.:. 6 .:.

She awoke stiffened and disorientated beside the hearth. Soot had darkened her light hair, the strands as dusty as chalk. Yui reeked of charcoal, but the air smelled sweet. The perfume of cold skies and wet earth almost made her forget the terrorisation of the storm.

Ayato occupied the bed in a tangle of sheets and limbs. His pores emitted traces of alcohol, and she knew he would not rouse until noon. Quietly, she wandered over to the window; it was a crisp morning and the mist was low. The sun sucked droplets from the windowpane, ridding any reminder of yesterdays rainfall. The clear weather lifted her spirits and Yui was determined to make the most of the day.

She fetched her basket and packed it with dirty dishes and laundry. Pushing aside the nettles and shrubs, she gathered her skirts to sit on a pillow of mossy rock. Yui tipped a bowl to rid the collected water and grabbed another; she did not hear any approaching footfalls. The noise of the bubbling brook drowned even the loudest bird song.

"Miss Yui," said a young voice. "The holy father said I might find you here."

Yui startled and dropped the dish. It bobbed along the stream like a boat, but she did not chase it. Instead, she turned to face the owner of the voice. It was little Sora, his freckles ripe in the sunshine. His lips and fingers were stained purple from the elderberries.

"Sora! I was going to drop by after the Sunday service."

Her fright softened into a smile. She shifted her basket and patted the boulder beside her. Sora reacted to the gesture in his usual timid fashion, with an unsure mouth and twisting hands. He soon decided that no harm could come from joining the minister's daughter by the riverside and was cautious about his footing on the slimy stones. He offered her some of his berries, but she only smiled kindly and shook her head. This confused him.

He remembered his mother's swollen belly. She had a large appetite and snatched all the food he and his father stole. Their stomachs growled throughout the night, but hers was a bottomless pit. His baby sister was born still and silent. His attention caught the fabric which Yui straightened on her lap and he thought of her tiny cotton shroud. He closed his eyes and sketched the cross.

"Follow the forest flowers, the father said, an' then you'll find her," said Sora, so hushed that Yui strained over the rushing water.

"He seeks me—did he give a reason?" she asked, and Sora shook his head and tucked his knees tighter under his chin; he disliked the splashes. "Oh. I'm sure he's only worried. I should visit more often, but..." she exhaled. "I would only hurt his heart."

His head tilted in question. "He talks much of you."

Yui forced a smile and ruffled his shaggy hair. "I won't burden you with such a tale."

Children did not understand the connotations of her scarlet letter. Bulging, naïve eyes would peer upwards in awe at the glittering thing, under the illusion that she was a wealthy maiden or a princess from a foreign land.

"You're looking much healthier, Sora," said she, tone bright. "I'm glad. Being appointed as the minister's ward is a blessing for you both. My father's too old and weary to carry out basic duties. He longs for company. Quiet, company, I think," she laughed. "I was a troublesome child and caused nothing but a headache."

The orphan was scrawny, but his face had plumped out the gaunt by the food shared at the reverend's table. It glowed from the exertion of his chores. Yui herself remembered how tiring sweeping the long church aisles had been, and the pain in her wrist as she polished the delicate glass. He vocalized more and was gradually shedding his shyness. But Sora was mellow by nature—a quiet, harmless soul who carefully selected his words. It was not a bad way to be for a child so young.

"He's as kind as you, Miss Yui." He held her gaze for a brief moment before it scurried to the elder twig; only the inedible berries remained. "You... are a strange lady. Most wouldn't 'ave spared me a glance in that market-place. I'll be forever thankful to you."

Yui blinked and her cheeks heated. She never received thanks, nor did she carry out good deeds to receive it. Her kindness was innate and reducing suffering was as natural as breathing. However saving the cowering orphan was done with another intention—guilt.

"You know... you remind me a lot of someone. His eyes are like yours, as blue as water. They were as lifeless as his that day. I realised long ago that I could not save him." She rotated her head and was surprised to meet his eyes. His dark-blond hair had curled from the spray of water. "But I could save you."

