-Chapter Twelve-

The mountain air had become much thinner at this heightened elevation. I had left Mistpeak days ago, moving further and further south. I felt so very alone, but it was also a relief. My hysteria had settled into a deep sadness, and I was free to breathe, cry, and be weak. I didn't feel like The Queen of Albion this far away from civilization. I spent my nights watching the evergreen treetops swaying in the breeze. It soothed my restlessness, yet I still had trouble sleeping. Below, the world was temperate and full of summer vigor and life, but high atop the mountains, the endless winter was desolate and so very cold.

I had been traveling for days, moving up the mountains then down again, following a path, then discovering its end. I kept moving south. I wasn't sure where I was going, or what I even planned on doing once I got there, but I knew that I had to get away, if only for a little while. I couldn't return to the palace until I had a better grip on myself. I'd been slowly unraveling over the past few days, and I couldn't very well return to my place on the throne while such madness clung to my mind.

"You realize that this is useless," said Logan's voice. "You cannot abandon your duty. You are still just a little girl playing at being a queen."

I ignored the delusion. It had been haunting me all this time, but I still had yet to address it directly. If I acknowledged it, would that make it real? I tightened my grip on my walking stick, and I pressed my dry, chapped lips together, attempting to moisten them. I could not tell the difference between reality and the tricks that my mind played on me. Was this a symptom of my insomnia, or was I truly going mad?

"This is crazy," I whispered to myself.

The thought that this may be a figment of my imagination was more comforting than to think of Logan as a ghost. Ghosts were condemned to walk the world until their business was finished, and I supposed Logan would have a fair bit of unfinished business. Then again, I had encountered ghosts in my previous travels, and this...thing pretending to be Logan did not feel like a mere ghost.

"I don't think I can suffer its presence much longer," I continued on to myself.

"Your suffering is nothing compared to mine," Logan said, his voice tight.

I, once again, ignored him. I looked over the ledge, down to the world below. The trees were more sparse, and they were less green, less lively. In the distance, I could see that a great black marsh enveloped the area, and I chewed on my lip. I'd heard horror stories about Wraithmarsh. My mother had been there, but she didn't speak much of it. As a child, I'd overheard her speaking about her time there to Walter. She said that The Hero of Skill, a man she'd all but stricken from the record of her life, had hoped to lead her to her death in its foul, black waters.

"You can ignore me, but I will not go away, Keira."

I whipped around, and I was surprised to see that a shadowy outline of my brother stood behind me. I brought a hand to my mouth as I gasped in horror. The bitter cold had stiffened my limbs, but a chill of terror surged through me. A sudden queasy weakness washed over me, and I hunched over, bracing myself on my walking stick. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that once I opened them, Logan would be gone.

"This isn't happening," I told myself hastily. "This is not real. This is all in my mind."

"You would prefer that you are crazy?" He asked. "That I am not truly here to make you face your sins?"

"Please...go away."

"All you have done since you took the throne is run away from yourself. You cannot run from me."

The hell I can't.

I turned, and I broke out into a run down the mountain trail. It was thin and winding, but I navigated it fairly well. I tossed my walking stick to the side, as it only hindered my agility.

"You cannot run away from your past."His voice followed closely, causing my breath to hitch in my throat. I needed more distance between us. This was too much—too suffocating.

My feet skidded out from beneath me, and I tumbled down the last of the hills. I shouted and hissed in pain as I crashed limb over limb down the steepness of the foothills. I finally stopped rolling, landing in a patch of thick, dark swampy muck. My body ached all over, and I turned hesitantly onto my back, staring up to the grey fog-filled sky. I exhaled, laying in the foul-smelling mud for a few moments. Tears gathered in my eyes, blurring my vision, and I brought my muddy hands to my face. I hadn't realized that they were covered in the thick, black tar of the marsh until it was too late. I used the lapel of my coat to wipe at the filth, and when I looked up, he was still there.

"This place is infamous for harboring the most vicious of creatures," Logan said, leaning over to obscure my view of the sky. "You had better stop weeping like a child."

"Please leave me alone," I moaned, covering my eyes once more.

"Not until you realize the levity of the situation," He hissed. "You have passed judgment upon so many, but you do not fully grasp your choices."

