Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Hunger Games Universe. Yada, yada, yada.
I've never killed a man before. Never taken a human life. I'm sure it should resonate more, my first kill, but I don't feel anything but relief as the red stain of death flows against his collapsed body.
It takes a moment for the collective to realize what I've done. The Royal Guard stands still, the accompaniment of people freeze in their positions. There's an audible pause, a moment of silence.
And Peeta, Oh, Peeta, his eyes widen in shock- relief and he takes a step back, his arms reaching out to me, grasping the sides of my dress.
It's a mix of the shock, maybe the pressure on my body from the baby, that makes me collapse against him. I've seen dead men before, I've hunted too, blood is no surprise. But for some reason, I find myself collapsing against his side, desperate for the support of another.
I can hear the mumblings of the crowds, a fist or two flying throughout the huddles of people. Blood splattered against the ground as the guards attempt to control the crowd. I'm sure a fight or two will break out, blood breeds blood, my father would always say.
There's a point, somewhere, where the energy amongst the crowd just breaks. Years of poverty, of tired bread, of always living in servitude to those with more- you can almost see it, the anger, radiating through their bodies as they fight against the soldiers. And there are cries, some for our heads, but more often for my rise to power. Pleas for me to fight with them.
Peeta starts to pull me away. The guard, Darius, grabs at my back, attempting to hustle me into the next room.
But for some reason, stupidity or otherwise, I feel the need to speak.
"Stop!" I scream out, racing to the edge of the balcony, I pull away from Peeta, energy coursing through my body as my voice echoes into the crowd. The huddles of linen and silk from below stop for a moment, if only to examine the sanity of their queen, "Stop, stop, stop!" I proclaim with unburdened frustration.
"Don't you realize," I say, my face pinching with question, "that this," I motion downward, "will bring nothing but sorrow. Your burdens," I glance towards Peeta, "are virtuous, for sure. But you must understand that there is no winning here. You can cry in the streets," my voice wavers with unfettered emotion, "you can have your men throw stones at my home, or hold knives at my throat. But look around," I pause, "look at the streets on which years of your ancestors have lived, have built. Your blood bleeds into ours."
I can almost feel Peeta's breath against my back, the wavering uncertainty that screams, what are you doing? But I continue, my voice steady, "In the end," I say, "we all burn together."
Immediately, after the words fall out of my mouth, the crowd bursts into hysterics. I'm not sure how to react, I just stand there - frozen - until one of the King's guards comes to drag my away, my arms thrashing as they cart me into the safety of the building.
They hold me back, two of his men, restraining me as I fight against them. I'm not quite sure why I do it, it's not because of the protesters- I just can't handle it, being held back like that. It's almost symbolic, really. The King's men restraining me. And so, in that moment, everything comes down on me. The pregnancy, my father's death, my country's turmoil. I kick and I bite. I scream Peeta's name as high as I can, begging them to release me. To unhand me.
At one point they must sedate me.
When I wake up I am in another bedroom I don't recognize. The sheets are pulled tight, probably pinned down to keep me from trashing. Not that it does much good. I'm still in my skirts, which gives me ten feet of wiggle room.
Peeta's sitting in a chair across from me. I imagine he's patiently waited for me to wake up. Because that's what Peeta does, he waits for me.
"Hey," my voice is raspy.
"Hey," he gives a weak smile.
"What happened?" I question him, hastily ripping the sheets out and urging him to sit down next to me on the bed.
He doesn't move from his chair.
"The usual," Peeta says, and he sounds so tired. So defenseless, in a way I've never seen him before. "There were rumors, you know?" And for the first time he looks at me as if he questions my motives.
"Rumors about what?" I question him, echoing my own thoughts.
He takes one look at me, takes a moment to stare at my growing stomach. "It's nothing," he says, putting on that signature Peeta grin, "nothing to concern yourself with at least. Right now, you need to rest."
"I'm not fragile."
"I almost thought I would lose you out there," he says to me, his eyes don't quite meet mine. Instead his gaze wanders aimlessly into the distance, "both of you."
I give him a small smile, it's hard for me to think of it that way, awkward, really. Most days the baby seems like more of a figment than anything else. But one day it would come, and I would be a mother.
It was strange to think of myself that way. A mother to a living, breathing human being. I had never really thought of children that way. Whatever innate feelings made women yearn for children had always been missing for me. It was a little cruel, besides. Any child of mine was doomed to my own fate. And I had been lucky.