"Who is he?"

"You'll know of him," she answered, returning her attention towards the unclean dishes. Sora did not respond immediately. He stared at his hands until the words came to him.

"The... the king?"

Yui giggled, suddenly reminded of his age. He had an oldness about him; a maturity. "Yes—how did you know?"

Sora threw her a sideward glance; he did not believe her jesting tongue. "So... you're his queen?" He humoured her as the two of them slipped into a rhythm; Yui washed while the boy sought flat, sun-spotted surfaces to set the earthenware. It was monotonous work, but it gave him purpose. "His wife?"

Yui choked on air and hid herself in linen. "M-Me? No, no. I'm unfit to be by his side."

He frowned and it crinkled his nose. "Then... a friend?"

She dipped a finger into the water, the currents strong from the pressure of its swollen banks. Old sounds of childhood laughter seemed to intermingle with the blare, and she could not bring herself to withdraw. "I'm afraid not," she said, voice low. "I am nothing."

.:.

Yui warmed a bowl of broth for Sora whilst she changed into her church finery. It was a weekday, but she did not want to witness her father's scrutiny for donning a marled dress under God's holy roof. She wore scarlet and her letter melted into transparency.

Ayato still draped the mattress, his snores throaty and stuttering. Yui had placed a solitary finger against her lips when she led Sora into the cottage. His blue gaze was set upon this unfamiliar, alcohol stinking man, his pupils flooding with questions. His lips pressed thin; it would be unwise for him to pry. Sora nodded and agreed to silence. Yui's eyes softened in gratitude.

"Is he the king?" Sora burst in the freedom of the barn. The cob's whiskers tickled his outstretched palm. "I didn't see his eyes."

"No, he is not," said Yui. "His are green."

Sora whined. "But Miss Yui, many a men have blue eyes. They're as common as weeds."

"Look up high and you'll find him."

The boy gaped, his brows disappearing into his hair. "You don't mean... God?"

Yui laughed and said nothing else; she was debating her mode of transport. It would be easier for her to travel by cart and not suffer with sickness from a rocking saddle. Yet the woodlands would be flooded and the mud would be thick; the wheels would submerge. Earl was a temperamental stallion and he rarely let a rider mount. He wasn't fidgety or aggressive like Subaru's horses; he was lazy and would stay rooted to the spot no matter how deep ones heels squeezed.

She decided to try her luck and lifted the bridle; she did not fancy a hem caked in mud. As predicted, Earl was resilient. Each time Yui neared and coaxed the bit, he butted it away with his nose, his head flung high. Sora found the steed amusing and slapped his neck, his muzzle taking wisps of hay from his hand. The animal's deep brown eyes laughed as they stared at his flustered owner. Yui hung the bridle and rested her back against a wooden beam. She, too, found the horse endearing at times; Reiji did not. He believed lazy creatures to be useless and ought to be permanently silenced.

Yui sprinkled grain for the poultry and wiped her hands on a mottled fur. "Let us go, Sora. My father will already be unhappy at us traipsing mud throughout the church. We cannot anger him with our lateness."

The duo fled the musty stable and began the forest path. The earth was boggy and dead leaves floated in puddles. Yui hiked up her skirts and slugged through the mud, fighting to remain optimistic even as her woolen stockings soaked.

.:.

Ayato awoke at noon with the peevish streaks of golden sun. His body felt heavy and his head pulsed. It was quiet—too quiet. His ears hadn't become victim to his mother's shrieks, nor had he heard either one of his brothers' clamour. Laito sometimes played the piano, with Kanato perched on the stairway, singing. The notes were soft and sorrowful. It would last until customers streamed through the tavern doors, then Cordelia would snap her fingers and the music would shift to a crowd-pleasing jig. Kanato would potter about with a broom while ale was thrust into his hands: a new day, begun.

Today was different. He heard the wind moving through trees, gushing water and birds. The pillow smelled of lavender. Ayato's eyes snapped open and he bolted upright. He saw stars from his quick movement, and after a moment, the interior of Yui Komori's cottage. The woman wasn't present. She was a fool devoted to God and would probably be sat in prayer. His eyes inwardly rolled.

He rose and blundered into the kitchen, taking the bowl of stew she had left out for him. It was cold and he ate with a grimace, dreaming of pies fat with meat and oozing cheese. Ayato poked his head into each of the cupboards, seeking a better option. But he was not a rabbit and could not be satisfied with herbs and roots. He tore at some stale bread and washed down his meal with a swig of whisky.

With the bottle tucked underneath his arm, he rounded the cottage, like a magpie hunting for something that glittered. Yui was as destitute as he, and unsurprisingly, nothing caught his eye; the dwelling was barren and dotted in useless keepsakes. She did not ache for gold like he; she was Subaru's little pet. She would survive the winter if she kept in his favour.

Ayato reached the mantelpiece, his bare feet blackened by the embers. He thumbed through the books, hoping to find a coin or two wedged between the pages. All that met his fingertips was the touch of cotton—a handkerchief.

"Subaru Sakamaki, huh?" he assumed, his eyes flickering over the initials. "Giving away a favour like this," he clicked his tongue. "What a soft bastard."

He was sorely tempted to pocket the cloth in order to taunt his younger brother, or use it as blackmail for a set of elaborate robes and juicy red-meat. But something told him to let it be. The fabric was charred—perhaps it was an omen. It dropped from his hand with a flinch; he could not afford anymore strokes of bad luck.

He shuffled into his shoes, the animal-hide dry and stiff from the night-time fire. The taste of liquor hung heavy on his tongue, and with his empty pouch dangling from his belt, he left her house with tossed-back shoulders and a head held high. Ayato did not see the dark-haired rider watching him from behind the shadow of trees.

.:.

On his borrowed horse, Reiji ambled down the castle hillside. Once reaching the woodland border, he dug in his heels and its strides lengthened, his hands taut around the reins as his steed leaped over a set of high and mangled roots. He was not a strong rider, but he didn't let his inexperience show; his back was straight and not a whisper of fear crossed his face.

By the shape of the old oak and the cluster of dandelions, he knew he had arrived at the cottage. Yui Komori would be well on her way to the church—on foot, he presumed. She may be a fool, but even she would have realised the impossibility of pulling a cart after a storm. He released a sigh; finally he was terminating their union. Her infidelity tarnished his name and he itched to be free from it.

As Reiji squinted to see past the foliage, he felt a pang of nostalgia. They hadn't loved each other, but her company had grown tolerable and inviting over the years. Yes, her habits irked him: how she would waltz about with bare feet and a dirtied frock and her sheer disobedience. Yet some things he found pleasant: the way she brewed his tea, her supple fingers tying his cravat, or the warm pitch of her voice as she wished him well before he headed to the surgery.

He heard the groan of old hinges; the doctor frowned, his glasses sliding down his nose. Hadn't the woman left? Hadn't she received the message? Nudging on his horse, he saw a figure with confident, drunken steps leaving his wife's cottage. The man's hair gleamed scarlet in the sunshine. He did not take the beaten track. He clambered and batted away the thick woodland, vanishing in an instant, like the quick draw of a cloak.

Ayato, his host's bastard son. He thought of Shu Sakamaki and his cryptic answers and his sad, vacant stare. The young master suffered with ill-health and the doctor assumed that the cause was a heart blackened with guilt. Had his accusations been wrong? Reiji could not think of a logical reason behind Ayato's visit unless he was, indeed, Yui Komori's secret lover. His mind spun in confusion.

Dazed, he gripped the saddle's front for support as his horse cantered through the wilderness. Reiji did not know how long he had been riding until he caught a glimpse of blonde and crimson. Yui and a young boy—with features like a squirrel—gathered around a bush bearing black fruit.

"Blackberries are much sweeter, Sora," he heard her say. "Though they are trickier to find in these woods. Don't you find the elderberries sour?"

"Food is food, Miss Yui."

"Yes," she agreed. "You are quite right. I am in no position to be fussy."

