Chapter Eighteen

The closer his appointment in Wraithmarsh drew, the less Reaver slept. He took to leaving the bed and pacing the room and balcony, pouring himself numerous brandies, and sometimes he wrote in his journal. There were only a few days until we were due to set off toward the swamplands. Everything was prepared, but Reaver still seemed to obsess over the smallest of details. There would be two carriages—one to carry the two of us, and one to carry his volunteer. The volunteer, he had told me, would be on the road before we would, and hopefully would already be gone by the time we arrived at the lair of The Shadow Court. He seemed adamant that I not make contact with this person, and I tried to suppress my curiosity. He had specifically told me not to inquire, so I tried not to cross him in what seemed to be a difficult time for him.

I turned over, and stretched my arm to find that his place in bed was cold and empty yet again. I opened my eyes, and I saw that it was still dark. There burned a lone lamp in the corner, and I heard the scratch of pen against paper. I quietly sat up in bed, and I saw Reaver hunched over the writing desk in the corner, his head resting against one hand, while the other worked away at recording something in his journal. The soft orange light gave his bare skin a warm glow.

As I slipped from the bed, I heard him set his pen down, and he glanced over his shoulder, having heard me despite my best efforts to approach silently. His mouth was set into an expression of vexation.

"You, my dear, should be sleeping," he said. "You've a country to rule and set right before our little expedition. One cannot do that on a few short hours of sleep." He rose from his place on the chair, and he put his hands on his hips.

I found myself thoroughly distracted by the way his trousers hung low on his hips, but I managed to wrench my eyes toward his. "I sleep better when I know that you're sleeping well beside me."

"Sleeping well is not something that is in the cards for me, I'm afraid," he sighed, and his eyebrows furrowed. "I am ready to be done with this whole ordeal. It is almost never this mentally taxing under normal circumstances."

"Normal circumstances?" I asked.

"Letting someone else do it," He said, his mouth set into a soft scowl. "I loathe treading through the muck of the damned swamplands."

"So you're afraid to get your boots dirty?" I asked, withholding my laughter.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "If only it were that simple, darling." He closed the distance between us, and he pushed a few stray hairs from my face. "The sense of dread that the place inflicts...the memories it stirs..." He let out a breath, and his eyes closed. "It is something I would rather not go through. It brings out something inside of me that I would prefer to stay secret."

I studied his expression for a few moments. His feelings seemed to be obscured by a practiced mask of repose. He put so much effort into being Reaver—the cold-hearted, calculating villain—but sometimes bits of the man beneath slipped through, and I was able to catch a fleeting glimpse of what kind of man could be beneath all of that. This was one of his more enduring moments of fortitude, though, and he was smooth-faced and composed.

Heaving a sigh, he opened his eyes, and they turned toward the bed. "Now, do I need to remind you that you have a full day tomorrow...or rather later today?" He took me by the hand, and he led me back toward our bed. "Sleep, darling. You'll do no good stumbling through the day like a Hollow Man, will you?"

I shook my head, and sat on the edge of the bed. As he turned to walk away, I reached to grab his hand. He glanced back at me over his shoulder, and his face softened.

"It would help me sleep better," I told him, and a smile crept across my face. "Though, if you absolutely wanted to be to blame for all of the mistakes I would make were I not well-rested enough..."
With a roll of his eyes, he motioned for me to scoot over.

I obeyed, and I observed him as he slipped between the covers. His body was cool in comparison to mine, so I moved close, tucking myself against his side and slipping an arm around him. I stole a glance toward his face, and I could see a soft smirk tugging at his lips. A smile of my own worked its way across my mouth, and I closed my eyes.

Anabelle laced me tightly into my corset, and her fingers were fast and firm as she fastened the buttons running up the length of my spine, closing my sapphire-colored gown. I would need to be formally dressed for the session of court that was to be held later.

