-Chapter Eleven-

The darkness in my mind was thick and suffocating. It had been the same nearly every night. I did not dream as I once had. My dreams were deep and inescapable as I was blinded in blackness, left only with haunting sounds and voices to perpetuate the nightmare. I struggled for breath, feeling a thick, icy noose of shadow wrapped around my throat. No matter how much I tried to free myself , it got tighter and tighter. A throbbing pain worked its way through my limbs, and I drew them against my body as I trembled in the cold.

"How could you marry that man?" It was Elliot's voice that haunted me this night. So young, but full of a sadness that I'd never heard from him while he was alive. "Has sending me to my death changed you so much that you would stoop that low?"

I couldn't speak, the tightness around my neck had ensured my silence I wanted to apologize, to explain to him that Reaver hadn't been to blame for his death, to plead with him to stay with me.

"You couldn't stand up to Logan. Not even for me. I thought you loved me!"

"Please..." I managed to rasp. "I'm so sorry..."

"You should be," He said. "You should be ashamed!"

For a moment, the shame crept over me, smothering me along with the shadow.

"I wanted to marry you, Keira," His voice was thick with the sound of withheld tears. "I wanted to give you my life, but you let your brother take it away...And now you're with the man that poisoned your brother's mind."

"Yes," chimed in Logan's stern voice. "You seem to be able to forgive that wretched man's darkness, but you could not pardon mine?"

The sound of his voice was bittersweet. It had been so long since I'd heard him, I couldn't quite remember precisely how he'd sounded. It was so very clear now, but his words cut like a knife in my heart. I could not bear to hear this. "Logan..." I struggled to speak once more.

"Do not make excuses, Keira," He said. "I lay in agony because you could not allow me a chance for redemption. I am condemned to the eternal void of darkness because of you."

My heart wrenched inside of my chest. I wanted to apologize, to hold him. I wanted so very badly to take back my ruling, to have my brother back.

"I was the only family that you had left, and you put me before a line of soldiers that hated me. My death was not quick, sister...they did not aim mercifully."

The feeling of darkness was flooding me, stripping away any warmth that might have been left in my body. I was filled with the cold rush of the shadow, and the throbbing pain made an intense transition into a sharp, cutting agony. I tried to scream, but my throat was filled with the thick, unforgiving darkness.

"You betrayed us..." Their voices rang together.

Cold, long-dead hands gripped my arms, the flesh hard and drawn tight across skeletal fingers. Their hold cut into my skin, and I could feel myself being dragged downward into a sea of dark. I was going to die alone, unable to scream, unable to save myself...

I bolted upright in bed, my heart pounding ferociously against my ribs. My dream had been painfully chilling, yet I woke drenched with perspiration. I could barely draw in enough oxygen to fuel the hysterical sobbing that escaped from me. I covered my face, trying to muffle the sounds.

The nightmares had been steadily getting worse over the past few months. I'd had a reprieve for a short while after the wedding, but now, nearly five months later, I found myself afraid to go to sleep. My body, as well as my mind had been suffering. I was weak and lethargic most days, my Heroic vigor was consumed by my exhaustion, and my stomach was a constant jumble of nerves.

Jasper had tried to convince me to see a physician, but I knew that there was nothing that could be done. Medicine could not help the plague of darkness on my soul. The sleeping droughts, herbs and teas that Kalin had suggested did nothing but make it more difficult to wake from my nightmares, so I'd stopped taking them.

I let myself fall back into the pillows, and I turned to face the empty side of my bed. I reached a hand out to stroke the crisp, tucked edges, and I sighed. My loneliness had been a constant source of frustration, but I knew very well what I'd agreed to when I'd made my commitment to Reaver. He seemed to have become even more withdrawn lately. He often took short trips to all corners of Albion, stating that he had urgent business to attend to.

I thought that perhaps he was growing frustrated with the fact that I had not yet conceived a child. It had been months since we'd actively started trying, but nothing took root. I had even seen physicians for answers, and there was no reason they could see that I would not be able to bear many children. They suggested that it could merely be stress, and that only compounded it.

