in her panic and she stood up. She didn't bother changing, she simply walked out of the room and down the stairs, picking up speed as she descended. She was in a full sprint by the time she left the front door. The rain beat down on her head, ruining her hair and dress. Mud coated her shoes and socks and dirtied her dress. Her feet took her in the direction of the Lopez estate: the last place she wanted to visit just earlier that morning. But in her frightened and hysterical state of mind, she thought perhaps if she found him, if she found Puck, he could correct the mistake he made.

Brittany stirred from her sleep by a loud clap of thunder. She jerked awake, reaching for her Mistress but found only slightly warm sheets. She sat up and checked under the bed, thinking wildly for a moment that Santana had taken cover. But she was not there. Another clap of thunder sounded and Brittany felt panic welling up in her chest. Where was she? She had to be hiding somewhere.

"Miss?" Brittany called out as she dashed from the room. "Miss? Where are you?" Rain beat down overhead. She opened up all the rooms on the floor and kept calling. She reached the edge of the steps just as a flash of lightning struck the horizon. She looked outside and gasped in shock.

"Miss!" She screamed, sprinting down the steps. Santana stood calmly outside, letting the rain soak through her hair and clothes. Brittany grabbed her Mistress by the arm and tried to pull her back inside. Santana resisted.

"It's nice." She said. Brittany could feel the rain bleeding through her clothes. When thunder rumbled overhead again, Santana jumped a little but stayed where she was. Brittany slipped her hand into Santana's, not caring who saw. If Santana was crying, the rain perfectly hid the tears. Everything is falling apart around her...Brittany thought, watching her Mistress as she stared across the estate.

"Come." Santana said, closing her hand around Brittany's. She pulled her away from cover.

"Where are we going?" Brittany asked. Santana turned around and pulled her into a kiss. Brittany pushed her away, slipping out of her grasp. She turned around and surveyed the estate for prying eyes.

"Miss!" Santana was not so easily deterred. She grabbed Brittany's hand again and with a low, husky, urgent voice bid her to follow. Santana forced a smile but Brittany clearly saw the desperation on her face. She needs escape more than ever. Her feet came loose from the ground and she followed Santana into the trees, away from the eyes that judged her every movement.

When they were deep enough into the woods that Brittany could not tell which direction from which they came, Santana grabbed Brittany by the wrist and crushed their lips together. Brittany's lower lip burst open when it hit Santana's teeth and she pulled back in pain. Rather than ask if she was alright, Santana pushed Brittany backwards until she pressed her up against a tree and could go no further. The bark was rough against Brittany's bare legs and bit through her fabric. Parts of the bark broke off and clung to the linen and would serve as a reminder of their actions when Brittany undressed later that night. The feeling was uncomfortable: being pressed up against an uneven surface that scratched deep red marks along her back but then Santana pressed her lips against Brittany's bloody ones and the kiss made all the discomfort vanish.

"I love you." Santana said as her hands hurried along the hem of Brittany's skirt. Brittany gasped aloud when Santana's fingers brushed along her thigh. She could feel the rain streaming from the top of Santana's shoulders, down along her arm and to where her fingertips met Brittany's skin. Brittany's hand dug her nails into the back of Santana's neck, anticipating where her hand would go next. Goosebumps formed along her spine and she moaned into Santana's open mouth. Santana's thumb found the small, delicate, raised bump at Brittany's core purely by accident, sending Brittany arching off of the tree. Santana pulled back, earning a whimper from Brittany.

"No, Miss, please..." Brittany begged, still using formalities and Santana's hand was right there. It occurred to Brittany, somewhere in the back of her mind where coherent thoughts still lived, that it was thundering loudly and yet she had not felt Santana flinch once. She thought to mention it but Santana's fingers dipped inside her and whatever was left of her her sanity disappeared. Her fingers found and promptly lost their way in Santana's messy wet hair and she arched into Santana's gentle curling. Her shoulder blades screamed in pain as the motion dug them further into the rough tree trunk but the pain was an afterthought the way Santana was so deep and good in her. Santana watched Brittany's face carefully. Her eyes fluttered open and shut, and the grip Brittany had on her waist was painful. Seeing Brittany's mouth open and close, mouthing words like "more" and "please" made Santana feel needed and appreciated. She needed no encouragement, letting go of Brittany's shoulder with her right hand. It found its partner underneath Brittany's skirt, taking over the task her left hand had previously done. Brittany was slick with desire and rain. Her hair, was plastered against her face and stuck in the cracks of the bark behind her. She looked mad or wild, and it made Santana want her more.