They heard his horse approach and turned, their small statures dwarfed by the height. Reiji gave a curt nod in greeting, his lips pulled thin as his eyes traveled to her wet and mucky hem. Underneath the cover of her kerchief peeped a frame of unbrushed strands, and even with her sleep deprived face, her heavy stomach and the animosity set between them, she still had the nerve to smile up at him.

"Good grief, Yui Komori. It is impossible to tell whether your dress is scarlet or brown."

Her smile did not falter, though he noticed her companion shuffle into her shadow. "Reiji, good morning."

"Good afternoon to you as well," corrected he with a passing glance towards the midday sun. "I'll assume that your journey so far has been tolerable?"

Yui repressed a laugh from his stiff attempt to make conversation. Reiji was cold and calculative, but he was obsessive towards etiquette. One could not pass by an acquaintance without engaging in needless discourse. "Yes, I suppose," said she. "Though it would have been easier with a yielding horse."

He expected nothing less. Yui habitually brought home stray cats and dogs with their flea-ridden coats and frothing jaws, or mauled birds with their snapped wings and blood-stained feathers for him to cure. So of course she still kept Earl, who at best pulled a cart with a clumsy, apathetic trot.

"You still own that old thing? What use is an animal if it cannot bend to the whims of its master? Well, I'm certain your appearance would have fared better if you possessed an ounce of sense."

"I haven't the heart to cast him out. Besides, I like to walk. But..." she wriggled and yanked a foot out of the deep, sticky earth. "I like it much better when I can see the toes of my boots."

"Indeed," Reiji hummed, his chin tilted high. It was a snobbish stance and Yui flushed, suddenly conscious of her apparel.

She'd never been good enough for him. She was his most frustrating project; a piece of clay who would not shape to his hands. As much as she tried, she hadn't borne him sons, nor had she fulfilled the role of a diligent housewife. Her heart had remained young, as free as a cricket skipping the stones on the riverbank. But Reiji had noticed a change in her once he arrived back on home soil. Her carefree spirit had ebbed as soon as the scarlet letter was planted onto her chest. It had forced her to grow, to mature; her spirit had flourished into a determined, protective fire.

"Though at your sluggish pace," said the doctor, pulling the reins of his restless horse. "It is inevitable that you will delay our meeting."

"O-Our meeting?" she repeated, dumbly. "You're heading to the church too?"

"Yes," he said, his gaze settled a little behind her. The young boy had seized a branch scarcely smaller than himself and was drawing patterns in the mud. Yui looked over her shoulder and smiled; it was teethless and warm, a smile that spread to crinkle and glitter her eyes. Reiji prickled at the sight. "But it appears," he continued, "that your father's messenger is a mute that cannot convey given information. You have a fine habit, Yui Komori, of attaching yourself to useless things."

She wasn't the sort of woman to hiss or snarl out a reply in anger, but the pitch of her voice grew shrill. "Sora is very helpful," she insisted, her hands taking fistfuls of her skirt. "Both to me and my father. I will not have his shyness seen as a fault," then she added, lower, calmer, and with a note of sadness, "not when the streets still haunt him."

The subject of the child didn't interest him and he gave a sigh of impatience. Talk was becoming a distraction and he wanted their divorce finalized while the hour was still light. He was about to heave her up onto his horse, unwilling to wait at the church for an hour or two whilst she dallied along the path, but his hand returned to the reins. With the jangling of metal, a golden head emerged atop his white mare. Unlike Reiji, Shu had a natural affinity for horseback riding. Even Subaru's horses rebelled less when the heir was strapped into their saddle.

"Ah, speaking of useless things," Reiji murmured, his grip on the reins suddenly short and tight; the horse dragged its head down. "Here comes the man of the hour."

Shu was twisted backwards. He still wore his nightshirt, tucked into a pair of breeches. It was only when they neared did Subaru become visible, sat behind his brother with his boots slotted into the stirrups. He lolled against Shu's shoulder, drunk and semi-conscious, with his pea-green overcoat draped over him.

