Author's Note: It's a double drop this weekend!

I *promise* we will be back to our regularly scheduled programming soon! We're almost through the flashbacks. There is a small snippet here to draw back to the DaTasha focus.

This chapter & the next are the end of the big flashbacks.

There will be snippets before the end of the story arc. But they will be snippets only. Data, Picard, and the gang will all be back as main players after this interlude.

Thank you for all your support!

Please be advised this portion of the story is a dark turn. I want to assure you – this series has a happy ending. But this part is filled with pain and loss.

Content Warning: Strong language, violence, abuse, child abuse, CSA, sexual assault, torture, graphic injury, enucleation, pregnancy/childbirth, miscarriage, stillbirth, abortion, self-harm, suicide, character death, murder.

Present

Data and Tasha were lying in bed in her quarters. Tasha was starting at the lines on the ceiling panel above as she tried to slow her mind enough for sleep.

She rolled onto her side and curled up in hope that a new position might help.

"You are not sleeping," Data said.

Tasha giggled.

"No," she replied with a thick yawn.

Tasha stretched out and then flopped back onto the bed.

"Are you feeling alright?" Data inquired.

"I'm just tired," Tasha answered.

Data frowned. He rolled onto his side and spooned up behind Tasha.

"And yet you are not sleeping?" Data pressed.

Tasha melted back against his embrace.

"I just have a lot on my mind. This whole business with the Romulans gives me an icky feeling," Tasha said.

"Ah, your gut," Data said, understanding.

Tasha pulled his hand to her mouth and pressed a soft kiss there.

"I suppose. It's not really a hunch. I just always get a bad feeling when Romulans are involved," Tasha shared.

They were masters of deception.

"I can't shake the notion there's more going on here than we know. Then we'll ever know," Tasha said in a strange, faraway voice.

She sighed.

"But then I suppose it's always that way when Romulans are involved," Tasha acknowledged.

Tasha rolled in Data's arms, so she snuggle up against him.

"And then there's this business of a secret wedding," she said.

Data leaned back. He cupped her chin, pulling Tasha's face up so he could meet her eyes.

"If the thought distresses you, put it out of your mind," Data said.

Tasha blinked rapidly.

"No, no!" she assured him.

She flashed him a hazy smile.

"I think it's the only thing keeping me sane," Tasha confessed.

"Oh," Data replied.

Tasha felt him relax as she snaked her arms around his torso.

"Well then," Data said.

"Mmmmm, I wish we could just set a date so we know, you know?" Tasha remarked.

She was so frustrated by the uncertain nature of the situation with the Romulans and Starfleet. Hell, life in space was already hectic enough on its own.

Tasha was desperate for stability.

Data was the only sure thing her in life and Tasha longed to hold onto that.

"If you are upset by the delay, we could look at other options," Data suggested.

Tasha scoffed.

"Data, I know this is very important to you. It's important to me too," Tasha said.

Their nuptials was all Data talked about when they were alone. He had spent countless hours in planning in preparation for the trip.

"Besides, you promised to take me there. Remember?" Tasha teased.

She rolled them together so that she could straddle Data. Tasha was quite pleased with herself and Data's look of anticipation.

She smirked, hovering just above his lips.

"In fact, you made rather detailed plans for that tree," Tasha murmured.

Data caught her wrists. In a flash, the tables were turned, and Tasha found herself pinned under Data's weight.

"The plans were not for the tree, darling," Data said in his infuriatingly calm manner. "And I fear if you keep adding seafood restaurants to the itinerary that we will never make it out to Skýr Point."

Data smirked and Tasha giggled.

"Come here, you," she said, pulling him down into a tender kiss.

When they broke apart, they settled for laying side by side on the bed. Tasha's eyes were closed as she tried to find sleep. Data gently caressed her bicep, tracing the line of her muscle with the back of his fingers.

"Have you thought more about it?" Data asked.

"Hmmm?" Tasha replied in a lazy voice.

"The ceremony. The legal portion," Data clarified.

Captain Picard would be present for the official legal portion as required by Federation law. Data had asked Geordi to serve as their witness.

It was simply a matter of signing paperwork and filing it with the right department.

But as part of that process, they were required to acknowledge their nuptials and make a public affirmation of their relationship.

People could say as much or as little as they wished. Ceremonies ran the gamut from a simple acknowledgement of the marriage to more elaborate gestures.

Many cultures gave speeches.

Orions used jewellery as part of their acknowledgement.

Kenduthian custom included a four hour declaration of love (complete with a choreographed dance).

"What do you want?" Tasha asked.

"What do you want?" Data responded, flipping the question back at Tasha.

Data had no culture of his own. It was all the more reason he was keen to honour Tasha's customs.

Tasha smiled.

"I have only ever wanted three things from you. And you have given them in abundance," Tasha said.

She kissed the tip of his fingers.

"Love."

Tasha pressed her lips against the back of his hand.

"Gentleness."

She kissed the inside of his wrist, lingering there as she held Data's gaze.

"And joy."

Data pulled Tasha into his arms.

"I believe you are feeling anxious because you have never known those things to come without ulterior motivation. Nor have you ever known those things to remain," Data said.

He kissed the top of her head.

"But I can assure you that they will remain, Tasha," Data promised.

Over in Ten Forward, Picard and Richard Castillo were still seated in the corner.

"She was trapped," Richard said.

He shrugged.

"We all were. But it was different for her. She had a child to think of. It changed everything," Richard said.

2347 | Romulus

"It is a transmission from your sister in Orontes," announced Nosca, Drusilla's aide.

Nosca paused.

"And?" Drusilla demanded.

"She is with child again," Nosca announced.

Drusilla said nothing. She sat back against her chair and turned her attention out the window. The whole room fell silent.

She had always taken such news with great difficulty. In particular, when Tasha gave birth to Sela, Drusilla was distraught.

All of her own children –Morak's true heirs – had died young. Drusilla was no longer capable of giving Morak an heir.

Not that he seemed interested in any case.

He had his little human pet to dote on.

The resentment Drusilla held for Tasha had reached a fever pitch. She had demanded Morak do something to rectify the situation, to assert her own position in the household.

And that was how Tasha had come to be in the service of Drusilla, attending to her a few hours a day when her duties as consort were not required.

Drusilla naturally assigned her only the most menial and degrading tasks – often criticising Tasha's work and making unreasonable demands.

Tasha simply kept her head down.

She pitied Drusilla – discarded by her husband, her children dead, her place usurped by a human.

It was enough to make any Romulan feel inadequate.

Drusilla had a fierce temper. Like Morak, she had a penchant for cruelty, and no one wanted to find themselves in the line of fire.