She leaned over and bit down on Brittany's collarbone. Brittany gasped at the way Santana licked over the reddening mark. Her mouth and breath heated up her skin. Suddenly her nerves stood on end from her scalp and, like the rain cascading down her body, the familiar, agonizing, and wonderful sensation of release travelled downward until she buried her face into Santana's shoulder and bit down on her soft skin. The rain killed her screams before they travelled too far and Santana held her as ripple after ripple of pleasure shook her repeatedly.

Quinn ran through the forest, ignorant to the branches cutting her arms or the bugs flying into her face. Her tears made navigating difficult, but she was hardly trying to travel in a straight line. She was running with a destination in mind, but she cared little about how she got there or in what state she arrived. All that mattered was getting there and…

The hem of her once blue, now murky brown dress caught on a bush and she stumbled forward, her palms hitting the grass and broken branches. She winced at the pain, pulling her hand close to her chest and hissing when she saw blood spring from her scratched wrist. She looked at her skin, covered in mud, dirt, and leaves. What a sorry image she must have cast on anyone or anything looking. She broke down, clawing at the ground, praying to God and begging to the Devil that she would wake from this ever worsening nightmare. She had no recollection of how long or far she ran. When the worst of her sobs subsided, she looked up and wiped her eyes against the back of her dirty hand. She picked herself up, intent on reaching the Lopez estate. She walked forward, less desperate but no less hopeless. The more she walked, however, the more she feared she was truly lost.

Perhaps I'll die here. She thought dramatically. I would never be found. Or if I were to be found, let it be some beast to devour my body.

The longer she walked, the more she believed it to be the case. For a good hour she wandered, thinking she'd gone in a straight line but never truly sure. Just as she was about to give up and walk in a different direction, she heard noises, like branches crackling. She stopped and despite her earlier hope that maybe a beast would find her, she feared for her life. She ducked down behind a shrub and held her breath, listening for what it might be. For a while, all she could hear was the rain heavy on the leaves and ground around her. She thought it might've been her imagination.

"Miss…" A soft voice said. Quinn recognized that voice, though in her dazed state she could not properly place it. She peered over the leaves. When she saw who it was… and what they were doing, all other thoughts were stricken from her mind.

Santana leaned over and kissed Brittany passionately on the lips and Brittany wrapped her arms around Santana, moaning into it. Quinn's hand flew to her mouth and her eyes widened with shock.

God have mercy...she thought to herself repeatedly. They said something in a hushed tone and Quinn could not quite make it out but they giggled to themselves and left back in the direction of the estate. Quinn sat in the rain, hardly daring to believe what she had just witnessed. She had always thought their relationship to be queer, that Santana should not have cared for Brittany the way she did. But this...this was...

"The devil's work." She said aloud and covered her mouth quickly. All of her panic had been replaced by shock. What she had just witnessed was more than a noble having a dalliance with a peasant - lord knew it happened enough to produce more than the country's share of bastards. This...this was a sin. She wondered what the King or the Duke might think of it? Slowly but surely, a smile spread along her face. She would not go down alone.

The Duke arrived at the castle just as the rain was letting up. He walked through the gates with his back straight and his head held high. Drink as he may at home, he would not let anything interfere with his duty and service to the crown. When the guard announced him to the King he dropped to his knees. It did not escape his notice that the King looked like he had gone days without proper sleep. The unrest and pressure must have been even heavier on him.

"Your Majesty." The Duke said, bowing his head. The King said nothing to him and as the Duke looked around, he noticed that everyone in the room watched him with intensity. He lifted his head. The atmosphere felt chilly and he did not know the reason. Surely things had not gotten that bad since he had last been there.

"Your Majesty...is there something wrong?" He asked as he rose to his feet. The King somberly got to his feet as well. He motioned for several guards to approach. One of them was not wearing the garments of the castle guard. He wore shabby clothes more befitting of a country guard.

"Your Grace..." He bowed low. His arm was cast in a sling and there was a cleaned cut right under his chin. There were faint bruises all along his face that could not be seen until he stepped into the light. He had been beaten quite badly. The Duke feared the worst. Had there already been a riot? His mind formulated a dozen plans to calm the citizens down. It depended on which part of the country it was. The south was relatively stable, with many well trained guards stationed there. However, if it was out west, they would have to relocate some of the southern guards and he did not know just how that would shift the dynamic.

"Your Grace..." His eyes focused again on the familiar green and blue jacket. He had seen it somewhere before. "I'm sorry..." The Duke's eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tried to remember. The man was trembling now, as if recalling something traumatic. "Your Grace...your wife...the Duchess..."

It hit him just as the words spilled from his mouth. This man was one of the guards stationed at his country estate. It was where his wife had been exiled.

"Your Grace...there was an uprising...your wife...she was killed."