"Listen, you brat," his voice was sharp; he was grouchy when his sleep was disturbed. "Hold on. I've exerted myself enough going to that stinking place to get you—" His speech was cut when his mare—a sensitive, faint-hearted thing—sensed another of its kind and spooked, her eyes rimmed white. Shu looked down in confusion, seizing Subaru's arm to keep him from falling. He soothed the horse with hushed sounds and turned, with a face full of accusation, to the trio huddled beside the blackberry shrub. He rubbed his temples. "What an annoying coincidence."

"Hardly," said Reiji, terse. "There's only one beaten-path through the forest and I gather neither of us would rejoice in getting impaled by thorns."

Yet by the smile playing on Shu's lips, it was clear that he would rejoice if the physician came by such an injury. "You know," he drawled, peeling Subaru's cheek from his drool-stained shirt. "I'd loosen those reins... unless you favour a cracked skull."

Reiji made a sound of disgust. "I do not think it wise to take advice from a person who sleeps more than the given hours in a day. You obviously have no time to acquire any sort of useful information."

"Fine," he shrugged. "Do what you want. Your life means nothing to me. You're a doctor, you can treat yourself." Shu turned towards Yui, who had busied herself in conversation with the reverend's young ward. He had created a picture with twigs and leaves and pine cones. It reminded him of one of the castle's autumnal tapestries. He watched the woman, nonspeaking, until Reiji's glower became unbearable. Part of him wanted to grab her face into his hands and kiss her, just to witness the uptight doctor squirm. He called out and beckoned her over.

"M-Master Shu," she greeted, as though testing the words on her tongue. She curtsied low and he wondered how she managed it, being so heavy with child.

"Don't waste your time," said he, half-amused. "I'm not getting off my horse to pry your face out of the mud."

Subaru, mad with drink and sleep, mockingly imitated her curtsy and almost toppled from the horse's back. Shu snatched his collar and yanked him upright. He was growing tired of babysitting and wanted nothing more than to return to bed. But it would be impossible. His father had organised a feast and the castle was buzzing with the preparation, like a thousand pestering wasps in his ear.

Suddenly, Subaru retched and vomited, the foul liquid pooling the leaves.

"Oh, Subaru," Yui whispered, smoothing back his hair. His eyes fluttered shut and he resumed using Shu's back as a pillow. "Look how drink ruins you."

"And my boots," added Shu, sighing. "What a bother."

"Yui—come," Reiji called, circling his horse. Whether accidental or not, its hooves crushed the pine cones decorating Sora's little picture. He sulked silently, bursting blackberries between his fingers.

"Y-Yes, just a moment!" she called back, continuing to stroke Subaru's head. The youngest murmured something inaudible and found her hand; he hadn't even remembered to blush. "Shu," she began, lifting her eyes. They were teary, set back against an expression thick with worry. "Are... are you doing well?"

"Obviously, you dense woman... why wouldn't I be?"

He lied through his teeth. Shu was sickly at the castle door, but until she stood before him, she hadn't realised the severity. He had always suffered with migraines—something hereditary from his mother—but they were becoming frequent, she had learned, through Subaru's passing remarks. He was thinner with eyes so black Yui was inclined to ask if he had been caught up in a fight. His eyes were a dull, clouded blue-grey, and if it wasn't for the rise and fall of his chest, she wouldn't have deemed him alive. She would give all she had to see those eyes sparkle in laughter, to see that happy, childhood blue again.

She noticed his gaze stray to her chest, where her finger traced the outline of the letter's golden thread. Swallowing bile, her lips fixed into an awkward smile. "Shu, my eyes are up here."

Indeed, he soon found her eyes, but he did not take the joke. He simply stared at her, silent and expressionless. Then, hesitantly, he reached out, as though approaching a skittish creature. For a moment, Yui believed that he would rip the letter from her dress and stamp out its beauty with his horse's hoof. But he didn't; he recoiled, closed his eyes, and massaged his forehead.

"What... what is that?"

"My punishment," she answered. "A lesson, a prison—whichever I prefer. All are equally cruel."