"You," Drusilla said all of a sudden.

She didn't need to specify.

"Pour the wine and be quick about it," Drusilla ordered.

Tasha had no sooner set the jug back in place when Drusilla knocked the fresh cup onto the floor.

"Don't just stand there. Clean it up, you little fool," Drusilla ordered.

Tasha dropped to the floor to try and clean it up before it soaked into the expensive rug. Tasha stumbled as Drusilla kicked her.

"My cup is empty," Drusilla spat as she tossed the heavy cup at Tasha.

Tasha flinched as Drusilla threw the heavy cup at her. She was accustomed to Drusilla throwing things in her direction.

"Permission to speak, my lady?" Tasha asked.

"No," Drusilla answered. "It does not please me to hear the sound of your voice."

Drusilla felt a rush of power in asserting her dominance – and she wanted more.

She recognised Tasha was wearing a new garment. It was so fine it rivalled Drusilla's own wardrobe.

Romulan society had strict rules for a dress code based on social status. Someone like Tasha had no right to wear such extravagant clothing.

Tasha did not react when Drusilla dumped the pitcher of wine directly on her. There would be no salvaging the tunic.

"Look at me," Drusilla demanded.

Tasha glanced up and met her eyes.

Drusilla reached for the locket around her neck. It was the only thing of sentimental value that Tasha possessed.

"Please don't," Tasha pleaded.

The words slipped out before she could stop herself.

Drusilla's face soured. She ripped away the locket from Tasha's neck.

"I did not give you permission to speak," Drusilla said. "He will grow tired of you. And when he does, you will be at my mercy."

Something inside Tasha snapped.

"You think I want this? Do you think I want any of this?" she asked in disbelief.

All activity in Drusilla's quarters came to a halt. The domestic workers stopped cleaning. Her personal aide looked up from her tablet in stunned surprise.

"Get out," Drusilla roared. "GET OUT!"

Sela was sitting on the floor playing with a shape-sorting box. She had her chubby fingers wrapped around a triangle. Her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth. With a determined look, she pushed it through the correct shape.

Then she looked up at Richard for approval.

"Good job, my lady," he said, flashing her a smile.

Sela clapped her hands and wiggled back and forth – her signature celebratory dance.

Suddenly she stopped. Sela's face fell. She blinked slowly. Sela could tell something was wrong, even if she was still too small to understand why.

Richard followed her line of sight to the door.

Tasha didn't need to explain. The look on her face was more than enough to communicate what had occurred.

Sela scrambled up from the floor and came toddling over with her hands in the air. Mummy was home and she desperately wanted some attention.

Tasha scooped Sela up into her arms.

"Hello, Tuula," Tasha said, kissing the top of her daughter's head.

Sela was the one good thing to have come from all of this. Every smile, every milestone was a reminder of why Tasha needed to keep going.

"Are you alright?" Richard asked quietly.

Before Tasha could answer, the door to her quarters flew open.

Morak swept into the room. He was furious. The vein on the side of his neck throbbed as he looked her up and down, taking in her appearance and the ruined garment.

Tasha instinctively clutched her trembling daughter tighter.

"Look at me," Morak demanded.

Tasha silently pleaded for Morak to let the matter drop.

Tasha had long been a pawn between Morak and Drusilla. They both used her to get under one another's skin.

Drusilla would lash out. Morak would respond. Then Drusilla would up the ante.

That was what Tasha feared most.

"I will see to this," Morak assured her.

In a moment of courage, Tasha spoke without requesting permission.

"Please don't," she begged.

Any action on Morak's part would only escalate the situation. And Tasha couldn't shake the feeling that this time the consequences would be devastating.

To her surprise, Morak did not lash out.

"Please don't," Tasha repeated softly.

Tasha wanted him to understand that she was the one who inevitably would end up paying for it.

Tasha held Sela close against her, rocking her back and forth in her arms while she held Morak's gaze.

"Let it drop. For her," Tasha urged as stroked Sela's hair.

"I will double the guard," Morak replied.

He turned to go and then stopped.

"Put the child down," Morak ordered.

"No," Tasha responded, shaking her head.

Morak sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"I am not going to hurt her. Put the child down," Morak said in a slow, cold voice.

Tasha kissed the side of Sela's face.

"Be a good girl. Be quiet," she whispered.

She set Sela right next to her – but refused to let go of her hand. Sela clutched mum's leg and hid behind it.

Tasha eyed Morak with distrust.

He knew that he could use Sela against her. He'd already weaponised their daughter to ensure Tasha's compliance. The threat of what might happen to Sela should Tasha ever displease him was more than enough to keep her in line.

Sela was Tasha's only joy.

And greatest weakness.

Morak turned to Richard and nodded.

Of course, Richard had served Morak long enough to know exactly what he wanted. But Richard feigned ignorance. It was an act he'd mastered.

"Shall I take the child to the other room, my lord?" Richard asked.

"No. I think a lesson is in order," Morak said.

Sela scrambled to hide behind Tasha as Morak reached for her. She sniffled and panicked, frightened of being pulled away.

"Two I think," Morak said.

"Yes, my lord," Richard said.

Tasha caught Richard's eye and wordlessly communicated her encouragement. It was moments like this that served to further Morak's trust of Richard.

Whenever they were in his presence or around the other attendants that served Tasha and Sela, Richard and Tasha did everything they could to foster the impression they loathed one another.

They both understood they had to play along – even if it made Richard sick to his stomach.

"Starfleet would be ashamed of you," Tasha spat.

"Silence," Castillo ordered.

He raised his arm and brought the back of his hand down across Tasha's face before hitting her again in the opposite direction.

Tasha had once said that she thought it hurt Richard more than it did her. She'd lived this once before on Turkana and knew exactly what he was going through.

Sela whimpered and squirmed in Morak's grip – turning away as her little lip began to tremble.

"Again," Morak requested.

He gripped Sela's face, forcing her to watch.

"Do not look away," he commanded as if it were really so simple to instruct a toddler.

When Sela started to cry, Morak pursed his lips.

"You must never let disobedience go unpunished," he whispered to Sela.

Then he handed her back to her mother.

"Thank you, my lord," Tasha said as she tried to comfort her daughter.

As soon as he was gone, Richard offered to take Sela. But Tasha clung to her child.

Little Sela was always confused after these 'lessons.' She couldn't figure out why her beloved Lilo would hurt mummy.

Tasha was terrified that it would only be a matter of time before Drusilla made another attempt on Sela's life as retaliation.

"I'll keep her in here tonight," Richard said. "And I won't let her go."

Tasha was expected to attend dinner with Morak. They were hosting several dignitaries from the Romulan military.

"She'll sleep in my arms," Richard said as he gently teased Sela's foot. "Isn't that right, my lady?"

Sela blushed and buried her face. She loved her bedtime stories with Lilo.

"I just have a feeling that something terrible will come from this," Tasha confessed.

Richard had no words of comfort. He couldn't promise her anything.

Sela hummed and wiggled in her feeding chair, completely lost in her own little world as she ate another fistful of mushy plomleeks.

"Be a good girl for mummy?" Tasha asked, giving Sela a peck on the cheek.

She was about to depart for dinner with Morak and his guests.

Sela's arm shot up, offering to share a half-gnawed stalk of criun root with mum. Tasha smiled fondly as she brushed Sela's hair back out of her eyes.

Tasha had never wanted this child. But now that she had Sela, she simply wanted to be her mother.

Tasha had missed Sela's first steps, her first words – even the first time Sela had rolled over.

Those moments all belonged to Richard.

"Goodnight, Tuula," Tasha said as she thumbed away a bit of food from Sela's cheek.

Sela grinned. Tasha kissed the top of her head and then slipped away.

Tasha was almost to the door when a sound stopped her.

"Muuuuuuuum!"

Sela scrambled down out of her seat and came running over as fast as her short, chubby legs could carry her.

Tasha knelt down and caught Sela, pulling her into a warm embrace.

"No go, mummy," Sela sobbed.

Tasha closed her eyes and fought back tears. Morak would comment if her face was puffy from crying.

"I'm here, baby," Tasha assured her.

She rubbed Sela's back and spoke softly while Sela wept on mum's shoulder.

"You will be late, my lady," one of the domestic workers advised.

Tasha ignored her.

As mum sang, Sela started to come around. She sat back in Tasha's arms and studied the large, sparkling necklace that Morak had instructed her to wear.

Sela ran her fingers over the texture as she admired how it glistened in the light.

"You pretty, mummy," Sela said with a smile.

Tasha's face softened. Sela was the only person that made her feel truly beautiful. She welcomed her daughter's words.

"Yes, she is," Morak said.

Tasha turned and was startled to find Morak watching from the doorframe.

Morak gestured for Castillo to take Sela. She whined and tried to cling to Tasha, unwilling to be parted from her mother.

"Please just let me put her into bed?" Tasha asked.

"We are already late, darling. And she will never learn if you give into these human urges," Morak said, clucking his tongue.

Romulan children were supposed to learn to show no sign of weakness.

"Come," Morak said.

Tasha was torn.

"Now," Morak demanded.

Tasha hesitated. Morak gripped her arm in warning.

"If you would rather not join me for dinner I will rip that dress off you here and now so your daughter can find out exactly where mummy goes at night," Morak hissed.

He stood back and smoothed the fabric of her dress. His voice softened.

"Or would you rather keep your duties separate?" Morak asked.

As soon as they were in the corridor, Morak chuckled.

"Imagine how happy you will be with another one? Hmm?" Morak went on.

He was growing impatient. Tasha had miscarried several months earlier. Morak had been disappointed and secretly suspected Tasha was responsible for the miscarriage.

Drusilla had done everything in her power to reinforce that belief. She paid off servants and guards to whisper.

Morak was keen for another child. There had been no reprieve for Tasha. Within a matter of weeks, he was solely focused on procuring another heir – often demanding Tasha's presence twice a day in an effort to conceive.

"Soon," Morak assured her.

Tasha remained silent and Morak could tell she was upset.

"You will see. Once you are with child again, you will be pleased. Another baby will make you smile," Morak said.

"I'd like to be with the child I already have," Tasha replied.

Tasha remained stiff as Morak pulled her onto his lap.

"I hear your son is doing well at the Education House on Nida. My nephew said he was quite the opponent on the field," Senator Daveen remarked.

Morak's only other remaining heir was a student at the prestigious Romulan Education Institution on the nearby planet of Nida.

It was a highly selective private school that had educated generations of Morak's family.

Drusilla gripped her wine glass tighter than expected.

It was bad enough having to watch her husband flaunt his human consort. Drusilla had no desire to listen to the latest updates about Morak's bastard son from a previous consort.

Following the death of his last legitimate son, Morak had petitioned the Emperor to legitimise his bastards.

A part of Drusilla regretted killing three of his other bastards years earlier.

At least they were Romulan.

Now all Morak had was a pie-faced little boy who's social-climbing mother had failed to keep Morak's attention.

And the half-breed.

Drusilla rolled her eyes as Morak boasted about how it would only be a matter of time before Tasha was with child again.

"I suppose there's something… exotic about her," Senator Daveen said.

He chose his words carefully as he looked over Morak's consort.

"Look at him, pet," Morak ordered.

Drusilla knew he was trying to get under her skin – and it was working.

Drusilla simply wanted him to shut up about the whore's lovely blue eyes. Blue eyes were nothing to be celebrated – they represented weak bloodlines.

Impurity. Drusilla thought as she stewed.

"You know, my wife has had this gown for decades. I never thought much of it before, but now seeing it on Natasha," Morak said before trailing off.

Tasha fought the urge to grimace.

She hadn't known the dress belonged to Drusilla.

There would be hell to pay.

"And this piece?" Morak went on, fondling Tasha's necklace. "This was designed by the Imperial jeweller. One of a kind."

Drusilla angrily stabbed at a scallop on her plate.

"It was a gift from the Emperor to my wife on our wedding day," Morak continued.

He paused to caress Tasha's cheek.

"But of course, I will have something far more exquisite made for my jewel. Someday," Morak said.

He hadn't been subtle about his desire to wed Tasha, elevating her from consort to legitimate wife. But Drusilla had proven harder to discreetly kill than expected.

Drusilla's face soured as Morak's hands travelled down over the curve of Tasha's breasts, intentionally lingering longer than necessary just to draw out a reaction.

Drusilla dropped her fork against her plate. She rose to her feet and surveyed the faces of their guests.

"You may all enjoy sitting here with your pathetic attempts to suck up to my husband," Drusilla snapped. "But I will not sit here and be humiliated. You shame all of us by bringing that human to dinner."

Morak scoffed and grinned.

"Allow me to raise a toast to my wife," Morak said as he lifted his glass. "Without her cold shoulder and barren womb-"

Drusilla was long past childbearing age, though it mattered not. Even if she could still give Morak a child, he had not visited her bed in decades.

"I never would have found my jewel," Morak concluded.

He locked eyes with Drusilla as he nuzzled against Tasha's shoulder.

Drusilla swept out of the room.

"Obedient," Senator Daveen remarked as Tasha set down a fresh drink for their guest.

She kept her eyes low as she backed away and resumed her spot at Morak's feet.

Morak chuckled as he took a sip of amber liquid.

"I'll confess it was quite a process to break her in," Morak explained.

Tasha sat perfectly still as Morak ran his fingers back through her hair.

"She was stronger than I'd expected – especially for a human. But now she's as tame as a kitten," Morak said.

She was accustomed to Morak showing off in front of his guests. More often than not, Tasha was a glorified lap dog.

"She just needs a firm hand, isn't that right?" Morak prompted.

He ran his hand down the length of Tasha's spine.

"Go on," he encouraged.

"Yes, my lord," Tasha answered.

"Good girl," Morak responded.

Tasha shuddered. She hated being treated like an object. But she couldn't risk fighting back. Now that she had Sela, Tasha had to stay in Morak's good graces because they relied on his protection.

"Would you care to stay? After that outburst at dinner, I feel alive," Morak said. "Should be quite a show tonight."

Morak never allowed any of his guests to touch Tasha – but he didn't mind an audience and took great pleasure in forcing her to perform in front of his guests.

As she sat there, Tasha could feel Senator Daveen run his eyes over her again.

"I could stay," Daveen said.

There was a soft click as Morak released the restraint overhead. Tasha's arms fell to her sides. Her fingers tingled as the blood began to come back to her hands.

Morak briefly massaged her wrists and then kissed the side of her face.

"Stay," he ordered before slipping away.

Tasha couldn't have moved even if she'd wanted to.

She had been at the mercy of Morak's instruments of torture all evening while Senator Daveen had sat in the armchair, sipping on imported Orion rum - all the while watching with greedy, curious eyes.

Tasha shivered. Her back was flayed open.

To make matters worse, Tasha knew that Morak would summon Richard to come collect her – forcing him to leave Sela with the guards. He would carry Tasha back to her quarters and do what he could to clean and patch her up.

In the morning, Morak would send his physician around to tend to her wounds. He would patch her up just so Morak had a fresh canvas to work with each night.

So was the cycle of Tasha's life.

She inhaled sharply when Morak returned. He knelt down behind Tasha and traced the length of one the cuts along her back in admiration of his work.

"You were so good for me tonight," Morak said.

Tasha didn't respond. Her throat was dry and sore. Tasha tried to keep quiet, but Morak had forced her to scream until she was hoarse.

She couldn't stop herself from flinching as Morak's fingers dug into a bruise. Moisture pricked at the corner of Tasha's eyes.

She squeezed them shut. But it was to no avail.

"Awwww, don't weep," Morak said.

His voice dropped as he pulled Tasha close.

"You don't know what it does to me," Morak growled against her ear.

Tasha broke down. She knew exactly what it did to Morak. Tasha rarely got the chance to cry on her own, for herself.

Even her tears belonged to Morak.

They excited him.

She swayed a little, delirious from dehydration and exhaustion. It was enough to prevent Morak from taking her again.

On occasion his games were too intense, and the physician had to be summoned – forcing several days of recovery before Morak could partake of his consort again.

"I have something for you," Morak said as he pressed his lips against her wet face.

He slipped Tasha's locket around her neck and clasped the latch into place.

"There. That's better," Morak said before he kissed the nape of her neck.

Richard was summoned to carry Tasha back to her quarters. She brushed off his attempts to clean her back.

There was only one thing Tasha wanted – needed – in that moment.

"Please?" Tasha asked.

She curled up in bed and clutched her arms across herself.

Richard returned a moment later after scooping Sela out of her cot. Her hair was askew, and her eyes were full of crusties.

She wasn't entirely sure why she had been pulled out of bed.

But she settled down when Richard handed her over to mum.

"M-uh-uh-ummy," she said with a mighty yawn.

Sela flopped down against Tasha – headbutting mum in the process. But Tasha didn't mind in the least.

"Why is you sad, mummy? Sela asked.

She could tell Tasha was hurt.

Tasha brushed her daughter's hair back. The best she could manage was a weak smile.

"Because I love you so much. So very much it makes me want to cry," Tasha said.

"I kiss better," Sela said before planting a sloppy kiss on mum's wet face.

Sela squealed with laughter as mum tickled her sides. She tried to hide under the blanket, but Tasha pulled her out by her ankle.

Physical pain be damned – Tasha would do anything to see that smile.

Suddenly, Sela's stomach rumbled. She clutched her own tummy and looked up at mum.

"Num num?" she asked.

"Come here," Tasha said as she adjusted to lay on her side.

She snuggled in tight as she latched on. She adored being the centre of mummy's world.

Tasha stroked her daughter's cheek as she fed, watching over her until her own eyes began to grow heavy.

"I love you, Sela," Tasha murmured before she fell asleep.

Tasha had a splitting headache – but she wasn't about to tell Sela off for using her mouth like a trumpet while nibbling on breakfast.

"Doot doot doot doot," Sela said as she pushed her chikup berries back and forth.

Tasha made a show of slowly chewing on a piece of her breakfast muffin. But as soon as her attendant turned away to check on the tea, Tasha stuffed it into a napkin.

As Tasha had made no attempts to end her life since Sela's birth, she was now permitted to keep linens, flannels, and blankets in her room once more.

Romulans didn't have coffee. It was one of the things both Richard and Tasha missed from their time in the Federation.

In fact, Richard had found something in common with the Klingons.

They claimed to have a drink even better than coffee called 'Raktajino' or some other silly Klingon word.

On mornings like this, Tasha desperately wished for a coffee – but she wouldn't turn down a Raktajino.

It had to be better than the liquorice-like hot beverage Romulans drank with brakrenn pulp and a mineral aftertaste.

Under the table, Tasha passed Richard the napkin. During her meal, she'd managed to stow away a breakfast muffin, a piece of fruit, and a chunk of Targ hamsteak.

Richard's face soured.

"You are so thin," he whispered in protest.

A loud banging erupted from one side of the table. Sela had her fist clenched around a spoon as she repeatedly beat her own porridge – sending it flying in every direction. Breakfast had now become a game.

"You need to eat," Richard whispered.

"Take it to that young man that's been ill," Tasha said.

Richard kept tabs on all the survivors. Tasha did everything she could to sneak them food, medical supplies, and linens through Richard.

"Someday they'll learn you're their guardian angel too," Richard remarked.

When Morak first announced he would be leaving for a military conference alone, Tasha rejoiced.

Drusilla had been unusually subdued since her outburst at dinner and Tasha wondered if she'd finally come to accept there was nothing she could do to change Morak's mind.

In fact, Drusilla seemed to have moved beyond their feud altogether – pouring her time into her own work and barely even acknowledging Tasha's presence.

All the better. Tasha thought.

Drusilla had dismissed Tasha from her service. With Morak gone, that meant Tasha was completely free to spend her time with Sela.

It had rained the morning Morak left. But there was a break in the afternoon and Sela had been itching to walk in the garden with mummy.

Under the supervision of Richard and two armed Romulan guards, they strolled around the courtyard.

Sela had giggled and gasped with wonder when they knelt down to watch the fish in the pond. Tasha was patient, allowing Sela to go at her own pace.

They stopped to feel the soft, velvety petals in the flower garden.

Tasha picked one of the pale blue flowers and tucked it behind Sela's ear. She smiled as she ran her thumb across her daughter's chubby cheek.

"So beautiful," she said, flashing Sela a brilliant smile.

Sela blushed and then gave mum a sloppy kiss.

"What would you like to do next, sweetpea?" Tasha asked.

Sela suddenly shrank into her mother's arms. Tasha and Richard glanced around as they were surrounded by Romulan guards.

Morak had increased security since the dinner. But there was no way to know if they were friend or foe.

"Excuse us," Tasha said as she tried to slip past.

Panic set in when the Romulans didn't move.

One of Tasha's personal guards ordered them to disperse. He dropped to the ground a moment later when a disruptor fired.

Tasha and Richard backed toward one another. They were unarmed.

And they were completely surrounded.

Drusilla was standing in front of her window that overlooked the courtyard as Richard and Tasha were dragged inside and deposited on the floor.

"Silence the bastard," Drusilla ordered. "Put her over there."

They set Sela down on the floor alone. She sobbed, chewing on her fist as Tasha and Richard awaited to learn what fate would befall them.

"Don't hurt her," Tasha said.

It wasn't a plea. This time, Tasha had been pushed too far. Now her words came out as a threat.

"Oh, rest assured I don't intend to kill you," Drusilla said. "Or that brat."

She sneered at Sela.

"If you cooperate," Drusilla warned. "But if you make any attempt to intervene, I will kill that child."

Richard wasn't in a condition to do much of anything. He'd taken a horrendous beating at the hands of the guards.

Suddenly, Drusilla's personal physician stepped out from the shadows. He slipped on a pair of protective gloves.

Then he picked up a strange tool and admired it in the light.

"Both?" he asked.

"Both," Drusilla responded.

Tasha felt like she couldn't breathe as the physician closed in on her, eye-speculum in hand.

The last thing Tasha saw was her daughter – red-faced, screaming, terrified.

And alone.

When it was over, the physician was the first to speak.

"What do you want done with them?" the physician asked.

Drusilla chuckled.

"Put them in a box and send them to my husband. He is so fond of her eyes," Drusilla said.

Tasha tentatively reached up to rub her eyes, but one Drusilla's guards stopped her hand just short of its target.

Without warning, the other guard gripped Tasha's face.

"Hold still, slut. My husband will be so upset if we ruin that pretty face," Drusilla teased.

"Cover it," Morak ordered, waving his hand as he turned from the sight of Tasha.

The physician replaced the thin fabric mask that covered Tasha's empty eye sockets and the puffy, scarred red flesh around them.

Morak was furious.

"And there's nothing you can do?" he spat.

Morak's private physician had arrived the night before. He'd been dispatched immediately after Morak received his 'gift.'

Morak had shot the messenger.

Drusilla had thrown a party.

Tasha squeezed her eyes shut. Her tear ducts had been damaged in the acid attack, but she could still cry.

Tasha felt hideous.

And it stung.

"I've administered medication to ease the pain and treat the damage. We'll do what we can to minimise the scarring. There are some experimental cosmetic procedures we could try in the future," the physician explained.

The physician explained that there were other options – including realistic but non-functioning replacements that would provide cosmetic value. He assured Morak they could hire an expert artist.

But even the loveliest replacements would do nothing to cover the scarred flash around her eyes from Drusilla's acid cocktail.

Tasha had accepted her imprisonment and torment at the hands of Morak as part of some grand poetic justice courtesy of the universe.

But now this?

Tasha felt shattered.

She was left wondering what more she could possibly endure.

"Yes? What is it?" Morak demanded.

His physician was hovering.

"Well?" Morak snapped.

"She's with child again, my lord," the physician announced.

Tasha kept silent as Morak roughly dragged her down the corridor. She was certain that this was it. Drusilla's attack had succeeded where Tasha had failed.

Morak was now repulsed by her.

It was a strange feeling. For years, Tasha had hoped and prayed that Morak would grow tired of her presence. But now that Tasha was certain she was being marched off to her death, she found no relief.

Only panic.

What would happen to Sela?

The door to Drusilla's office flew open.

Inside, Drusilla was enjoying a cocktail with friends. Everything came to a halt.

"You should be thanking me," Drusilla drawled. "Eyes can't wander when they're gone."

A small roar of laughter went around the room.

"Laugh all you want. She's carrying my heir," Morak announced.

Drusilla's smile faltered.

"I would inflict upon you the exact same dishonour that you have subjected her to," Morak declared.

For that was how Morak saw it. Disfigurement was part of the classic Romulan toolkit dating back to the earliest days of the Empire.

"I would hold you down and burn your flesh myself if I thought it would bring me satisfaction," Morak said.

"Then do it," Drusilla spat, calling his bluff.

Every time Drusilla tried to one up her, the whore and her demon spawn child somehow managed to come out on top.

"No, no I have something far worse planned for you," Morak warned.

Drusilla scoffed.

"What? Are you going to set your dogs on me?" she asked in disbelief. "If you come after me, it will be your ruin."

"No. I hope you live a long, long time," Morak said.

He pulled Tasha into his arms, holding her possessively.

"That way you can watch the way my eyes light up whenever she walks into a room. I want you to see them follow her when she walks away," Morak explained.

He squeezed Tasha.

"My Astradis. My gift from the divines," Morak continued.

He caressed Tasha's abdomen, making a show of it to rub salt in Drusilla's emotional wound.

"I want you to see that my heart is full of love and adoration for her. The mother of my heir," Morak said. "And I want you to understand that I will only ever look at you with disdain."

That night, Drusilla stopped at the Imperial shrine at the compound to light a candle to the divine Shadow.

"I curse Natasha Yar. I curse the child she now carries," Drusilla declared. "I curse that blonde abomination that crawled out of her womb."

Drusilla packed her things that night. She relocated to an estate they held in another province. The public reason given for her absence at state affairs over the next few weeks was that she had left for a warmer climate due to her health.

The rumour mill churned with gossip that Morak had officially spurned his wife in favour of a human.

Privately, whispers circulated around the Imperial palace and in the halls of the Senate that General Morak had lost his mind.

Eventually, the Emperor himself petitioned Morak to reconcile with his wife. Their feud threatened to disrupt the peace in the Senate and the very line of succession itself as both Morak and Drusilla had powerful allies.

The Emperor was Morak's nephew, and his own support was beginning to falter in light of Morak's situation.

"She's back," Richard announced.

He was standing at the window watching as Drusilla marched back into the compound with her entourage.

Tasha was sitting in the corner, nursing Sela in her lap.

"I suppose it was bound to happen eventually," Tasha said.

She told herself her sense of dread was just jitters. Pregnancy hormones.

After all, it had been months since the incident. Tasha was certain that things could not possibly get worse.

From her lonely watch, Drusilla observed the happenings in the courtyard below.

The whore and her brat were near the pond.

She was a chunky little thing that toddled about, drooled on her pillow, and clung to her mother at the slightest fright.

Drusilla was devastated by Tasha's latest pregnancy. Though she took heart in knowing at least the revolting little disgrace would never succeed Morak.

Drusilla sneered as she watched Sela squat down next to the pond. She put her chubby finger into the water. A fish jumped and frightened her.

The little idiot stumbled back and scrambled to hide in her mother's arms.

"Fishy jump!" she said, pointing at the water.

"It's alright, sweetheart," Tasha assured her.

It made Drusilla's blood boil to watch them.

Tasha stumbled as she rose to stand. Mr Castillo was quick to help steady her. For whatever reason, Morak had grown fond of this Castillo too – granting him a position as a personal guardian for the whore.

They had always held human prisoners to supplement their slave labour force. Now their home was crawling with humans, Klingons, Orions, and more.

It was one thing to have them working in the orchards.

Drusilla was utterly ashamed to find them working in the laundry and the kitchens.

She longed for a way to get rid of them all.

And as she watched the scene below unfold, Drusilla gasped in awe of her own brilliance.

Castillo had his hand in the small of Tasha's back to help steady her. Though the touch was perfectly innocent – but enough to plant an idea.

For the last few years, this Castillo had watched over both Tasha and Sela. He guarded them, checked their food, and escorted them around the grounds.

Morak so trusted this human that he was responsible for collecting Tasha after Morak was finished with her.

He sometimes slept in their quarters – almost nightly since Tasha was blinded. He even helped her to bathe and dress.

Morak was a jealous man and quick to jump to conclusions.

Prone to violence.

And it took surprisingly little to set him off.

Drusilla grinned as she mused of their downfall.

Drusilla wandered into Morak's office uninvited. She sauntered over and helped herself to his finest imported Saurian brandy.

Morak remained steadfast in his desire not to acknowledge her presence – even when Drusilla sat on the edge of his desk.

"Do you remember when we were first married?" Drusilla asked.

"Unfortunately," he responded in a terse voice.

"Hmm," Drusilla replied, swirling her drink in hand.

Morak sighed and tossed his tablet onto the surface of the desk.

"Do get on with it so you may leave my sight," Morak barked.

Drusilla sat back and took a slow sip of her drink. She deliberately took her time so as to rile Morak before she planted the idea.

"When we were first wed, I brought quite the dowry. Thirty-thousand Talons. Dilithium mines. Troops. Ships. The estate in Gradnia," Drusilla said as she rattled it all off.

Morak pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What? You want the estate? Take it. I'll give your damn Talons back with interest if it will get you out of my sight," Morak snapped.

Drusilla chuckled and dismissed the idea, murmuring something about the social scene in Gradnia being 'too bourgeois.'

"Actually, I was thinking of the large retinue of serfs that were bound to my service that accompanied me," Drusilla said.

She frowned.

"Tell me husband, have our fortunes fallen so low that we must be reduced to having the humans wait on us?" Drusilla asked.

Morak brought his fist down onto his tablet. He smashed the screen, sending bits flying onto the floor.

"Will you never cease?" Morak roared.

He pushed back in his chair and leapt to his feet, towering over Drusilla as he berated her.

"When will you get it? I love her. I adore her," Morak declared. "Even the child has grown on me."

Morak confessed he had a small affinity for Sela. He could see that she might one day have value for her father's political ambitions.

In his mind, she would never be an heir. But Morak had considered that a placement as a consort to the right house may prove advantageous.

"If she grows up like her mother-"

Drusilla scoffed.

"You have seen the way my guests look at her. They may claim to shudder at the idea of it, but when that door closes-"

Morak paused to point at the door to his office.

"They stay. And the ones that rail the most about the obscenity of it all are the same that beg to touch," Morak hissed against her ear.

Drusilla sat unmoving as Morak whipped himself into a fury.

When he was finished, she smirked.

"Perhaps I see more than you think," Drusilla said.

To her delight, Morak took the bait.

"How much can you really trust these humans?" Drusilla asked.

Morak's mouth grew thin.

"I saw them," Drusilla said. "Together. In the garden."

Morak dismissed this.

"You saw nothing. Castillo would never risk crossing me," Morak spat.

Drusilla went on, undeterred.

"The way he looks at her. The way their touch is… familiar," Drusilla said. "You said it yourself that she was tainted. That she had been with one of them before."

She paused.

"Have you never wondered why he was out on that beach with her?" Drusilla pressed.

She sat back and took a sip of her drink. Drusilla was pleased with herself as she watched the wheels begin to spin in Morak's mind.

"And you will look after her tonight? You'll be there when she wakes?" Tasha asked in a hushed voice.

She was concerned as Morak had demanded her presence overnight. It was an unusual order. Typically, Tasha was sent back before the morning.

"Yes, my lady," Richard responded.

"And you'll watch over her?" Tasha urged.

Richard stopped just shy of Morak's door.

"Always, my lady," Richard assured her.

He knocked twice to signal their arrival. The doors swung open and Richard escorted Tasha inside. Richard turned to leave as was customary when Morak stopped him.

"Stay," Morak ordered.

Richard froze. He kept his head low.

"Pour us some wine, Castillo," Morak said.

With a nod, Richard made quick work of filling two glasses. He kept his eyes focused on his task while he tried to ignore the fact Morak was circling Tasha like a hawk.

"Do you ever miss it, Castillo?" Morak asked.

Richard's mouth went dry. Tasha's heart sped up.

He knows. She panicked.

"Permission to speak, my lord?" Richard requested.

"You may speak freely," Morak said.

He found their conversation insightful. At least, Morak thought it was insightful. He didn't know that Richard was clever enough to know how to work Morak.

At times he feigned ignorance. He also fed Morak what he wanted to hear. And other times he simply kept his head down.

"I have not had wine in many years, my lord," Richard answered, dodging the obvious.

Morak chuckled. He was often amused by what he thought was Richard's simple mind.

"I meant the touch of a woman," Morak clarified.

Richard knew that Morak liked to boast. So, he said what he thought would please the General.

"We humans lack the passion of the Romulan people. I must confess that I have never had the same vigour as a man like you, my lord," Richard answered, stroking Morak's ego.

Morak's breath was unwelcome against Tasha's ear.

"Is that true, pet? Has any human ever loved you like I do?" Morak asked. "Hmm? Do you think he could love you like I do?"

Tasha winced as Morak grabbed the back of her hair.

"No, my lord," Tasha answered honestly.

No, Richard had never.

He would never.

What was love to Morak, Richard found abhorrent. And what Morak considered weakness, Richard treasured. They could not be more different.

Richard attempted to take his leave again. He was eager to return to Sela in order to fulfil his promise to watch over her.

And it was difficult for Richard to be near when Tasha was forced to endure her time in Morak's chambers.

"Unlace her dress," Morak ordered.

With steady hands, Richard set about his task. He tried to tell himself this was just like being back in Tasha's quarters.

There were always attendants flitting in and out while he helped her dress. They both knew these same attendants were paid by Morak, Drusilla, and others to report back on what happened inside the limited privacy of Tasha's quarters.

Only this time, they were both under the watchful eye of General Morak himself as he watched for their reactions.

"She is a lovely thing, is she not?" Morak pressed.

Suddenly, it became apparent to them both that this was a trap. Morak was testing Castillo and Tasha, hoping to prove that Drusilla was wrong about them.

Sure, Richard had seen Tasha before. He knew all of the secret places of her body. He knew her mind. When Richard assisted Tasha it was an act of love. There was nothing sexual about those moments. He would never take advantage of her like that.

Tasha trusted him.

There was a world of difference between bearing their souls to one another on the floor of that cave and seeing her now like this.

Shivering.

Alone.

Forced to dance to whatever tune Morak sang while living in fear for the life of her child.

Yes. Tasha was lovely. But Richard refused to give Morak the satisfaction of flaunting her like an object.

Richard knew that failing to answer would confirm the worst. Answering incorrectly could arouse Morak's suspicion.

"Why do you hesitate?" Morak demanded.

"Forgive me, my lord," Richard said.

He hoped his words were enough to satisfy Morak and discreetly provide a word of support for Tasha by acknowledging that Richard did not condone Morak's behaviour.

Tasha said nothing as Morak guided her into his thermae. Tasha didn't even react as Morak started to wash her body.

"You mean to tell me you've never thought about it?" Morak demanded. "All that time you've practically lived in her quarters? Watching over my jewel."

Richard remained silent.

"You don't think about what it would feel like?" Morak went on as he ran his fingers across Tasha's lower lip. "Your mind doesn't… wander while you bathe her?"

Morak chuckled against Tasha's ear.

"And you, my love. Do you enjoy it? Does he treat you with tenderness?" Morak asked.

Morak was taunting both of them, trying to force Castillo to react. Whether he acknowledged it or snapped, either was as good as a confession of betrayal in Morak's mind.

"So, you've never thought about it, Castillo?" Morak pressed as he caressed her collarbone. "These thighs? This sweet, plump little arse?"

Richard's expression darkened.

"Those things belong to you, my lord," Richard answered.

Morak smirked.

"Yes. They do," Morak said, pleased by Richard's response.

"In any case, I would not want them," Richard lied.

Richard saw an opportunity to further establish trust with Morak, something Richard knew would play on Tasha's deepest insecurities.

And draw out the right reaction.

"Go on," Morak ordered slowly.

He was curious and suspicious that Richard might give away himself with his answer. Richard's words were cruel, but he prayed Tasha knew they came from his heart. It was all part of the many sacrifices they had made for this arrangement to work.

For Sela.

"With all due respect, my lord, I could never desire to be with someone that-"

Castillo paused.

He would give anything to avoid making Tasha cry – but he knew it was necessary in order to secure Morak's trust.

"I fear that I would find any pleasure derived from such coupling would be overshadowed by the knowledge another has spoiled the fruit," Richard said.

Tasha squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to stop from crying.

She knew Richard didn't mean it. His words couldn't have been further from the truth.

But it still hurt.

Tasha sniffled. It was the only sound she had made – aside from answering Morak's question – since their arrival.

"You're a bastard and a traitor," Tasha said.

"And you're a whore," Richard replied in the coldest voice he could muster.

Morak was satisfied. He knew her tears didn't come easily.

"My lord, with your permission I will take my leave to return to the child," Richard requested with a low bow.

Sela was standing alone in her cot. She was screaming, begging for attention as a frightened attendant stood frozen in the middle of the room.

She'd been unable to console the girl.

"I-I-I am sorry," she stammered.

"It's alright, I apologise. I was delayed," Richard answered.

He scooped Sela up as she sobbed onto his shoulder.

She wailed and screamed for her mother.

"Shhhhh, I know. I know. It's awful, my lady," Richard whispered as he tried to soothe her.

Sela was small – but she could sense Richard's pain. Castillo wanted to cry too. He was ready to break down and weep, to plead with Morak to stop.

But he couldn't.

He had to protect this little bundle of sunshine.

He closed his eyes and tried to stop his mind from spiralling into thoughts of what awaited Tasha behind the door to Morak's quarters.

"Hush little baby don't say a word. Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird," Richard sang.

Richard was summoned shortly before dawn.

"Clean her up," Morak ordered.

Morak's brutality had been exceptional.

And intentional.

The General smirked as he washed his hands in the corner. He shook them before snaping at an aide to furnish a towel.

It was his goal to remind Castillo of his place. If there was any temptation, Morak was certain it was now stamped out.

"And bring in some food. I'll take first meal now. I find I am famished after last night," Morak said.

Richard fought the urge to snap. He said nothing as he scooped Tasha up into his arms. Beaten and dehydrated, Tasha was in no condition to walk.

She had mentally dissociated from the world.

The sun was just starting to rise as Richard carried Tasha back to her quarters. He would draw her a bath, patch her up as best he could, and then bring in Sela.

A snuggle with her girl always helped bring Tasha back to the world, to remind her what this was all for.

"I'm sorry," Tasha said.

"Why are you apologising? You have no need," Richard assured her.

"I never wanted you to see that," Tasha replied.

Over the coming weeks, Morak kept a close eye on Richard and Tasha.

He still wasn't entirely convinced of their deception. But Tasha was carrying his heir and Morak was sure that this time things would go as planned.

Sela was fast asleep in her cot with a flower tucked under her arm. They'd gone to the courtyard earlier that day and one of the prisoners had given it Sela.

Palmer.

He was a good kid. Richard had known him from their time on the Enterprise-C. Palmer had been sick months earlier with a Romulan fever and Tasha had done everything she could to smuggle him supplies.

Palmer had never forgotten that.

With Sela out for the night, Richard had to help Tasha into the bath.

She had increasingly come to rely on his help – especially as she learned to navigate the world without her vision.

Six and half months pregnant, Tasha was having a hard time getting around regardless.

She couldn't ever remember being this big with Sela. Morak said it was a good sign that the child was healthy and would be a 'true Romulan.'

He had never gotten over Sela's distinct lack of Romulan features.

Of course, Tasha still had her duties as Morak's consort. Though he had been far less sadistic during her pregnancies – and much less interested since Drusilla's attack.

Most nights following final meal, Tasha had to join Morak at the Imperial shrine where they would pray for an hour that the divines might deliver them a healthy Romulan child.

Tasha found herself praying too to any deity that would listen.

She hoped this child would please Morak and that he would finally allow her the freedom to simply be a mother.

Tasha feared what Morak might do otherwise.

"You're pensive," Richard observed as he applied a warm flannel to the back of Tasha's neck.

"Tired," Tasha replied.

She had been increasingly fatigued and dealing with bouts of dizziness.

Instinctively, Tasha clutched her bump.

"I'm worried," she confessed.

Childbirth remained a terrifying prospect. Sela's birth had been a traumatic experience.

"I'll be right here with you," Richard assured her.

He squeezed Tasha's hand.

"Sometimes I wonder if this would feel different. If I would feel, I don't know… happy if this was your child," Tasha confessed.

Richard stopped.

He checked to ensure they were alone and then cupped her face.

"Sometimes I wish it were too," Richard replied in a low voice.

Tasha relished the contact on her face. He never recoiled from her like Morak now did.

"I do wish I could see this child. You'll… you'll describe them for me, won't you? Like you do with Sela?" Tasha asked.

All of two, Sela frequently complained if mummy didn't fix her braids right.

"Of course, Tuula," Richard replied.

He took a great risk and kissed the back of her hand.

"I have no desire for your company," Morak said as Drusilla sauntered in the room.

She was obviously giddy about something.

"Fine," Drusilla said, feigning surrender.

She made to leave but stopped just inside the door.

"I'll go. But I thought you should know your whore isn't as faithful as you think," Drusilla said.

Morak stopped writing and looked up from his tablet.

A dark thought crossed Morak's mind.

"Castillo?" he demanded.

The next morning, Tasha was helping Sela cut her breakfast into child-sized bites.

"No, no!" she protested.

Richard was quick to the rescue.

"Allow me, my lady," he offered.

He knew exactly how Sela wanted her food cut.

"Thank you, Lilo," Sela replied before stuffing a forkful of food into her mouth.

Tasha had just started on her own plate when the door flew open. Four of Morak's personal guards stormed inside. They took Richard into custody.

"What is the meaning of this?" Tasha demanded.

Richard was confused. He could fathom no reason for this sudden arrest.

Two of the guards blocked Tasha from leaving.

"I demand to be taken to General Morak," she said.

"You are to remain here," Jarak instructed. "Stay here. With your child."

Sela was humming and singing to herself, her legs swinging back and forth as she nibbled on her breakfast.

Tasha returned to her seat next to Sela and kissed her daughter's head.

"It's alright," she said, trying to reassure herself.

"Ow, mummy. You holding me too tight," Sela whined.

"Aaaarrgh!" Richard cried out as Morak's whip lashed his back.

It tore into his flesh.

Morak waited just long enough to draw out the pain before striking him again.

Richard would have collapsed were it not for the fact his arms were restrained.

"I will ask you again, why did you touch my jewel?" Morak demanded.

Richard groaned as the whip struck his back. He gritted his teeth and braced his body for the next blow. In the years since Morak had taken him prisoner, Richard had never been lashed since their initial time at the prison camp.

He'd kept his head down and done his best to comply for the sake of Tasha and (eventually) Sela's safety.

His mind drifted back to the night before when he had kissed Tasha's hand.

Had someone seen?

Richard considered it was possible. Though he suspected Morak would have already killed him if he'd had proof of such betrayal.

"How long have you desired her?" Morak demanded. "I invited you into my home. I trusted you! How long has it gone on?"

He struck Richard's back again, hitting one of the previous spots of torn flesh. Castillo flinched and twisted in pain.

"Are you the one that defiled her before we captured you?" Morak raved.

He had never forgotten that one of these men had been with Tasha on Narendra III. One of these men was the one she had confessed to loving.

Morak had never managed to extract the name from her.

And it haunted him.

"How many times did you fuck her?" Morak shouted.

He brought the whip down on Richard's back. Then he did it again.

And again.

He wasn't even asking questions anymore.

A sound from Castillo caught Morak's ear. He froze and dropped his arm in expectation of a confession.

"No. No, my lord," Richard said.

Richard told himself it wasn't a lie.

He had never 'fucked Morak's jewel.'

Richard could never qualify their time together in such crude terms. Their time on Narendra meant more than that, their connection surpassed physical desire. And he certainly did not covet Tasha like she was some object to be possessed.

He loved her.

"Liar," Morak spat before he resumed lashing Richard's poor, abused back.

"My lord, why would I lie when your whip is at my back?" Richard asked.

Shortly after Tasha put Sela down for her afternoon nap, Commander Jarok arrived to escort Tasha to Morak's office.

Morak's staff had already torn apart Tasha's quarters – turning over every blanket and pillow, searching the shelves, and rummaging through her wardrobe.

"Do you have children, Commander Jarok?" Tasha asked.

"No," he answered honestly.

Tasha reached into the crib and stroked her daughter's cheek.

"I would do anything for her. Anything to keep her safe," Tasha said. "Sometimes it scares me what I'm willing to do just to ensure that she will grow up."

Sela stirred and rolled onto her back. Her thumb fell out of her mouth.

"Perhaps someday you'll understand that feeling," Tasha said.

"What is this?" Morak demanded as he tossed the flower at Tasha.

She was on her knees. Tasha picked up the object and immediately recognised it as Sela's gift from the young prisoner in the courtyard.

"Answer me," Morak said in a low, dangerous voice.

"It is a flower, my lord," Tasha said.

Morak flew off the handle.

"Of course, it's a bloody flower! WHY WAS IT IN YOUR BED?" