Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All names, places, and characters go to their respective owners. This chapter is currently un-betaed so don't kill me!
It doesn't take long to find Johanna's apartments. They are not too far off from my own, and nearly equally lavish. Johanna was different from the other ladies, that much was true, but she still had a flair for the extravagant.
"Why?" I say, when I burst through to her library unannounced.
It only takes that one word for her to realize that I know. Her mouth curls upward as she speaks, "Wow, Princess, honestly we all expected for you to figure it out sooner rather than later."
"We?"
"Yes, we. Surely you didn't think I was running this as a solitary mission?" Johanna gives a cold laugh, "Princess, I really need you to keep up."
"Guards!" I call out, and for the faintest moment I almost think Johanna floods with panic, "leave us!"
They comply immediately, shuffling out of the room, seemingly unsuspicious. I imagine they believe we are discussing the latest fashions or gossip, something innocent. But either way I move closer to Johanna, just in case. The matters which we were to discuss could not be overheard.
"What do you do," I ask, my eyes flitting around the room- impatient for an answer.
"Thursday," she hesitates, "six o'clock, I'll fetch you. You can meet all of us."
"And the logs," I say, ignoring her proposition, "how did you gain access?"
Johanna opens and closes her mouth, as if she means to say something, "-the logs? You don't know," she rolls her eyes, "It isn't my job to be the one that explains that to you."
"Why are you admitting this to me?" I question, attempting to size her up, "I could tell my husband. He would have your head."
"Because I know you want the same things I do," she nods at me.
"Alright," I say to her, extending my hand with a sign of solidarity, "we'll talk."
I had just conspired myself as a traitor against the crown.
That night, sleep does not come quickly. My thoughts are consumed with the burdens I am carrying. Gale's declaration of war, the child that resides in me, Johanna's betrayal- my own. I toss in the bed well through the night, my kicks against the sheets waking even Peeta, who inquires if I am ill.
I don't tell him why I worry- I can't, so I explain my restlessness as a result of the pregnancy, an excuse that he accepts before lulling me into sleep.
It is the next morning, when I am greeted by the cheery painted face of none other than Duchess Effie, that I discover what my plans for the day are.
"You and the King will be making an appearance in the surrounding town this afternoon," Effie announces to me as I am fitted into my stays.
Her voice is bright as always but I can hear the air of disapproval stemming from the back of her throat as she makes a thinly veiled attempt to hide her disgust for whatever events are on schedule today.
One of the serving girls slips the over gown, a slim floral sack back, over my head, "Into town?" I ask, nobody in court had dared to venture into the surrounding city.
"Yes," Effie says, almost apologetic, "I'm afraid nobody gives me say in these matters. You will make a few appearances, visit a handful of selected homes. I assure you, the royal guard will be on point at all times, you needn't fret. Your husband is making a speech, after all."
So, that was it. Peeta was making an attempt to rally in the surrounding people, keep them at bay for a while. And he needed me to stand behind him, play the role of simple, relatable Seam girl that everybody seemed to now value.
Not that I minded, of course. I was desperate to escape this place for a moment, even if it meant I had to paint on a smile while waving to crowds of desperate, angry people.
The travel into the city is surprisingly pleasant. The roads to and from the estate are reasonably well paved, which allows me the ability to read and do some knit work along the way. I don't speak much to Peeta, it's hard to even look at him, knowing the words I've exchanged with Johanna.
Peeta, on the other hand, has no suspicion of me, and therefor, no reason to keep silent on the journey into town.
"You're wearing your locket, not the ruby?" he notes, observing the pendant that hangs against my neck.
I nod politely and briefly hold my position in the book, looking up at him. "Yes," I respond curtly, "Effie thought it was ill advised to go 'traipsing around with urchins' while wearing such a piece."
"And what do you think, Katniss," his voice molds into the same tone he uses while debating amongst his council, "do you consider these people 'urchins', as Effie would call them?"
His question is challenging, and I know there is a deeper intent behind it- one that I can't quite pick out.
I fold my book over and place it on the embroidered carriage seat, "I wouldn't know. I have yet to meet them." My reply is plain, honest. I'm sure that wasn't what he was asking, but I have learned throughout the years it is always best to stay vaguely neutral during such conversations.
"But in general," he prods, "do you value the people of Panem?"
"I value all people, regardless of their birth."
Peeta gives me his signature grin, "Fair enough, Katniss, fair enough." His eyes lighten as he smoothly maneuvers himself across the carriage, "We'll talk later. Besides, we should probably break for a meal."
We end up settling against a bank for lunch. The serving girls unload salted meats and fried potatoes, while Peeta and I are set up with a small picnic along the water.
"Why did you give me the ruby," I inquire, pressing my fingers against his arm as I unwrap a slice of pound cake, "It's so different than the other pieces I have received." The promise of warm food and a generous glass of wine has lightened both of us up.
He plucks a flower from the grass and tucks it behind my ear, "It reminded me of you. Heat, warmth, love. They say red is the most passionate color."
I bite my lip and raise an eyebrow, "What? Are you trying to get me into bed?"
"If you're offering…" he trails off, laughing as he eyes my stomach. Cinna, in a stroke of genius, has emphasized my belly. It's a form of protection, really. A reminder that I'm pregnant. No person of sound mind, regardless how barbaric, would dare harm a woman with child.
"Who do you want to assign as official governess," Peeta suddenly pipes up as he lays against the blanket, folding his hands across his waist.
"Isn't that usually a political decision?" I ask. The role of official governess was more of a title than an actual position, my own, one of my mother's ladies, rarely spoke more than three words to me.
"It is," he replies, "but I figured, considering the current state of affairs, you might as well have some imput in the decision. It would have to be approved, of course. "
I consider it for a moment. I didn't know many people here. Prim would be the automatic choice, but she was a child herself and already the baby's aunt. Johanna was a friend of sorts, but considering what we had discussed amongst ourselves, it hardly seemed decent to appoint her as the heir apparent's governess. Besides, she was too brash.
And then there was Madge. Kind, gentle Madge, who could certainly do with the elevated status of Goveness to the Children of Panem. I had known her for years, trusted her, but I wasn't foolish enough to believe she would ever be approved.
"Annie," I say, settling on the only other woman I really knew. She may be off her rocker, but she was a Duchess and Finnick was a close friend of Peeta's. It was a practical decision.
Peeta smiles, "Oddly enough, that is exactly who my council was considering. I dare say, you're becoming one of us yet."
The crowds that greet our arrival are remarkably pleasant. Perhaps they have been selected for their loyalty, or maybe even bribed with a few coins, I'm not entirely certain- perhaps the rebellion had yet to meet this side of the country.
As some type of publicity stunt I am brought to a local orphanage and directed to smile with the children as a varying group of printers and writers are hussled around by Effie and instructed to take note of my 'charitable demeanor' and 'perky nose'. It isn't the children themselves that bother me. They were all relatively pleasant, a bit timid around me, but not arrogant or crude in the way the children I grew up around were. There's even a little blond girl, six or seven, that reminds me of Prim when she was younger- but something about the austere atmosphere, the cruel empty walls, is overwhelming and I find myself escaping from the flurry of people. For a group tasked to value my protection, they don't seem to notice that I'm gone.
I meander around a bit, running my fingertips against the uneven plaster as I traipse through the hallways, following the alluring scent of hearty food- something with gravy, I'm sure of it.
The kitchen is a little brick room off of the main building. It's smaller than I would have expected for a place that has to feed so many people, but I imagine they don't make much more than gruel on your normal day.
The door is already open, letting the heat from the kitchens seep out into the open air, so I don't bother to knock before I enter. At first, nobody notices my presence. They're all to busy, heating the stoves, tending to the fires- I have to clear my throat in order to make my presence known, but as soon as I do every eye in the room turns towards me. A robust serving cook, a woman I believe they called Seeder, turns towards me, hand on hip, and raises an eyebrow.
"Is there anything I can do to help," I ask, desperate for an escape from the hordes of people and the overall depravity of their situation. I was tired of playing Queen.
The other kitchen woman laughs in my direction, leaning toward her friend and speaking in the joking banter of one of the eastern voices, "No, no," she speaks in a patronizing, broken tongue, still smiling, "Why don't the lady keep to her throne."