"Logan, please go," I begged.

"I cannot," he breathed, suddenly sounding vehement. "I cannot go back there, sister. This is my reprieve from the horrors to which you condemned me."

I uncovered my face, and I saw that the shadowy face of my brother was filled with unspoken horror. He tore his dark eyes from me, and he turned. I reached out for him, but my hand passed right through his calf. Goosebumps raised across my body, and I pushed myself into a sitting position.

"If I must haunt you to escape the pain of damnation, so be it," He said, still faced away. "I wanted redemption, Keira. I might have had a chance at it, but you could not find it in your heart to forgive me."

"Logan-" A sob escaped me as I scrambled to my feet. "I am so sorry. Please...please forgive me."

"Forgiveness is for the living, Keira," He said grimly. "The dead have no use for it."

The words dead sank a cold dagger in my heart. He was so very right. He was dead because I had condemned him, just as I had condemned Elliot, along with so many others. How could I expect forgiveness from any of them?

"Come," he said. "We are in the land of The Shadows. Unless you wish to join me in the afterlife, I'd suggest that you get up."

I climbed to my feet with trembling limbs. I was covered in the dark sludge of the swamp, but my pack had clean clothes that I would be able to change into once I made camp. My clothes were sodden and heavy, making it difficult to move, and my tumble down the hillside had created a few rather large holes in my leggings and the sleeves of my coat.

I looked across the marsh. It was full of half-sunken buildings and pillars, and my mind flickered back to the tales of Oakvale and the horrible fate that had befallen it. All good sense told me to turn back, but a driving compulsion in my gut pushed me forward.

"Logan," I breathed softly.

"Yes?" He asked, turning to look at me again.

"Am I crazy?" It was half of a laugh, but tears gathered in the corners of my eyes once more. "Are you truly with me? If you are, why have you come? Is there any purpose to this?"

"You are on the verge, Keira," He said. "You must be shown the error of your ways. You must adapt to the world that is changing around you."

I continued forward, but the specter of Logan was slow to follow. I glanced back at him.

"The Shadows have a tight hold on this place," he said. "It is difficult for me to be in their presence. It reminds me of..." He trailed off, and the expression on his face looked pained. He avoided my gaze."You must continue on. Your fate has brought you here."

His words sent a tremor of terror through my bones, and I pressed my lips together. All this time I'd been struggling with my darkness, and now, somehow it felt as if it had manifested into the physical world. It surrounded me like an aura of sadness, and I found Logan once more. His face was solemn, and he nodded curtly.

I inhaled a breath, and I took my first few steps into the marsh, my legs feeling like jelly beneath me. I wasn't sure if any of this was real, but what did I have to lose?

-Reaver-

"Your Grace," said Hobson quietly. His hands were laced together, and his face was pallid and sweaty. "Have you heard from Her Majesty?

I turned my eyes from my work, utterly frustrated with the man's ineptitude. "If I'd heard from her, do you honestly think I would be here in her stead?" I motioned to the mounds of letters that had arrived since she'd disappeared four days ago. I had taken the reins of the kingdom, and it was not nearly as entertaining as I thought it would have been.

"I-I'm sorry, Your Grace," Hobson said, bowing softly. "Do you have any idea where she may be? I-"

"Are you quite through asking imbecilic questions, Mister Hobson?" I snapped. "No. I have no idea where my wife is. Do you think that asking such questions of me will improve my temperament?"

"I apologize," Hobson continued, bowing. "If you'll excuse me, I will see to it that you will not be disturbed again."

"Yes. See to that, or you shall no longer have a job...or a life. I have shot people for lesser offenses, I'll have you know," I told him, waving my hand in a careless gesture of farewell. As he left the study in a panicked hurry, I found my glass of whiskey, and I swirled the amber liquid before finishing the drink. It stung pleasantly, and I returned my attention to the letters from well-wishers and concerned citizens.

The official story was that Keira had fallen ill, and she would be able to make a public appearance once she had recovered. The people simply adored her, and that made this much more difficult. There were so many damned letters, it was nearly impossible to keep up with them. I had Murphy seeing to my duties in Industrial, having been left here with the job of a mere secretary. No one else could be trusted with this. Only a privileged few were aware that Keira was not, in fact, laying ill in her bed.

I cursed my wife bitterly as I sealed another letter, thanking some noble person for their concern and wishing them well in return. It grew more exhausting with each pleasantry I was forced to scribe until finally, I dropped the pen, flexing the cramping muscles in my hand.

"You truly have fucked me, my sweet," I murmured, glancing to the newly-finished portrait of Keira that hung on the opposite wall of the desk. Wesley had done a masterful job of capturing her likeness. Her skin was flawless and pale, and those icy eyes looked demure, but strong all at once. Her mouth was the only flaw that I could spot. He'd made her lips too full, too brazen-looking. In reality, her lips were perfect in proportion to the rest of her face.

I shoved away from the desk, tearing my eyes from the painting. This was ridiculous. Her eyes followed me as I paced the room, and I glanced back to the work that still waited for me. The tension inside of me was strangling my concentration. I required relief. I was half-tempted to ask Hobson to bring someone to me, but I had not grown so soft in my new titles, that I needed someone to seduce another on my behalf. I much preferred instant gratification, but if I was forced to seek someone out personally, so be it.

As if perfectly timed, 'Lady' Constance entered the room, knocking gingerly on the door as it opened. Even though Hobson had failed miserably at the simple task of keeping my peace, the opportunity to find the release which I so desired presented itself. Hobson would still be dealt with at a later time. After all, I would not want to go back on my word.

"Your Grace," she said. Her thick, seductive voice was arousing as ever, and she looked spectacularly prepared for what I needed. Her breasts threatened to spill from the bodice of her tight dress, and her full, pouting lips were turned up into a smile.

"Ah, Constance," I said silkily, curling my finger and beckoning her forth . "You are truly clairvoyant, aren't you, my dear? I was just on my way to seek you out and…well, here you are."

She looked pleased to no end, and she closed the door behind her. She flounced across the room, her eyes fixed only on me. She was an obedient little thing, and I appreciated that about her. Lately, I had been unable to focus—probably in part to my extensive workload—and it was nice to have someone I needn't put much effort into seducing.

"Has the Queen not returned?" she asked softly, tilting her head. "I have heard nothing."

"Now, why would you worry your pretty little head about that?" I questioned her, stroking a finger across her chin, drawing her near. Someone had told her, and I would need to root out the source. She hadn't been deemed important enough to know.

"She was very upset," She stated the obvious. "What if she...divorces you? What would happen, then?" She sounded both worried and hopeful. I nearly clicked my tongue at the translucence of her intentions. This woman undoubtedly hoped that the connection we shared was more than it was. To be honest, she reminded me vaguely of poor, petulant Penelope.

"I suppose I would have to endure the ire of The Queen of Albion," I sighed, pouting softly. "I would hang my head in shame upon my return to Millfields, but my life should not change too much, I would imagine."

"But don't you fear that she might strip you of your titles?" She gasped, her eyebrows raising curiously.

"I was a man of leisure with more gold than I could possibly spend long before I was granted a title, my dear," I chuckled, circling an arm around her waist, pulling her body against me. "Keira...The Queen will never be able to take that away from me."

She breathed a sigh of relief, and she leaned into my chest, inhaling deeply. Oh, the poor thing was smitten. This sort of attachment worked both for and against me. On one hand, she was devoted, enthusiastic, and eager to please. On the other, she was straddling the line of becoming clingy and obsessive. I so hated clingy people, but they could be disposed of easily enough.

"Oh, Your Grace, I have never been so content as I have these past few days," She stated, her fingers trailing across the collar of my coat. "We've had the freedom to speak and make love as we wish."
I winced at her choice of words, but I very quickly cleared my expression.

"I loved The Queen once," she told me, drawing away to look into my eyes. She was going to try to explain herself. It was petty and unnecessary. It would not change my opinion of her, no matter what he had to say. "I truly did…but I loved you first. When I saw how she mistreated you—neglected you—I could not bear it."

I supposed that from the outside, it did look rather like Keira had neglected me. Perhaps if the worst did come to pass, that would work in my favor. Who could blame a poor man, trapped beneath the boot of a cold, unfeeling ice queen when he only sought warmth and love? I almost smirked to myself, but I returned my attention to the prattling girl in my arms.

"She does not deserve you," She dared to say. "I would never treat you in such a way. I would see to it that The Queen would never be able to harm you, one way or another."

That intrigued me. I raised my eyebrows, and my mouth formed a soft 'o' of curiosity. "You realize that what you are suggesting is treason, don't you, darling?" I asked her.

Her eyes widened with fear, and she tried to draw away. Her eyes betrayed her emotion. She was terrified that she'd said the wrong thing. She had good reason to be, for the idea of this insignificant woman laying hands upon Keira had stirred something curious within me. Keira would crush her like an ant, and the thought almost amused me. In the past, I'd seen Keira take down a sand fury with not much more than a dainty flourish. This unskilled handmaiden had no chance against her. I stiffened at the thought of the two women fighting over me. It would, no doubt, be enjoyable to watch.

I smiled down to Constance, and I stroked her cheek. "Do not fret, darling. I was merely teasing you."

Her expression softened, and she exhaled, relieved.

"Now, I find myself full of tension," I told her, curling my fingers into the thick dark curls of her hair. As I guided her downward, she complied silently. I leaned myself on the edge of Keira's desk, and my eyes fixed on the small, pale woman as she freed me from my tightly tailored pants.

Her mouth was hot and eager in its ministrations, and I let out a soft groan of approval. This would clear my mind, I was sure. My eyes trailed up to the portrait of my wife once more. This time, I found a sadness in her eyes that hadn't been there before. I smirked, and I said softly, "Fuck you, darling."

Constance drew away from my manhood, her eyes wide and full of confusion. "What, Reaver?"

I chuckled, and I shook my head, my hand finding the back of her head. I guided her back to her duty, and I told her with a grin, "Nothing of your concern. Now…where were you?"

The longer that this specter of Logan was in my presence, the more unsettled I became. It looked like him, spoke like him, even moved like him. While I changed into clean, dry clothes before treading any further into the marshes, he had turned his back and grumbled about 'common decency.'

As we moved deeper into the heart of Wraithmarsh, Logan walked at my side rather than behind me. His posture stiffened, and his face grew tense and tight. Each step became labored, and I stopped to face him

"If this hurts you, why do you not leave me?" I asked. "Or stay behind here? Why must you accompany me?"

His voice was strained, "Because if I do not see you to your destination, you will never make it alive." His eyes turned about the marsh. "Our mother was able to defeat the banshees, but only barely. They are repelled by my presence. You are safe as long as I am here."

Logan—my protector once more. Fonder memories of our youth came flooding back. I remembered watching him through a crack in the door, as he practiced his swordplay. He had to work so very hard to master his skills. My skills had always come more naturally. I enjoyed watching him all the same. When we were younger, still, it was Logan that I had sought out whenever I had nightmares. He would light a candle for me and read me a story until I fell asleep once more. Before he was Albion's tyrant King, he was such an astoundingly different man…a good, hopeful man with the best of intentions for his kingdom. My thoughts turned inward and I reflected upon myself. I, too, was a different person before I had taken his place. What was I becoming now?

My heart sank slightly, and I turned to look forward once more. We were walking through the sunken ruins of Oakvale, and a chill coursed through my body. "This place...do you know what happened to it?"

"I do," He said. "But that is not something I should reveal. The time for answers will come later. For now, you must press on ." His mouth fixed itself into a pained scowl, and he ushered me forward.

I found myself watching him wearily as we continued on. Was it possible for a shadowy figment to feel pain? Was it physical pain? Or pain on a spiritual level? A wedge of guilt formed in my gut, and I crossed my arms over my chest. "Why must I continue on? What must I see?"

"Some friends of your husband's," Logan said. "The Shadow Court."

"Reaver's friends?" I asked.

"There is a great deal that he has not told you, but I am sure you knew that already, sister—clever as you are," He said tightly.

He was right. There was so much I didn't know about Reaver. Perhaps if I would have sought these answers sooner, I would never have married him. I might never have felt this heartache. I pushed the sadness down, and I inquired, "Such as?"

"Reaver has been manipulating you this entire time," He said. "I should have had him killed long ago, but his resourcefulness and gold were useful to me. Now you are useful to him."

The manipulation did not surprise me, and I silently waited for him to continue.

"He swayed your judgment with Timothy Goulding to his liking. He made you believe in false crimes…And he would also have you believe that the man's wife committed suicide."

My stomach twisted, and I felt nauseous. I should have known. Reaver had been too kind, too tender, too affected by her death. I should have known that it was all a farce. I said nothing, but my heart hammered in my chest. I wrapped my arms around myself, and I drew in a deep breath.

The silence grew between us, and the sounds of my boots sloshing through the runny mud were the only sounds in the swamp. The sun was sinking into the horizon, and I wondered how much further I needed to travel. I had followed Theresa under far more vague circumstances, but now, I was not certain of anything. This was Logan, after all, wasn't it? I found myself looking at him once more.

His phantom limbs seemed to tremble as we continued. His face was distorted in a mix of pain and panic. "We are nearly there," he managed to croak.

The stone building looked much like a temple, and I blinked softly as we approached it. A temple of shadow, I thought to myself. I chanced a glance in Logan's direction, and he looked absolutely ragged. His eyes were winced shut in pain, and his teeth ground together as he hunched over.

"Logan?" I asked.

"I should not continue, but I must," he groaned. "You need..."

"I can turn back. We don't need to continue, Logan," I said. "You can stay...I will learn to-"

"This is my purpose," He said, finding resolve once more. "Go." He held out a trembling arm to point toward the door.

I crossed the threshold, and Logan followed, crying out audibly as soon as he stepped foot into the domain of the shadows. My hand hovered over the hilt of my sword, ready to draw it at any moment. The place was full of darkness, and I summoned a fireball. It found its way to a torch, and eerily, the rest of the torches in the place ignited.

The centuries had not been kind to this place, and something in this place had not been kind to its visitors. There were bones—whole, broken, bleached, still bloodied—strewn about the area. My will wavered, and I drew in a deep breath. Perhaps I was here to slay whatever was responsible for these atrocities.

Logan groaned behind me as I made my way down into the depths of the temple.

"Stay with me," I said steadily, looking back to him. His form was flickering, but he fought on, his eyes filled with determination to see his task through.

"Come," said a deep voice that boomed through the halls.

Logan's hands clapped over his ears, as if the sound had been overwhelming, and he dropped to his knees.

Instinctively, I bent to help him up, but of course my hands passed through him. I begged, "Logan, please. Get up!"

"I-I cannot," he grimaced. "It is too much. I cannot take it."

"Return to the shadows, Logan." The voices ripped through the room.

Logan screamed, and it twisted a hot knife in my heart.

"NO!" I cried, tears springing forth. I threw myself toward him, colliding with the ground. The shadowy form was gone. There was nothing left. I wept, pounding the stone floor in frustration. The apparition of my brother had returned to wherever he'd come from—darkness, constant torture. I bit down on my lip. I felt as if I failed him all over.

"COME."

I glanced behind me. The hallway was long and winding, but I knew I had to go. I wiped my face, and I drew my sword quickly. A sense of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. The wickedness of this place was thick in the air, and it was almost hard to breathe. It reeked of incense and death, but I soldiered on. Logan had insisted that I come, and if I could do right by him at least once more...

I entered the large, dank, circular chamber, and I tightened my grip on my sword. The room was well-lit with brightly burning torches, and I ventured forward. There was a central platform where three shadowy figures sat in tall, black thrones waiting for me.

I stepped onto the pedestal before them, my limbs trembling with anxiety. I needed to calm myself. The fear within me came to a crescendo as they disappeared from their seats and reappeared on the edge of their platform. I sucked in a quick breath, and I opened my mouth to speak.

"Welcome, Your Majesty," interrupted the central figure in its eerie, deep voice. The shadow clasped its hands together and tilted its head to the side. "We have been waiting for you."

A/N: So I hoped you enjoyed this chapter! As always, I'd like to thank Angelacm, my beta. If you enjoyed the chapter, leave me a review! They're really helpful in gauging my reader's reactions, so I know what you guys like and what you don't! Thanks for reading and don't forget to follow or favorite if you haven't already!