Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All rights to characters, names, and places go to their respective owners (Suzanne Collins and her publishers).

Peeta and I spend the next few nights curled up on opposite sides of the bed. Other than a constant struggle for domination of the covers, we do not interact. Even in the daytime when we are forced together for certain events, our interactions are cold and distant. As the days pass I wonder if my tiff was worth all of this awkwardness, but I certainly don't bother to break the silence.

The honeymoon goes on as scheduled, even with the current state of our relationship. While I am sent to numerous fittings and alterations for the trip, everybody refuses to tell me where we are going. Even Octavia, who can barely keep a secret, gives a smile when she tells me, "It's a secret."

The day that we leave for our belated honeymoon is a brisk Friday. The servants wake me up before the sun rises, slipping me into a basic light pink skirt and an matching overcoat. The dress is a more dolled up version of my riding habit, and it's extremely comfortable compared to what I normally wear. They don't even bother to force to force me into a corset.

After I'm properly dressed I'm led by my guards to a little courtyard off the west wing where the carriage awaits. It's raining when we arrive. The water sloshes against the stone pavement and all of the stony guards look miserable as they wait patiently beside the carriage.

A wet, albeit still handsome, tall dark haired footman that I vaguely recognize helps me into the carriage. He has the forethought to make sure my skirts don't hit the pavement, so I give him a quick smile of thanks before the door is closed. I doubt any of these people give him any consideration.

Peeta is waiting for me in the carriage. He's slouched against the window in a casual dark grey suit, quietly humming to a tune as I enter.

The only acknowledgment he gives of my presence is a kurt, "Katniss," before turning to the window.

I don't speak to him because I want to. We have both made it obvious that any resolution is distant, but he is the other person in this carriage, and I don't want the spend the next few days in silence.

"So," I say to him, unable to come up with a more interesting topic, "will our travels be hindered by this rain?"

He doesn't look up from the window, "No, not for today. However, we may be required to stop if this continues tomorrow. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes," I answer him, the conversation dwindling into silence.

We don't speak to each other for the rest of the ride, save him offering me a rich nut filled bread when we stop for the midday meal.

It isn't until the day draws to a close, and we stop in a small port town, that Peeta and I finally address each other. Our group ends up lodging at the summer home of Duke Finnick, Peeta's friend. It's a relatively small stone castle that rests along the waterfront. Despite the small size, the castle is lavishly dressed in rich silks, fine wood, and finely crafted embellishments. Even this second, or perhaps third, home of a Duke probably cost more than Seam's main palace. I wonder what Peeta thinks of me, after seeing where I lived. Does he regard me as a pauper? Some naive barbarian that he took on as a charity case?

The housekeep arranges for Peeta and I to take the master's room, a dismal overbearing room in the center of the house. Housemaids pull me out of my travelling dress and slip me into a fresh suit, much like the one I wore today, except in a light violet.

I'm curled up in the freshly washed sheets with the lights off by the time Peeta joins me. I'm facing the opposite direction of the door, so when he pulls back the covers and crushes into the mattress I don't find the need to acknowledge him.

The bed, despite being part of one of the largest bedrooms, is significantly smaller than the enormous bed we have in the palace. Because of this I find that my feet touch the back of his legs when I curl into my regular position.

Peeta must notice too, because he turns over to lie rigidly on his back instead of continuing in his slightly scrunched position. I too shift from my side, pressing my chest against the bed and stuffing my head into the pillow.

"Peeta?" I say, my voice muffled against the sheets.

My husband gives a heavy breath. "Yes, Katniss?," he says in a slightly annoyed tone.

I don't respond to him for a long time, pausing to collect my thoughts, "I'm sorry."

He shifts in the bed, and I note the way his bare chest peeks through his thin white undershirt, "For what, exactly?," his voice halters.

I shrug against the bed, "I didn't mean to disturb you, that's all."

He lets out a sigh, "Oh, it's fine. Go to sleep, we have a busy day tomorrow. There are things I want you to enjoy."

A gust of wind blows and leaves rustle against the window, momentarily blocking the moonlight. We just lie there like that for a while, with my face crushed against my pillow and Peeta lying on his back. He attempts to conceal his consciousness my closing his eyes, a way of avoiding any more awkward conversations, I presume. However, I note his uneven breaths as a sure sign that he is as awake as I am.

I'm not quite sure what comes over me, but in the silence of the night I cautiously slip my hand across the bed and place it on his chest. He gives a sharp intake of breath as I give a light tug at his shirt, pulling it from it's tucked position. I slip my hand through the gap, sliding my palm against the warm hardness of his chest, dipping my hands through the curves and gracing my index finger against the lines of his body. His shirt pulls up as I rest my palm against his sternum, noting the way his breath relaxes as I pull my body closer to his.

Drawing circles with my fingers, I slip my hand further down his chest, stopping as I reach the tell tale fabric of his breeches. He's wearing the same ones he was wearing this morning, I can tell from the way the fabric feels against my fingers. He probably intends to just thrown on his jacket in the morning, this way he doesn't have to go through the hassle of changing in the morning. It's the same reason I'm wearing my travel clothes to bed.