Peeta lies beside me, crossing his feet against the weaved gold of the quilts, "Do you ever think," he inquires, "of what our lives would be like, what we would be like, if we'd never had a crown between us?"
I shrug. There's no point in speculating on 'what if'.
Peeta continues, "You'd hunt. Maybe I'd be an artist, or even a baker? Maybe we'd grow up together, maybe we'd stumble upon each other and one day we'd just fall in love, settle in a little cottage- make a family?" he looks at me, almost scared of my reaction.
"Do all of your little worlds include me?" I question him.
He smiles at me, pressing a kiss to my cheek, "Always."
We spend the next few hours in the carriage riding back to the estate. Everybody's exhausted, myself included. The horses are too weary to ride- and quite frankly, I can't blame them. So I end up playing cards with Peeta while he prattles on about inane topics, an obvious diversion from the serious topics on hand.
He is on his sixth speech about fourteenth-century politics when I finally interrupt him. "Peeta," I say, biting my lips in a desperate attempt to distract him, "what happened earlier, you really ought to tell me. It was my speech after all."
Peeta looks up at me for only a split second, "Rebels, bloodshed. What do you really want to know? Now, as I was saying, Master Charleston of the fourth realm enacted the law of parish two years after Lord Dunphy-"
For the love of god, I think, does he ever stop talking?
"Peeta." I say, my frustration reaching it's peak. "If you do not stop talking about politics for the briefest second, you will be sleeping alone for at least a week."
Peeta turns his head, "First, I assure you, separate beds would only be a punishment on your part. Second, what do you suggest I talk about. Because if you think I want to discuss the dead bodies piling up, you're sorely mistaken."
"Dead bodies?" I question, fearing the worst.
"Two men are dead," he says.
I sigh. I wasn't expecting any different.
"Trampled. They rushed to the gates, cried your name. You shouldn't have said those things, Katniss," his voice hitches.
"Why not?" I question, daring him to answer. Finally, I'm getting some response out of him.
"Every word from your mouth incites something these days, and maybe it will quell the cause for a while. Maybe they'll take your words into account, but by validating them? By taking a voice, a stance? You're endangering yourself, Katniss."
"And what?" I ask, glinting at him, "I should trade silence for safety? While my people, my brothers, your brothers, for that matter, are dying the streets? I have every right to a voice, Peeta."
"There's a baby, Katniss. Don't play hero." He uses the one thing he has on me, the baby, against me.
I scowl at him, "Contrary to what you may think, I am more than the mother of your child. I am more than your wife. I am the daughter of a King. I am beholden, I have a duty, to protect my people over myself. And if you don't understand that, perhaps it is only a testimony of your kingship."
Immediately I regret his words. They were traitorous, surely. His mouth parts slightly, as if in shock. If I was anybody else my head would be on a stake.
"I'm not looking to have this fight, Katniss. You know, I wonder sometimes if I'm foolish. If it's true, that you're playing me? That's what they all say, you know. And maybe I've been harsh on you, all of this hasn't been easy. I'm not the same person I used to me. I've had to play King for so long, and now look at me?" he sighs, "And I know this was never what you wanted, but maybe, just maybe you can be happy with this- with me. I'll try, I swear."
I look at him for a moment. Just look at him.
"There's a rumor, that you met with traitors. That you consorted with those who wish to harm me. And I want more than anything to believe it's not true. But I can't give you a pass forever, you know? If you're playing those games, it will come out eventually. And I'm not sure if I will be able to protect you then."
My heart quickens. I think of Prim, who would surely be indicted on charges. Of Annie, who would be slain with her husband. Even Johanna, who had become a sort of friend. What would happen if he looked too far.
"Katniss," he says, his voice still, "if you're a traitor…"
And so I do the only thing I can think of. And it's horrible really, but I have Prim to protect.
"I love you," I tell him, and it's just comes out. Because it's the only thing I know that will stop his words from coming.
Author's Note: Here's your update, it is a little short and not much is accomplished, but the next five or so chapters are 90% angst and action, so I'm spacing it out.
I have a new historical story, All Was Golden in the Sky. In this Victorian AU Katniss is caught stealing a pair of shoes from Mellark's Department Store. Instead of arresting her, Peeta takes her (and Prim!) into his home. Peeta isn't a Prince here, but he is wealthy and if you like BYHIHL you'll probably like this fic. Make sure to check it out:) This is the story that got me out of my writing funk and inspired me to update, so any support is appreciated.
As always, thanks to my beta prisspanem (same handle on tumblr). You can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.