"I'm not incompetent," I press firmly, "A cook I am most certainly not, but I can boil water and tend to a kitchen."
Nobody responds.
The women pass nervous glances amongst themselves so this time I raise my voice, "I am your Queen, after all. I can take a damn pot of water."
One of the older girls, who was probably raised in this place herself, turns towards me, "Well, I don't care who you are, just keep your and don't bother us." She throws me an apron and hands me a peeler, motioning towards the pot of potatoes resting on the counter.
I keep quiet as I peel, focusing on my busy work. It's relaxing to do such a simple task. Back home, in Seam, the main cook used to task Gale and I with simple chores like shucking peas or washing down vegetables to keep us from 'running around his kitchen'.
I learn from my quiet observation that most of the girls here are picking up work part time. Most of them, like I guessed, are former orphans themselves who are either in need of a few spare coins or looking to help out the place that aided them. They observe, of course, from the corner of their eye, but it doesn't take long before they immerse themselves in their idle gossip and forget the excitement of watching a Queen peel potatoes. It isn't until Hilde, one of the, makes a quip about her husband, that I butt in on their conversation and finally pull myself from the silence of my tasks.
I laugh, almost forgetting where I am, "My husband does the same thing, men are simple in that way."
"So," one of the girls giggles, eyeing me, "What is he like? The King?"
"Peeta is a good man," I sigh, "He's nothing like you would expect- kind, gentle."
"I meant in bed, silly," the girl leans against the counter, propping her elbows against the stone.
"Orchid!" One of the older women interrupts, her face flushed with embarrassment.
"What?" she explains with indignation and a roll of her eyes.
"She's a lady, forgive her, Your Majesty." Seeder steps in, placing a basket of bread on the table and unrolling a package of course cheese from the cupboard.
"It's Katniss," I affirm, "And I am far from a lady, I assure you, I am constantly reminded of this fact."
"Well then, Ka-" the girl, Orchid, freezes and every woman in the room's head turns to snap in the direction of the doorway.
"Oh, Katniss, there you are! I've been looking all over for you." The voice is as recognizable as always. It's Peeta, casually standing in the orphanage kitchen, hand propped against the doorway as is he if he was a common merchant rather than a King.
"Ladies," I say, addressing the small, shell shocked group of women, "This is my husband, His Majesty, King Peeta."
For some reason, initially, the kitchen women are far more reserved around him than they were about me. Perhaps it was because of my upbringing, my lack of taste in decorum and social standing, that had allowed me to so effortlessly ingrain myself with the women- not that it matters, as soon as Peeta acts like his charming self, effortlessly acting as if he was nothing more than a baker boy stopping by to deliver bread, they open up to him. They stand around him, feeding off of every word he say. I even spot a few of the girls openly flirt with him, meticulously laughing at his jokes and jumping to assure him as he give a self deprecating joke.
One woman, a plain girl of perhaps twenty, has the audacity to place her hand against the side of his leg. It makes my blood boil, seeing another woman with him. I imagine this is what it was like before we wed, him surrounded by a gaggle of girls who were willing to do whatever he pleased. A party every night, another woman in his bed. It was hard enough knowing what he done with them, women I knew, women I spoke to on a daily basis, but seeing her hand- inching across his thigh, it makes me want to slit her throat. But instead I just side eye her from the little corner I'm awkwardly mingling in.
And Peeta must catch on, because he carefully brushes her off of him, calling out for me. "Katniss," he says, "come on over. Here, can one of you lovely ladies tell me where I can fetch my wife a glass of wine?"
"I'll do it, Peeta," one of the younger girls jumps at the opportunity, giving a curtsy before popping open one of the bottles from the orphanage's very limited stash of liquor.
"Why thank you," Peeta says, giving her a charming little grin before pulling me against him and placing the glass in my hand, "Here," he says to Seeder, placing a few coins in her hand, "for the drinks."
And even Seeder flushes, giving him a doting smile as she pockets the money.
"So," says Orchid, leaning towards my husband, "are you going to be at the festival tonight?"