I've never touched Peeta before. It's been inside my body more than a few times, and I've caught myself looking at it, but I've never really touched it before. Peeta has always been more occupied with my body, and what was I going to do, just reach out and grab him?

It's a mixture of curiosity and impulsivity when I grasp at the edge of his breeches. I pinch a few centimeters of the silky fabric, toying with the silky button of his pants. I can hear the way Peeta's breaths rapidly increase as I find my courage and pop the button open. Neither of us speak in the darkness as I pull back the flap of fabric and grace my hands over his thing. It's semi erect and surprisingly smooth under my touch. I find hand softly tugging it free from the pants. I don't act after that. Instead I just awkwardly leave my hand there, unsure of what to do.

But Peeta's hand finds mine, and without speaking he guides my hand around his penis, giving a sharp breath as I follow his lead and bob my hand up and down along his length. It's not the most comfortable action, and I'm not getting any real pleasure from it, but I'm slightly fascinated by the way it grows harder as I slide my hand along the shaft, moving it's skin as I slide up and down.

It isn't long before he finishes and I turn to the opposite side of the bed, my face burning with what had come over me. At least we were somewhat even now, after nights of him pleasing me I had given it back to him. That had to mean something for the tally of favors I was keeping in my head.

He does try to return the favor, his hand finding my breast in the dead of night, his actions asking for my permission to further his actions. But I shrug him off, placing his hand back onto his side of the bed and making it know that I don't want anything from him.

The servants come to wake us at the crack of dawn. Peeta is fitted into the silky jacket that matches the pants he wore yesterday and I'm quickly smoothed out and fixed up. We are both given long dark overcoats and hats before we are loaded onto another carriage.

We don't speak about last night. In fact, we don't speak at all. Peeta and I just resume the cold indifferent behavior that has filled the past days. Eventually, after only a few hours, the carriage comes to a full stop.

From the outside of my window I can see that's we are still running along the coastline. There is some sort of port, decked with a few ships, that I can see from my window. Surprisingly, from what I can tell the port isn't very busy. In fact, it is pretty dead aside from a few docks men and soldiers milling about.

"What are we doing here? This town isn't very busy, and I can't image there is great access to the ocean here?" I ask Peeta, who's sitting across from me reading through some documents.

He looks up and replies to me in the voice you use on small children, "We are not here for the town, Katniss. In fact, this isn't really a town. It's just a small port that my father purchased for the royal navy. Katniss, we're here for the boats?"

I wrinkle my nose. The boats! Surely he didn't mean to imply we were travelling by ship? It was impossible, especially with the limited time we had. Besides, there was nothing romantic or enjoyable about spending months cramped inside of a rocking vessel eating pickled meat.

"We are going on a voyage?" I ask him.

He closes the book he is reading and sets it aside on the seat, "Well, I wouldn't call it a voyage. The travel time is barely a day long, we are just going out a little bit. Besides, can't you tell that none of those boats out there are exactly qualified for a 'voyage'?"

I shrugged. I hadn't exactly seen a lot of ships, and they looked pretty qualified for all I knew.

"Qualified?" I asked him.

He sighs, "They aren't big enough to fit the supplies, and the bottoms aren't designed to fight the seas. The handful of boats held here are just used to ship passengers and limited supplies to other docks. It's a lot quicker than other methods," he looks at me a little funny, "You have been on a boat, right?"

I bite my lip, hesitant to reveal my inexperience, "Once, when I was six, during the wars, my father left for the battlefield by ship and I watched him leave, but that's about it."

He wrinkles his forehead, "But Seam is close to the water?"

I shrug, "I never had any reason to go on a journey by ship. It was too dangerous anyways. I was planning on being my country's queen, if you remember," I straighten my skirts, "Aren't they taking a little long to get us out of here. I want to look around a little bit."

Peeta slides of his seat and opens the door, offering his hand out to me as I follow him. I almost take it (the combination of my long skirts and heels doesn't bode well with getting out of a carriage this high), but then I remember I'm supposed to be mad at him so I just hike up my travel dress and jump down.

The docks are beautiful. Four ships and three smaller boats line the sparse lane. Fresh sunlight pours down on the wooden planks. Everything is well kept and harmonious, like the paintings of small villages Gale's father collected. I even notice the few small shops lining the boardwalk are covered in a fresh, crisp coat of paint.

Peeta leads me onto the wooden structure, his hands casually strung in his pockets as he points out the details, "My father used to bring me here when I was a child. It's the closest dock to the palace, and when I visited my aunts we always used to take the boats. I swear it hasn't changed a bit."

I avoid getting my heel stuck in the panels and wonder for a moment why exactly he is giving me his life story.

"You know," I say, lowering my voice to a hiss, "I'm still cross with you, so don't let last night fool you."

He pauses for a moment before giving a nod of compliance. This time when he speaks, he doesn't drabble on about his childhood.