I had noticed a slight change in Anabelle's demeanor the past few days. Her posture had become rigid, and her temper had become rather short. She apologized for her outbursts, but she often excused herself from my company regardless. Perhaps things were not going so well between her and Murphy. He also seemed rather despondent and tight-lipped the past few days.

"Have you been feeling well lately, Anabelle?" I asked, turning to face her as I smoothed my skirt softly. I watched the expression on her face to go from deep and thoughtful to surprised, then suddenly a insincere-seeming smile crossed her lips.

"Must just be the weather change," she said, shaking her head and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She looked like she hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep in days, and the usual glow of her skin had faded to a lusterless beige. "My mother always told me I was a child of the summer." She turned quickly to gather up my sleeping gown and put it back in the wardrobe.

I crossed the room toward the vanity, and I observed her a little closer. Her hands shook as she fixed the latch on the wardrobe, and she wiped a bit of perspiration from her brow. The worry for my newest friend swelled within me, and I cleared my throat. "Anabelle, perhaps you should see a physician. I am sure I can have one at the castle within an hour."

"I'm fine, Keira," she said, looking at me with weary eyes. "I'm tired. That's all."

"Has Murphy been keeping you up at night?" I asked as a smile curled my lips.

"No." Her face softened, and she glanced away. "No that's not it at all."

"Perhaps you should go lie down, Anabelle," I insisted, moving to her side to put a hand on her shoulder. Up close, she looked even paler. "I'll send for the doctor."

"Keira, please..."

"I insist," I interrupted her. "If you refuse again, I'll pull out my crown and make an official royal decree that you must see a doctor." I patted her softly while offering the most comforting smile I could summon.

A small smile cracked her face, and she finally conceded. "If you insist, Keira. I've never had such a stubborn friend before."

"Well, I have to be stubborn," I said. "If I weren't, I'd be walked all over by my husband and all of my royal advisers."

She nodded silently, and I escorted her to the door. I knew that she was holding back what she was really feeling, but there wasn't much I could to to convince her to come clean. A nagging feeling at the pit of my stomach told me that this was more serious than a simple illness.

"Please just rest," I said. "I will be by a little later to check on you."

"You don't need to do that, Keira," She sighed. "I am sure it is nothing. I'm just a little under the weather."

"Regardless," I said. "I will bring the chess set after I've finished with business for the day. Maybe I'll make history and beat you."

She offered me one more weak smile before I opened the door.

Murphy stood there, his eyes equally weary, and his hand outstretched to knock. He bowed in my direction, but his eyes were on Anabelle, pleading silently for something I could not decipher. His hand twitched toward her, but she side-stepped from his reach.

"Goodbye, Keira," she said, sweeping past him without so much as a glance in his direction.

Murphy's eyes followed her, and his shoulders slumped slightly. When I stepped aside to grant him entry to my chambers, his feet seemed to drag ever-so slightly, and his eyes slowly moved toward me.

"Alright," I said firmly, closing my door a bit harder than necessary. "What is happening?"

He shook his head softly. "Things between Anabelle and I...they are c-c-complicated."

I chewed softly on my lower lip, unsure whether I should inquire further or leave it be. I crossed my arms over my chest, and I said, "Have things ended?"

He closed his eyes, and he sighed. "Yes."

I wasn't sure what to say. Anabelle had been so chatty about her relationship with Murphy in the past few weeks that I was sure she would have told me if something so significant had happened. I drew in a breath. "I'm sorry."

"It's for the best," he said, straightening his spine. "R-Reaver had advised me of the troubles of bedding someone that is so..."

I raised an eyebrow. No matter the situation, I couldn't pardon any sort of insult flung at my friend, whether it be from Murphy or my husband.

"Unattainable," he finished. "B-but that's enough about that. It is not what is important right now. You have received a letter from the Governor of Aurora regarding the inadequate harvest. What shall w-we do, Your Majesty?"