"And still..." he spoke though gritted teeth. "You will not have him speak? You... you will not speak for him?"

"Never," she said, and the softness in her voice shrivelled. "I know you—most people, even—think me selfish. But please believe me, I am protecting—"

"It grieves me to intrude on such a thrilling conversation," interrupted Reiji, appearing at Shu's side. "But we have business to attend to, and I must take back my wife—"

"—for her divorce? Whatever... I'm leaving anyways. I don't have the energy to engage in worthless conversation." He faced Yui. "Tonight... there's a feast at the castle. No doubt Subaru will bring you a basket at the earliest opportunity." He clucked on his horse and turned in the direction of the castle, halting when she called his name.

"Shu! Please... please look after yourself."

"What effort," he scoffed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Why don't you take your own advice? You'll be in childbed once winter comes." And you'll have to be strong or die, were his unspoken words. After all, winter was the cruelest to the weak, the young, and the hungry.

"Good riddance," snapped the doctor once the two young lords were consumed by trees. "I have no patience for that man. It's disgraceful how a person born with everything can have the audacity to be so unmotivated."

"Be kinder, Reiji," encouraged Yui. "He did not ask to be born a lord. I'm certain if he could, he would have given up his position long ago."

"Then he is every bit as spineless as I first imagined."

Yui sighed, knowing her argument would be futile, and accepted his hand onto the horse. "I'll see you in a little while, Sora," said she, waving. "Try not to get yourself lost."

Without waiting for the child's response, Reiji squeezed the horse's belly and they took off through the forest. Yui's fingers were sore from her deathly grip on the saddle. She held her breath and supported her stomach in an attempt to push aside the nausea; perhaps it was a blessing that Earl refused to be tacked up. She wondered if the doctor had mistakenly borrowed one of Subaru's horses, for the animal repeatedly flung its head up and down, or lashed its legs out in irritation.

No, for he simply rode rigidly and sought control incorrectly. Yui covered his hands with her own and lengthened the reins. "Relax and be gentle, then it will become obedient." The horse stretched its neck gratefully and put on a burst of speed. Reiji gave her a sidewards glance and pursed his lips, bitter that the young lord's advice had been correct.

.:.

They found the reverend stood outside of the rectory, waving goodbye to his students. Reiji and Yui stood tall amongst them. They were a poor bunch with their skinny fingers clutching tattered books and bags crafted from old potato sacks. Reiji grimaced as they brushed past him, eyeing each child as though they were an insect. He hadn't attended a public school. His family hadn't been poor, nor had he been particularly wealthy, but his parents had valued the importance of a good education and sent him to a boarding school up north.

Seiji caught their eye and smiled, beckoning them over and ushering them into the church. He shook the doctor's hand and kissed his daughter's brow, forgetting, for the briefest of moments, that they were visiting for a sombre reason. He depleted and forced his lips into a firm line.

"Come, the papers are already laid out," said Seiji, halting in the aisle in astonishment over his daughter's grimy frock. "Goodness, Yui. Are you sure you had a safe trip?"

Yui blushed and fumbled to smooth the creases lining her skirt. "Q-Quite safe, thank you."

"And Sora?"

"Walking. He'll join us in a little while."

The reverend led them into the vestry. It was a small, windowless room with a single desk, chair, and a stumped, lighted candle. It cast the document in an orange glow, the parchment thick-edged and high-quality. At the bottom were two lines, awaiting signatures. Seiji regarded them uneasily, turning over the beaded rosary hanging from his neck.

"G-Good sir, I hope you have considered every consequence of this decision. Once signed, it cannot be undone—"

"Yes," cut in Reiji, his stare hovering over Yui's abdomen. "I believe we are both acutely aware of what cannot be undone, don't you?"

Yui came to her father's side and placed a hand on his shoulder. He startled, unable to see clearly in the dim light. "Don't worry, father. I know you meant well. God will not punish you for my own sins."

He nodded gravely and set his hand atop hers. Guilt had eaten away at him. He blamed himself for organising the marriage, his parenting, and the morals he taught her. If he had been stricter with her, or perhaps if he had married again to give her a mother figure, would the situation be different? No, it was fruitless to dwell on the past. He shook the thoughts from his head and drew the quill from the ink, passing it into the doctor's hand.

"Reiji," said Yui, softly, as the tip blotted the parchment. He stilled, but did not turn to face her. "I know it means nothing now... but I'm truly sorry that it came to this. Perhaps... perhaps if I had met you first, I could have loved you."

"Is that so?" he mused, signing in a one looped, precise swoop. "Well, I'll admit that perhaps the length of my trip was rather excessive, too."

"Yes," said Yui, smiling in relief. She felt lighter, as though one of the chains shackled to her ankles had been released. She took the quill and signed it herself, but it appeared childish and clumsy in comparison to his. It was blatantly obvious that she hadn't established a set signature.

"Do not look so relieved," said Reiji as his fingers curled around her arm. Seiji busied himself in sealing the document with a dollop of hot, scarlet wax. "My business with you and your child is far from resolved. I will find that treacherous man, no matter what the cost."

"W-What," Yui gulped and twisted her clammy palms. "What will you do when—if—you find him?"

He did not answer vocally; his eyes flashed behind his spectacles. She knew it to be her imagination, but there, like a reflection in the glass, she saw blood and fire, poison and death. To unsettle her further, his lips shaped into a self-satisfied smirk, as if to say—you know perfectly well what I intend to do, Yui Komori. Yui crumpled into the chair and clutched her heart, watching, with bleary eyes, as Reiji fled the room with the black ripples of his cloak.

She knew the doctor intended to harm her lover, but she hadn't known to what extent. But she reassured herself that he was safe—she had kept her silence and so had he, begrudgingly. Reiji couldn't have figured out his identity. Yet when he did, she had a plan. A cowardly plan, albeit, but they would have no choice but to flee to a place where vengeance could not catch them.

"Are you unwell, child?" She felt her father's cold hand against her forehead. "You're pale. Come, you must be fed before heading back."

Mutely, she allowed him to take her arm and guide her upstairs and into the armchair beside the hearth. Embers still smouldered in the grate. She sat, trembling and ashen, like the wife of a solider lost at war. She stroked her stomach and hummed lullabies while her father—laden with a tray of warm bread, autumn fruits and cheese—sank himself into the opposite seat. He tore and nibbled the crust, pushing the rest towards her. Yui only shook her head.

"My child, let us take this as a blessing," said he, threading fingers underneath his nose; he had misunderstood her mood. "You are freed from your pledge. You are a free, unmarried woman once more. Be wise—marry the father. Not only will it rid you of your humiliation, but you will be acting upon gaining the Lord's forgiveness. In the end, that is the only thing which truly matters."

Yui broke off some of the cheese, the dip in her skirt hoarding the crumbs. "I'm sorry father, but I cannot. It would be childish of me to nurture an impossibility."

Seiji's eyes popped, and for a moment, Yui thought she had given him a heart attack. He rose abruptly and poured wine from the pitcher. He took a heavy swig and she frowned, knowing how he disliked the affects of alcohol. "A-An impossibility!" he stammered, his fingers clutching the cross. "You mean to say that this man... that this man is married!"

"Presume what you will," said she, unwilling to let any information slip into the hands of her ex-husband. "I've sworn to protect him, and I will do so in a way only a woman can." She gave a wry smile, recalling the countless occasions when she had been berated for sharing an opinion or expressing a thirst for knowledge. Yet she had always been denied, for she was a woman, and women were supposed to be seen, not heard. "I will finally do as I have always been told," she continued, feeling satisfaction bubble in her chest. "And remain silent."

A/N: Hey guys! So, from now on, I feel like updates will be a monthly occurrence. I'm starting university again soon, and on top of that I have to work, and thus I will have very little time to write *cries* I can't believe summer is over already, haha D':

Thank you for your patience, and of course, your feedback! :)

Until next time...

allyelle~