I curled up, closing my eyes, and I let out a shaky breath. The tears and sweat stung my eyes, so I brought a hand up to wipe them all away. I needed to try to sleep again, but I pried my eyes open once more. It was still pitch dark outside of my window, but a lamp shone brightly in the corner of my room. I was thankful for it. I'd had enough blackness in my dreams. I didn't need it when I was awake as well.

I rolled over once again, my restless muscles aching to stretch and walk, but I was determined to find some sort of rest. I needed to try to be healthy. I needed to breach the growing chasm between Reaver and me. Perhaps a child would cement our future. As of now, I was unsure of what he felt for me…or didn't feel.

He was protective—perhaps possessive. That could not be denied. While Wesley—the artist—finished his portrait of me Reaver had hung around the edge of the room, watching the flirtatious artist with fierce hawk-like eyes. He would interject whenever the conversation veered toward the unprofessional, and when I had breaks to walk around the room or eat, Reaver was there, touching me, holding me, kissing me. He had made certain to emphasize to Wesley that I was his.

On the nights when Reaver shared my bed, my nightmares were more bearable. I would be so exhausted after he left my bedchambers for his own, that I would drift off to sleep without much effort or worry. My nightmares were always dim, restrained, and a little brighter, but they did not go away completely. Perhaps they never would. Maybe I would have to live with the guilt of my actions for an eternity. Those whom I had wronged were no longer around to forgive me.

I threw the blankets off of my body, and I pushed myself out of bed. I knew that sleep would only bring more terrors. I thought perhaps a walk around the room would bring on a deeper exhaustion, but I found myself searching for something else.

I shuffled toward the bookshelf, and I eyed the volumes that I'd collected over the years. I'd read them all a dozen times each, especially as of late. I reached for one that I hadn't read in a few weeks, and I moved to sit in the corner, where the light was more concentrated. I could read until my eyes grew heavy. Perhaps that would be enough to stave off the shadowy dreams.

The book's pages were old and worn, but it had been a favorite of my mother's. It was a collection of old gypsy tales. She had been taught to read with this very book, she'd told me. When Logan and I were younger, she would gather us up onto her lap and read us our favorites. They were little more than children's tales with a moral at the end of the story, but they made me think of my mother.

I tried to push sadness and guilt from my heart and fill it with something else. Something light. Albion had been thriving under my union with Reaver. With his workers appeased, Reaver's factories had increased productivity exponentially. The other towns and villages could only express agreement with my decisions and reign thus far. A few had even mentioned how glad they were that such a poisonous man like Timothy Goulding had been brought to justice, especially when it had been brought to light that he'd tried to raise mercenaries against me.

I tried with great difficulty to read through the book, but my eyes were too tired, and my mind was too full of other thoughts. I closed the book hastily, and I shoved it back into its place on the shelf. I found myself standing before my vanity, and I took a seat, glancing at my reflection in the mirror. My skin was pale and lackluster, and my eyes were dark and perpetually tired. I tucked my hair away from my face, and I exhaled softly. I could only hope that with time, my nightmares would subside.

The next few days in my schedule would be rather open. Perhaps I would be able to leave the grounds. I found myself missing the heat and sunlight of Aurora. Kalin had invited me for a visit directly after the wedding, but Reaver had declined for me, suggesting that in such transitional times, I remain in Albion. Now, the elapsed time was starting to feel like a weight on my chest.

I would broach the topic with Reaver once more, perhaps in the morning. I wouldn't be asking him. I would be informing him of my plans to go. A small part of me had hoped that he would join me. Then again, another part of me just wanted time for myself. I would have to weigh the options in my mind when I was feeling a little less ragged.

I moved toward the wardrobe, opening the doors. My robe hung neatly on its hook, and I shrugged it on. I thought that maybe Reaver might be as restless as I was. He didn't seem to require as much rest as most other people. He even worked late most nights before coming by my bedchambers to share my bed for a few hours. Perhaps he would be in a generous mood.