"There are a few shops meant for the visitors that come through here. While we wait you can look through them," he says, calling for one of the red and gold covered guards, "Her majesty would like somebody to give her a tour through the shops. Darius," he addresses the red headed man by first name, "Get her one of the locals to fill her wish."

The 'flatboat' as Peeta calls it, is smaller than I expected. With a shallow bottom and the simple design, it's different than any other ship I've seen. It's small too, especially compared to all of the elaborate things I've seen in the Capitol. I guess I expected something ridiculously large, like everything else here.

My hair is drawn tightly against my head, with only two loose curls escaping freely from the pinned hairstyle. I pick a few of the hair pins, attempting to loosen the locks.

Peeta notices, placing his hands on the deck's guardrails and commenting in a cool voice, "Is something wrong with your hair?"

I wrinkle my nose and perch the toe of my boots through the rails, "No, they are just too tight. It gives me a headache."

"You probably shouldn't do that. It gets windy on the water. If you are going to refuse to take my advice and go into the cabin, you should keep your hair together."

I heed his advice, pinning back the curls on to my head, "So, where exactly are we going? Surely you can tell me by now?"

He pulls a watch from his pocket, "No, I don't believe I can. You deserve to see it as a surprise." He raises his empty chalice, and nods towards the guard from earlier, Darius, "Can you get someone to refill my wine?"

Darius gives a slight bow and a nod of acceptance, "Yes, Your Majesty. Would you like anything else?"

I give him a sickeningly sweet smile, "Yes, could you get one of the girls to come fix my hair?"

He gives me a grin and runs his fingers through his hair, just like Peeta does sometimes, "Sure, Your Majesty. Anything for my Queen."

When he is gone, Peeta turns to me, his face stone cold, "If you're looking to sleep with my guards, don't bother. I will not be made a fool of, Katniss."

I choke a little bit on my saliva. Looking to sleep with him, is that how Peeta thinks of me? Like a common whore? Or he is he just saying it to get under my skin?

I match his comment, "I think we both know that out of the two people in this marriage, I'm not the one who is going to be committing adultery," he winces at my comment and I go in for the real dig, "I don't even like sex."

It's a lie of course. I have enjoyed the nights we have spent together, but even I know it's a surefire way to hurt a man's ego. And after the way he has implied that I'm an adulteress, in jest or not, I don't feel any remorse for my words.

But Peeta's reply is so flat, so assured, that we both know he has won the twisted game we're playing, "I would say that the way you moan my name when I have my mouth all over your body says otherwise," he raises an eyebrow, "Wouldn't you agree, Katniss?"

I falter, "I-I."

He smirks, "It's alright, I don't need you to admit it. I'm very aware of exactly how much you like sex."

The comments are very unlike the docile sweet Peeta I've known for the past weeks. This Peeta is annoyingly full of himself, and I can feel my blood rising as I speak.

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

He cringes slightly, "Katniss… I didn't mean to-"

I cut him off, spitting a little at him as I speak, "No, you like to pretend like you're this great wonderful person, but in reality you're a pig. You're just a politician who can't be bothered to keep it in his pants, and I'm sorry I ever fell for it. And I don't care if you throw me the wolves or chop my head off for saying this," I grit my teeth as the searing words pour out of my mouth," I despise you."

At this we both fall silent. There is no taking back what has been said in my fit of anger.

His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks up, "Katniss, I'm sorry for anything I've done to you. I'm sorry for dragging you out here and separating you from your people. I'm sorry for forcing you into a marriage you are obviously very unhappy in, and I'm sorry for the animosity you have towards me. That being said, there is no going back now. We are married in the eyes of our people and our church. I can, however, give you a home in the countryside. A place far away from me. Perhaps you would be happier there?"

I just sit there for what feels like hours, shocked at his proposal. Send me away? Was I really that disposable.

"You don't want me anymore?" I ask him, biting my tongue as I speak.

"Katniss," he says, looking at me with a strangely intense look in his eyes, "I've always wanted you."

Author's Note: I want to thank you guys for being patient with me. In exchange I've given you a longer than normal chapter (but I'm going to start making 2,700 words as my goal). I really wanted to get this out to you much earlier, but life got in the way. I've logged 13-15 volunteer hours per week since I got back, I had two essays to write, and I started heavy training for swim team. So it was hard for me to get the time to write.

I did give you guys some light smut in this chapter, and for those of you who were waiting for it - you will be very satisfied by the next chapter. Fair warning, after the smut comes the big plot twist I have been waiting to share with you and for the person who asked, be will be seeing Gale again eventually.

I would like to thank my wonderful beta, prisspanem, as always. Shoutout to magicalmarauders for reminding me to 'hurry up'. If there are any typos you notice, feel free to shoot me a message/review and I will edit them.

As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. Even if you don't follow me there I recommenced you check out /inspirations (also linked on my profile) as the map I have posted will make the next chapter a lot clearer (there are some light spoilers of location names on the map, but nothing too big).

- I'm sorry if I didn't reply to your comments for the last chapter. I will get back to you eventually. Also, for anon commenters, if you would like I could answer your questions in the next chapter's author's note. I always feel bad that I can't reply to you guys:)