A/N: Okay, so… as always, I'm here if you have questions. Bear with me, kiddos. It's going to get a little rough. But I got your back in the end.

When he finally got there, the hallway was silent save for Edward's wheezing breath. He caught himself on the stone edge of the wall, bent at the waist as he gasped. He looked around, frantic. He gulped and tried to steady his breath enough that he could hear. His frantic heartbeat pounded between his ears. Everything was still.

He approached his wife's room, trying to swallow down the trepidation. The King was playing childish games, messing with Edward's head. He'd probably seen Edward running and was even now laughing at his expense. All of Edward's fear was for naught. His wife would be fine.

"She's fine," he muttered under his breath. "Everything is fine."

Just as he got to Bella's door, it came open. Angela came up short with a small squeak. "My Lord. I was about to come for you."

Angela's eyes were rimmed red, Edward noted. He took the girl by the arms. "What is it? What's happened?"

She ducked her head, but not before Edward saw the sorrow in her eyes. "My Lady will not respond to me. She won't come out."

Edward didn't wait to ask what Angela meant. He pushed passed her into Bella's room. "Bella?" Not seeing her, he went on and stopped cold when he spotted her.

Bella was in the small anteroom where there was a bath tub set up. Her back was to him, her long hair flowing loose. It might have been a lovely sight save for the fact he could see she was shaking. Her hands were wrapped around her shoulders as she shook, and with good reason. The bath water had to have been ice cold from this morning.

"Bella?" he said again, his voice hoarse as he stepped forward. She didn't move, though he thought he saw her flinch. Swallowing back a wave of nerve-induced nausea, he stepped slowly around to the front of the tub, giving her plenty of time to protest. When he finally got in front of her, he let out a strangled cry.

She hadn't bathed. That much was obvious as her face was still bloodied—a line of it coming down from her nose and a small cut to her lip. Her right cheek was bruised, swollen so that it had pushed her eye partially closed. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and he wondered how many bruises he couldn't see in the dim light.

Her stare was vacant; her eyes glassy as she looked straight forward. She didn't acknowledge his presence. It was all Edward could do to keep a roar of rage at bay. He was going to put his fist through the stone wall or he was going to be violently ill.

He was going to kill his nephew. He was going to murder a king.

First, though, he needed to take care of his wife.

Edward swallowed several times, until he could be sure none of the things he wanted to scream would come out. He cast his eyes about until he saw Bella's robe cast haphazardly over the basin. Angela hovered in the doorway. She must have been unsuccessful in coaxing Bella out of the tub.

Picking up the robe, Edward stepped closer. Still, save for the violent shivers that wracked her body, she didn't move. "Bella?" He hadn't quite been able to gentle his voice, and the word came out rough with emotion. "Can you hear me?" He knelt by the tub and reached out carefully to touch her unbruised cheek.

Bella blinked, her eyes focusing on him only briefly. "Edward?"

His heart shattered at the sound—so small and lost. A painful lump rose to his throat. "Come, love. Come out of there before you freeze to death."

As always, Bella could be trusted to be obedient. She stood on fawn's legs. He didn't miss the way she winced as she slid her arms into her robe. He couldn't tell how bruised she was, though he was relieved to find her in one piece. Aside from her nose and lip, there was no blood.

"Shall I send Angela for Carlisle?" Edward asked struggling to maintain his composure. He knew full well she could be injured in ways he couldn't see. He wouldn't have been surprised if the Grand Alchemist was standing outside the door. His friend couldn't have been far behind him.

Bella gripped her robe tightly around her, and kept her eyes downcast as she shook her head—a slight movement. "No, My Lord. I'm fine." Her voice now was measured and soft. She leaned on him as he braced under her arm and stepped out of the tub.

"Okay," Edward said, not arguing the point though he'd seen her wince again. "Come, then. Let's get you warm."

Bella shuffled forward ahead of him, her body language not inviting touch. In her room, she turned not toward the bed but to the desk in the furthest corner. She sat in her chair, her arms once against wrapped around herself, and her body still wracked with shivers.

Angela bustled by Edward and set a basin on the desk along with a few fresh, small cloths. She poured water into the basin. "I'll get your other sleeping gown ready, My Lady. I can have it warmed for you in just a few minutes by the fire."

Edward looked around the room. Bella's normal sleeping gown lay in tatters by the rumpled bed. He clenched his fists, licks of flame climbing up his throat. In an instant, he was ready to breathe fire.

"No." Bella's voice startled both Edward and Angela. She didn't look at either of them, but she spoke clearly—almost normally, save for the slight monotone. "That will be all, Angela. Get yourself in bed."

Angela looked from her mistress to Edward, her expression anxious. Though Edward shared her anxiety, he nodded at the girl. "Go. And if you see Carlisle, tell him I'll speak with him in the morning."

"Yes, My Lord. My Lady." Angela nodded in deference and, with a final glance at Bella, left Edward to care for his wife on his own.

He could hardly breathe through the awful sense of foreboding. The disquieting feeling filled the room, and it made his skin crawl. Bella's calm demeanor felt terribly out of place. She didn't move even after Edward put his cloak around her shoulders for added warmth.

Unsure of what to do or say, he pulled a stool over and sat in front of her. He dipped one of the cloth towels in the basin and picked up where Angela had left off, one finger under her chin as he started to wipe the blood away.

For a moment, he only let himself assess her wounds clinically. Her nose wasn't broken.

"I'm sorry, My Lord," she whispered.

Edward stopped his ministrations. "You're sorry?" he said on an exhale. "For what could you possibly be sorry?"

"What he took was yours by rights."

"Bella." He sat back wanting to destroy something—specifically Felix's face—and wanting to fall to his knees to beg her forgiveness all at once. "What he took he took from you."

To his surprise, she laughed. It was an angry, bitter sound. "What he took was not mine. It was never mine." She shivered and pulled his cloak tighter about her shoulders, not looking at him. "I spent my childhood being groomed to belong to someone my parents would choose for me. I wore what was proper. I learned to be a good, biddable wife. I learned how to make my future husband proud, and what would embarrass him. All of it so the most advantageous lord would find me pleasing.

"This?" She gestured around the room. "Do you think I'm surprised? I've been waiting for this for two years. My parents gave me to him, and from the moment they did, he has owned me. My body was his to do with as he liked. He has shamed me, ripped my clothes from my body for the entertainment of his subjects. He's beaten me when the whim strikes. When he wanted me beside him at the dinner table so he may watch my face as he says nasty things, I had no choice but to go and sit beside him, to eat, to pretend I thought it was funny—the things he said about my family.

"And beyond that, I am a spoil of a war I have no say in. Like all women. That is our role in war, is it not? You said yourself you were but a child when your city lay under siege. You cowered with the women, unable to protect yourself. You know what happens to the women, My Lord. You know what happens to the women after the traitors are dead. You think I did not know that the only reason I was not given to the others, passed between every sneering soldier and sycophant that pleases him on any given day, was because I belonged to the King? I was his until he gave me to you. Him and your father. What I wanted, who I wanted was never my choice.

"So no, what King Felix took, he took from you. My body has never been mine. You gave me that gift, My Lord. You gave me the gift of my choice, but there are masters I must serve above you. I thought that our union, blessed by the gods, could protect me. But a king, too, rules because the Gods will it, and so what the King wants, he may take. He wanted to hurt me, and in not doing as I was taught, I gave him a new way to do so."

She drew in a breath a sharp breath and flinched back, as though she expected Edward to hit her for her outburst. He realized then that his hands were clenched in fists, his jaw was taut, his brows knitted. He must have looked like a man about to cause violence, but not to her.

Never her.

"I'll kill him," he said between gritted teeth. "I swear I'll kill him. I'll lay his corpse at your feet."

Her eyes met his, and he was surprised again to see she looked fierce. "You will not."

"He's a demon. For what he's done to you alone, he deserves to die a thousand times over. I'll end him. Something slow and painful."

"No." The word was emphatic and firm. She held his gaze, and took a steadying breath. "If you give him an excuse to kill you, he'll take it. You know he would."

Edward slammed hand down on the desk and stood up, needing to spend some of the frantic energy inside him. "I don't care," he bellowed. "Let his guard rip me to shreds; they won't succeed before I see him dead."

His battered, diminutive wife glared at him. She stood up, and it was as though she were towering over him. "Your anger is going to get you killed."

"I don't—"

"I heard you the first time; that you don't care if the cost of ending Felix's reign is your own life. Do you not think I've been that angry? I live in that anger. Do you have any idea how many times a day I plot his death? You cannot imagine the violence in my heart. My blood boils inside me. I cannot fathom how you don't see it right there beneath my skin. Do you think I don't dream night and day of being the one to kill him? History would sing my praises. The savior of the realm. Gods, if only to bring my own nightmare to an end.

"But instead, I survive. Believe me, nothing unsettles him more. I am civil and biddable and sweet. I give up my anger, because I will not give him my life. I don't give him my life, because there are still those who value it. I will see my brothers again. I will survive for them, and if you can't survive for yourself, you will survive for me, husband."

He stared at her, his shoulders heaving. He was breathless with rage and awed by his wife. He gnashed his teeth. "How?" He didn't see how he could be expected to be in the same room as Felix without ripping his throat out.

All Bella's bluster seemed to leave her with a gust. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked away from him. "You put on a placid face, and you pretend. Pretend you're not a prisoner. That you are as you were born—a Lord with prestige and power as I am a Lady to be honored and respected. Pretend his words don't sting, and his fists don't hurt." She shuddered, turning her back to him. "You learn when a lie forsaking everyone you hold dear will be enough to feed his cruelty." Another shiver, and this time her voice shook ever so slightly. "When the monster will only be sated by your pride or your blood, you beg."

The last word was a whisper. Bella's shoulders slumped, and she bowed her head. Her breaths became sharp. Edward's stomach churned. A memory came to him unbidden from a time before they were married, one of the many times the King took his rage out on a defenseless girl—Felix dragging Bella on her knees before his throne, screaming about he should spill her blood right there. She'd knelt at his feet, her head bent to the ground in supplication as she begged him not to hurt her again. He heard the words as though they were echoing in this room.

Edward took a step toward her. "Bella…" he began, but what could he say?

He heard her swallow and then a low whine. She shook her head in an unsettling movement. "I will not cry. He'll get no more of my tears. I swear it." But even as she said the words, her voice cracked.

Edward put a hand out and hesitated. He couldn't make this worse for her; he wouldn't. She took in a shuddering breath. He put his hand on her shoulder. When she didn't move, he wrapped his arms around her in a loose hold. She trembled, her voice a whine. "I will not cry," she whispered brokenly.

She turned in his arms, buried her face against his chest, and began to cry. It was a soft, heartbreaking sound—a quiet keen. She slumped against him, and she let them both sink to the floor. She clung to him, and he rocked her.

"I tried to fight him," she said between gasps, the words muffled against the skin of his neck. "I swear I tried."

Edward squeezed his eyes shut to fight against the pain of her admission. "Of course you did, sweetling. I know that."

Of course she would, knowing full well Felix would use it as an excuse to beat her. But how could he begrudge her? He would have fought too.

"I wanted to be faithful to you."

"Bella." He kissed her forehead. "You didn't do anything wrong."

She hadn't, but he had.

There was one thing Edward knew for certain. They couldn't stay here. She was right. They were both captives to the crown—powerless, no matter what their titles. Escape, then, had to be his priority.

He had sworn to protect his wife. He'd failed utterly at doing so. No more.

He would never fail her again.

A/N: Well…