"The festival?" Peeta questions, "I don't believe that is on my schedule."
"Oh, don't invite to him that, Orchid. He's a king, imagine the parties he has been too, he'll have no interest in such simple affairs," Seeder swats her rag at Orchid, chastising her.
"No, no," Peeta gives me an innocent kiss on the side of my neck, "Tell me, that is, if you'll have me. I have no opposition to a good festival."
The "festival" consists of a group of common folk and a few buckets of ale. What it lacks in decor, it makes up for in spirit. The flurry of people, serving girls, daily workers, a small group of lesser merchants, drink to their heart's content as the
Peeta and I stick to the sidelines. He can't drink too much, not when he has to make a speech at the town square, so he spends his time talking with the other men, and in the most surprising fashion- actually listening to their complaints without the threat of treason. It's something no other King would do, and it makes me for a moment if they're all wrong, and then I realize that Peeta was no fool. The two of standing here, immersing ourselves with commoners, this story would be spread throughout half the kingdom in no more than a fortnight.
While Peeta and the men talk amongst themselves I stick by him, carefully observing his interactions as I loop my arm through his, occasionally pressing a kiss against his neck. It isn't until somebody breaks out a fiddle that I finally decide to pull a reluctant Peeta into a dance.
It's a simple country morris, a common thing in Seam- I could master the steps in my sleep. Peeta, on the other hand, is hilarious to watch as he fumbles through the dance, making an attempt to keep up with the steps of the people around him.
And so we laugh, for the first time in a long time, we just laugh. At him, at ourselves. At the fact that we're standing in the middle of a group of commoners, having a better time than we have had at any Capitol affair. And oh, we have fun, cheering as the others engage in drinking games- stooping down to play spinning tops with the children.
Effie would have a fit if she saw us here.
But eventually, after a few card games and circle dances, the fun has to end. Everybody's sad to see us go, they even boo at the guards that come to collect us. Some of the women throw their handkerchiefs in his direction, murmuring amongst themselves that they 'never expected him to be that handsome'.
The speech itself is marvelous, but I've heard half a dozen by now so I mainly turn him out and focus on my surroundings. We're propped up on the town's center stage, there are a few peasants with us, common merchant folk too, for the sake of appearances.
And then, things take a change.
Peeta concludes his speech by noting the importance of the 'family unit'. He goes on to compare the Kingdom of Panem to one large family, noting that nothing more would pain him than to, "see a family broken up, torn by the sorrows of war and despair, left for anyone to take it's reapings at a whim." After all, he says, he understood, he now had a baby of his own to protect.
And it's then, when he mentions our child that the man collapses against me on the stage, bringing me back into reality. He's one of the working class selected for the show, and the guards draw their guns, ready to shoot, as he falls my skirts.
"Stop!" I yell at the guards, causing Peeta to pause his words. "Hold your fire!" The words echo around the square and beyond as my voice is amplified. "Stop!" I'm nearing the young man, reaching down to help him, when he drags himself up to his knees and trains a knife against my throat.
I instinctively back up a few steps, raise my hands above my head to show my intention was harmless. Instead he finds my movements as a threat and only tightens the knife's position against me. Up close, I notice the ragged hole in his cheek where something - falling stone maybe - punctured the flesh. He smells of burning things, hair and meat and coal. His eyes are crazed with pain and fear.
"Freeze," one of my guards lashes out his sword. I wonder what this must look like from below, The Queen at the mercy of a crazed man with nothing to lose.
His garbled speech is barely comprehensible as he addresses Peeta. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill her, after what you've done to us."
I don't give Peeta a chance to answer. In a split second I rip the knife from my throat, the adrenaline soaring through my body as I fight against the man's strength. I don't even hesitate when I plunge the knife into his gut.
His body makes a sickeningly wet sound as the metal cuts through it and he falls down against the balcony, dead.
Author's Note: I was uncertain about this twist, but I can't wait to show you exactly who has been playing on Johanna's side. This is the last filler chapter, I had to even it out as a lot of stuff goes down in the next four or so chapters.
As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveandsafety. Shout out to cinna-mon-peeta-bread.
Congrats and a big thank you to my beta, prisspanem.