When I exited the room, the hallway was eerily empty. Raising my lamp, I glanced both ways, and I saw that the guards had been posted at the far end of the wing that contained mine and Reaver's suites. I pressed my lips together in a soft frown, and I wondered why the patrol had strayed so far. I banished the thought from my mind, and I moved down the hall, Reaver's room now in sight.

As I moved closer, I heard murmuring coming from within. I furrowed my brow, trying to make out what was being said. My hand closed around the knob, and I turned it silently. I gently pushed the door open without a sound, but a woman's gasp broke the near-quiet.

My limbs stiffened, and my heart pounded in my throat. My stomach churned violently, and I felt short of breath I nearly dropped my lamp, but instead I clenched fiercely onto the handle as my hand trembled with fury. I couldn't say anything. I was shocked, frozen. I drew in a shaky breath as my eyes surveyed the scene.

Reaver had Constance, my handmaiden bent over, gripping the post of the great, wooden bed. He had her dark hair gathered up in his hand, and he turned his attention toward me. His eyebrows raised, and his hips slowed. He hadn't bothered retreating from his place deep within the blushing maid, but she was trying to untangle herself from him, her eyes not meeting with mine. She was ashamed. I closed my gaping mouth, and I backed away slowly.

"Oh," He said. "Hello, darling ... I can honestly say that I was not expecting you on this night."

A hot rush of sadness and anger swept over me, threatening to spill out all at once. My fists tightened, and I tried to look away. But I couldn't.

"Come, dear. There is no harm in you joining us," he said, a smirk uncurling across his face. "Perhaps you would enjoy-"

I backed swiftly out of the room and closed the door. My stomach dropped, and I turned to march back toward my room. My breathing had become labored, and I could feel an ache spreading through my chest. Why had I been so surprised when I opened the door? Could I have honestly believed that Reaver would have been faithful to me? It was a silly piece of paper that tied us to one another. There was no tangible connection other than our passion and lust. What hold could I possibly have on him?

I shoved my door open, and I felt a tear trickling down my face. I slammed the door loudly, and I set the lamp on a nearby table. I paced across the room, wiping my leaking eyes, and cursing myself, my heart. I steadied myself against the post of my bed, and I was suddenly reminded of the scene. I recoiled, and I returned to the vanity.

My face was red, as were my eyes, and I rubbed them, trying to stem the flow of my tears. I hurried quickly to my wardrobe, and I pulled out the first suitable clothes for travel. I needed space...from everything.

I struggled for breath. I was sinking and suffocating once more. Perhaps even in the waking realm I would not be safe from my nightmares. My hand trembled as I snatched a black leather waist cinch, and I found a pair of leather leggings that would be good for traveling in the cold. I pulled on the clothes, putting on a red linen shirt and a pair of knee-high boots. I still wasn't sure where I planned on going, but I needed to leave the palace quickly.

Braiding my hair, I thought of my options. Confronting Reaver could be disastrous, but letting the situation go on would only let things fester and worsen.

I found that my mouth was dry and the trembling of my limbs left me fumbling and distracted. I poured myself a large tumbler of Reaver's whiskey. It wet my mouth, but it burned all the way down. I could only hope that it would take the edge off of my flurry of emotion. I replaced the cork in the bottle, and I decided that I needed to chase the drink with a glass of water.

Once I felt a little more steady, I grabbed a few essentials—a coat, an extra pair of stockings, and I looped a thick black scarf around my neck. Wherever I decided to go, at this time of night, it would undoubtedly be cold.

"A Queen would not abandon her duty for something as frivolous as heartache..."

I glanced around the room, puzzled. I was alone. It was a fleeting thought, I rationalized. Though, I could have sworn that Logan had been in the room with me. I wrung my hands together, and I took a final look around my chambers. Empty.

I heard the door to my bedchambers open softly, and I turned. Reaver stood in the doorway, wearing only a robe. He had a cigarette tucked between his lips, and he ran a hand over his messy hair. His skin was flushed, and his brow was dewy with sweat from the exertion. The smell of another woman clung to him like a musky, sickening perfume, and it made me sick to my stomach.

"You left in a hurry," He remarked, closing the door quietly. He leaned against it, and he raised an eyebrow to me as he took in my appearance. "Do you have plans to go somewhere, my pet?" His hands went to his hips.

The trembling anger rose within me once more, and I clenched my jaw. I took in a few deep breaths, trying to allow my temper to subside before I spoke. I would not make

"Are you upset?" he asked, displaying his masterful skill of observation. He crossed the room, taking a drag off of his cigarette.

"You come now?" I asked, my voice wavering, betraying my anger in favor of a sad tone. "After I find you...buried inside of someone else, you wait to come and see if I may be upset?"

"Well, I had to finish," he chuckled. "It would sour my mood I were to simply stop in the middle."

I glowered in his direction.

"You are upset," He said, sounding almost intrigued. He reached a hand to cup my face.

I batted it away, and I shook my head. I jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction. "Don't touch me, Reaver. I am in no mood." My tears nearly started once more, but I managed to reel them in.
"That is painfully obvious, now," he retorted, stamping his cigarette out in an empty glass by the bar. "I simply do not understand why you take such offense-"

"Spare me the act, Reaver," I interjected sharply.

His eyes darkened, and his mouth pulled into a tight line of dismay. He did not speak at first, but his expression told me that he had not appreciated being interrupted. "What is it that has you so flustered over this?"

I huffed heatedly. "Our contract-"

"Only stipulated your fidelity," He interrupted me in turn. "You really must pay attention to the details of what you sign, my dear, for it was written clear as day."

My hand collided with the side of his face. From the way my palm stung, I knew that the blow had not been soft. "I am not stupid, Reaver. I simply thought you had more honor."

"You say that you are not stupid, and yet you follow it by saying something to disprove it," He hissed, his hand rubbing the reddening side of his face. "Do not impose your honor on me. I have dealt with that sort of expectation in the past, and my allies have all been sorely disappointed."

"Why would you seek the company of another woman?" I asked. Somehow, I knew that no matter what was said, I would not like the answer, but I felt I deserved to know. "What is your excuse?"

"In all honesty, my dear, I do not have an excuse," He said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I see no wrong in what you witnessed. Before you agreed to marry me, you knew precisely what my lifestyle entailed, and you still accepted to entwine yourself into it."

I said nothing, but my face was hot with the furious blood pulsing through my body. My arms were rigid at my sides, and I held his dark gaze with mine.

"If it brings you comfort," He started, sauntering closer. "I will have you know that...ah...what is her name...?" He brought a hand to his mouth, and he looked toward the ceiling, as if genuinely trying to remember.

"Constance," I told him through gritted teeth. "My lady-in-waiting."

"Ah, yes. That was the name. Constance." He seemed almost amused, and he caught me in his hands before I could wriggle away.

I tensed all over, and I found that the trembling, seething anger was showing its head once more. The tears I hadn't wanted to shed were now pooling in the corners of my eyes, burning.

"Constance did not bring me to my end nearly as masterfully as you can, my-"

I drove my knee swiftly into his groin, and when he recoiled, sucking in a hasty breath of air, I summoned the light of my Will to carry me off to my sanctuary.

When I found myself on solid ground once more, I opened my eyes. The main room was empty, and I walked off in the direction of my armory.

The weapons shined in the dull lamplight. Jasper had kept them in peak condition, and I moved to grab my favorites. My mother's sword had been a finely crafted katana, and it fit my hand perfectly. I chose it, fastening the belt and scabbard around my waist, and I picked up my Dragonstomper. I turned it over in my hand, and I remembered the conversation Reaver and I once had regarding it.

"I am an avid collector, you must know," he had said, a grin spreading across his mouth as he inspected the weapon. "I have all but one, and this one, my pet, is the prime example of perfection...Much like its owner."

I remembered how his words had affected me. I should have kept better watch over my heart, as Reaver had once suggested. I shouldn't have let him ensnare it so easily and stealthily.

"Such weakness," Logan's voice chimed.

A cold feeling spread through my gut, and I shoved the pistol into its holster.

-Reaver-

The hinges cried out in protest as the door slammed behind me. The nerve of that woman! After all that I'd done for her, she dares to leave me? Could she not see how childish she was acting? I picked up a crystal tumbler with intent to pour myself a rather large drink, but in my anger, it shattered between my fingers. Cursing, I flicked the slivers of crystal from my hand, and I paced across the room.

How was this my error? She knew the type of man I was—my diverse tastes. She did not seem so averse to it when I first took her to bed. What was different now? The vows we'd exchanged were merely words, and she'd known it. What silly reason could she have for taking such offense?

I spun on my heel to pace to the other side of the room, careful to avoid the sharp mess on the floor. Keira acted as if I'd actually cared for Constance. That maid had been nothing. A mere passing fancy to keep me occupied in the late hours. She'd been giving me lustful looks the entirety of my stay at the palace, and I had vaguely remembered taking her to bed once or twice before. She was not hesitant to join me in my chambers this night, nor the others this week.

Moving toward the mirror, I surveyed my face. It was red and slightly swollen from the force of her slap, and my mouth twisted into a scowl of frustration. Keira's energy and vigor had been dwindling these past months, and I frankly did not feel satisfied. How could I be to blame for such unfortunate circumstances?

I ran a finger across the red hand print, and I exhaled. Had I truly caused her pain? A flutter of concern crossed my face, but I wiped it away. She would come around, undoubtedly. We were bound by more than a contract, and we both had known that. Our marriage would take quite a bit of effort to dismantle, and I doubted that she would want to put herself—and her "people"-through the shame that a divorce would bring.

For a moment I thought perhaps she might seek out another man as retribution. That brought out a seething jealousy that I hadn't expected, but I hastily justified it with the fact that she'd agreed to be mine. I knew well that I did not posses the capacity to simply share my things. She signed the contract, explicitly promising that she would not take another man into her bed...or anywhere else. She was honest to a fault—a woman of her word. I pitied people with such binding honor. It never worked in one's own favor. Honor was about sacrifice for the good of the people, and I was not one for that sort of nonsense.

My jaw tightened, and I glanced back to the door, wondering where she had gone off to. She was not gone forever, I was sure. She would be back, and perhaps after a bit of time to cool her temper, she would come to her senses and realize that the maid had meant nothing. She was merely a placeholder.

I ran a hand over my disheveled hair, and I curled a lock around my finger, trying to get it to fall just so. I stopped. The effort was pointless. I would see no one else on this night. My temperament was far too soured now to entertain company without the possibility of losing my composure and letting my more homicidal tendencies slip. I was Keira's King, now, and unfortunately that did not mingle well with my affinity for recreational violence.

My frustration with her anger was compounded by her sudden exit. She hadn't allowed me time to explain...or subdue her. This was not the first time I'd been confronted by jealous lovers. I, in the past, had been forced to become an expert in the art of emotional evasion. Women were jealous creatures—men equally so, if not a tad bit more. I danced the steps of subtlety when necessary, but I did not believe that would have been the case with Keira. She had known about Penelope—though not all of the details of that relationship—and she hadn't seemed to mind.

But now she was angry, upset—exceedingly so. Her rage had been focused into the rather rude knee to my groin, and I had been left catching my breath as she ran off to wherever it was she went. It infuriated me that she got the last word...or rather blow. Twice she had struck me. To attack my face was one grievous error, but my manhood...Why that was a completely separate offense. If she had been anyone else, she would not have had the opportunity to use her loathsome Will powers. She would have met the fury of my Dragonstomper.

I was puzzled as to why I gave this much thought to her feelings, and that was also frustrating. She left me with a curious wedge of something unpleasant in my gut. I moved once more to the bar, avoiding the remnants of my previous glass, and I poured myself a proper drink with a gentle hand The drink stung as it went down, but it was a relief to feel something other than my anger.

A/N: Sorry this one took a while! I had a bunch of stuff going on, and it took a while to get polished! As always, thanks so much for the reviews and follows/faves! I hope you enjoy!