For a moment, I wanted to inquire further, but I simply pressed my lips tightly together. When my own heart had been broken, I had preferred to be away from the prying eyes of the public. I could understand his hesitance to speak of the situation.

"We have the means to assist, do we not?" I asked.

"Of course," he said with a nod. "We have surplus of everything this year. It has been a b-blessed harvest."

"We will send them what they require, but a permanent solution must be thought of before this becomes an annual problem," I said with a sigh. "If they need anything else, we will come to that when it arises."

"V-very well," he said with a nod. He wrung his hands together. "There is still the m-m-matter of y-your upcoming absence. R-Reaver has assured me that you will not be gone long, b-but..."

"I will be entrusting my day-to-day duties to Jasper," I told him with a short nod. "Jasper and you will be more than capable of keeping things running in the days that I'm gone."

"Y-yes, Your Majesty," he replied. He looked quiet and contemplative once more. He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his trousers, and his pale hair fell into his face, obscuring his tired-looking azure eyes.

"I think that Anabelle's behavior is due to some sort of illness," I said, unable to tiptoe around the topic any longer. "I think that she should be examined by a physician."

"I d-don't know that it would help," he said. "But if that is what you wish."

"Yes," I said. "Regardless of whether she is sick or not, it is better to be safe."

"Yes, Your Majesty," he agreed with a nod. "I will send for the doctor at once."

"Thank you, Murphy." There was something about the vulnerability of his face that made me want to wrap my arms around him reassuringly. I was so out of practice with having friends, so I erred on the side of caution, leaving him be.

His eyes found mine momentarily, looking as if he wanted to say something, but he very quickly turned and left me in my chambers alone.

I wrung my hands together, and I moved toward the doors of the balcony. The wind was whipping through the garden, blowing the orange, yellow and brown leaves off of the trees. I could almost feel the chill of the breeze, but maybe that was just the dark sense of foreboding that had been slowly creeping through my soul. The trip to Wraithmarsh that I had been dreading was so close, and now Anabelle was acting so strangely, sending Murphy into a equally unsettling state of sorrow.

I'd had at least a few weeks of normalcy in my life. Reaver and I seemed to have come to some sort of understanding. I could only hope that he realized that what he had done had been more than inappropriate, things would only continue to get better. With any luck, the next few days would prove to run smoothly and uneventfully. I needed time to soothe my frazzled nerves before going back to that dreaded swamp.

-Reaver-

The weather was dreadful. If it started to rain, I would have to hastily move up the journey to Wraithmarsh. I could not let rain and thunder get in the way of the most important day of the year. If I was so much as an hour late for my appointment, I was sure there would be hell to pay.

I had settled on carriages as the mode of transportation. As much as I longed to take to the sea for old time's sake, I had no wish to bring Keira through Bloodstone. One could only imagine the sorts of danger that The Queen of Albion could encounter there. I couldn't take a chance of putting her in unnecessary danger. The idea of bringing her along to The Shadow Court already made my stomach churn with dread. She would be in harm's way the entire time we tread through that soppy mess that had once been my home. If any harm came to her...

I pushed open the double doors leading into one of the smaller factories I owned. I strode across the production floor, my eyes darting at each of the workers, who seemed to tremble under my scrutiny. The fact that I appeared as menacing as usual under such duress comforted me a little.

"Reaver!' Page said, heaving a breath. "There you are! You were supposed to be here over an hour ago."
My eyes rolled of their own accord, as they often did when I heard my 'colleague's' voice. "I hope you realize that as the owner and administrator over these facilities, I am in control of when I should be where."

"This is not the time we agreed upon. The board will be here any minute," She groused, crossing her arms over her chest in a firm gesture of annoyance. "You won't have any time to read over the preliminary reports before-"

"As you must know, I have other duties to my wife and country," I reminded her as a smile drew across my lips.

"What are they? Sitting around drinking expensive wine and smoking cigars?" she snorted. "I know that Keira is more responsible than to let you take any part in her political dealings."

"Oh, she handles all of that on her own, and quite beautifully, might I add," I said, taking my hat from the top of my head. " But there are other ways that I find I can contribute. I contributed long and hard this morning. It is why, my most begrudging ally, I am late on this gloomy morn."

"Oh gods," she griped with a roll of her eyes as we entered the large meeting area where the monthly reports were to be delivered to me. "It seems you must not have done a very thorough job. There has been no heir yet."

My anger rose within me like a bitter bile, and I whipped to face her. "There are extenuating circumstances that you couldn't possibly comprehend. If you were truly a friend to Keira instead of a self-absorbed, power-hungry leech, you might have noticed how much your queen has on her plate."

Her eyes widened with shock, and she opened her mouth as if to say something. Nothing came, and her face was tinted with embarrassment and most likely shame.

I turned to hang my hat on the rack, my limbs stiff with frustration. I removed my coat, and I tried to gather control over my temper. The stress that the additional circumstances of the trip was getting the better of my usual nerves of steel. There was something else gnawing at my gut, making me weary, and what she said was salt in the wound.

If an heir was not produced soon, the fault would undoubtedly be lain at my feet. My place at Keira's side would be compromised, and that was almost as terrifying as the specters that awaited in Wraithmarsh. I would have no control of what was to come. No one would ever dare suggest that The Queen—and only heir to the throne and legacy of her mother—was barren. How could one with such power possibly be unable to bear a child? The problem, if there indeed was one, was surely with me.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that I was replaceable, and I had given her more than enough justification for such an action

I straightened, and I shook the venomous thoughts from my mind. What was I thinking? How could she possibly replace me? She cared for me...possibly loved me. Could she replace people she loved when they were in such short supply?

Exhaling, I turned to see that my factory foremen and managers were filing quietly into the room, taking their normal seats at the table. I spun around, clasping my hands behind my back, and I attempted to clear my muddled mind. I smiled a vicious sort of smile and I strode to the head of the table.

"First order of business," I said, not bothering to formally greet the others in the room. "A nasty rumor has been circulating that production has reached an all-time low in your factory, Mister Francis. Is this true?"

Francis ran his hand over his moist, balding head, and he sucked in a breath of air. "You've made me send most of my workers to the new factory in Aurora. I've only a third of my staff left."

"Well, isn't it your job to think creatively? Please. Allow me to demonstrate. Hmm...what would I do if we had a shortage of workers, and there were plenty of people collecting unemployment wages in our very own city? Wages, might I add, that come from the working class's very pockets? Why? I think I would put them to good use, would I not?"

"S-s-sir... I didn't think-"

"You are quite right, Francis," I snapped. "You didn't think." I reached for the polished Dragonstomper that hung from my hip. The heat of anger coursed through me, and for a few moments, I reveled in it. I felt a little more like myself as I pulled the glimmering weapon from its holster.

"I can hire people!" his voice tightened, and he moved to stand from his seat. "Please! Don't shoot me!"

The people that were seated near Francis had begun to scoot aside, trying to clear a suitable path for my anger and my bullet, if things came to that.

"Now, what sort of man would I be if I just shot you there in your seat?" I sighed, straightening my spine and raising the barrel of the gun. "It wouldn't be very much of a challenge, now would it?"

He sunk lower into his seat, his face turning a shade of red that clashed terribly with the deep amethyst of his coat.

"Oh, now Francis," I tutted, holstering the pistol. "I thought you had a better sense of humor than that."

He, suddenly, sprung from his seat. "I shouldn't have to put up with this! I am a wealthy enough man without having to deal with your eccentricities, Reaver." He pushed his chair back and started for the door. "You're a trickster and a nave! How Her Majesty handles you, I do not know. She must be as mad as you are."

It seemed that in seeing me stow away my pistol, he'd somehow been assured that I wouldn't shoot him. It was as if he thought I couldn't draw my pistol in the blink of an eye and shoot him in his round, hefty backside. So I did.

As Francis howled and cried in pain, Page, the bleeding heart that she was, leapt from her seat to check on his wound, shooting me the dirtiest of looks in the process.

I laid my pistol on the table, and I put my hands on my hips, glancing over the other members of the board. "Now, I probably would not have shot him had he not called me a knave. Trickster, perhaps, but a knave?" I rolled my eyes, and I cleared my throat. "Now, does any one else have anything to say about me, my wife, or anything else that does not concern business? I am more than happy to have a listen."

There was silence in the office, save for Francis' insufferable weeping.

"Very good."

-Keira-

My hand throbbed from the strenuous letter-writing I'd had to endure. Court had proven to be basically uneventful, but the people seemed to be happy enough. In the past year, things had only improved and gotten much simpler for the people of Albion, but my life had grown exponentially more complicated. I didn't know what kind of answers this trip to Wraithmarsh would give me, and I wasn't sure I was ready to simply allow Reaver to hand someone over to those hellish ghouls.

My mind wandered to Anabelle as it had been all day. I had given Murphy strict orders to come to me once the physician came to a conclusion about Anabelle's condition. Maybe it was nothing as she'd insisted, but if she was indeed sick, I would see to it that she was well taken care of. If something were to happen to her, I know that it would be a devastating blow to the sort of balance that had come to the castle in the past few weeks.

I stowed my pen away, sure that I could finish my letters the next day, and I stood from behind my desk. After court, I'd changed from the showy gown Anabelle had helped me into. I now wore a much more comfortable blouse tucked into a pair of tight black trousers. I intended to spend some time outside of the castle today, but the weather seemed to be against me. The sky was obscured by dark, threatening clouds, and I huffed a sigh of disappointment.

The double doors to my study opened suddenly with no knock of warning, and I whipped around to see Murphy striding in, his face looking very pale and grim. My heart sank, and I closed the distance between us in a few long steps.

"Is she alright?" I asked in a hurry, my heart now pounding rapidly with anxiety.

He was breathless, and his eyes avoided mine. His jaw was set with stoic determination, but the fleeting glimpses I caught of his eyes spoke volumes. Something was terribly wrong, and he was devastated.

I caught his face in my hands, pulling him to stare directly at me. I could feel a residue of moisture on his cheeks. "Murphy, tell me. What is wrong? Is it truly that bad?"

"Sh-she's..." he stammered. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, seeming frustrated with his inability to get the words out. "P-pregnant."

Relief worked its way into my heart, and I loosened my grip on him. Maybe I'd read his expression wrong. Perhaps he was only anxious due to his impending fatherhood. "Murphy, surely it's not-"

"With everything that has happened...everything that w-will happen...It's..." he trailed off, turning to pace the room. "Th-this is terrible."

For a few moments I was stunned. I wasn't quite sure how to react to what he'd just said, but I managed to gather up my composure. "How is this terrible? It's a child, not a plague. It's something that should be celebrated. What is going to happen, Murphy?"

His eyes flicked up to me, and they widened. "You r-really don't know? He d-d-didn't tell you?" He paused, and he sighed. "I sup-pose I shouldn't be shocked. It is Reaver, after all."

"Tell me." My heart was once again twisted with anxiety. What could Reaver possibly have to do with Anabelle and her child? I felt a knot of uneasiness building within me, and I pressed my lips together in anticipation.

"Anabelle is Reaver's tribute to the Shadow Court," He said, the words coming as clear as possible. There was no way that I'd misheard him.

A/N: Sorry about the HUGE delay on this chapter! A mixture of crippling writer's block and bronchitis pretty much took me out of the game the past few weeks. I'd like to say thank you to all of my new followers and people that have favorited this story or myself. I'd also like to thank angelacm, as always, for her input and support! Now leave me some feedback and let me know how you guys are liking things so far!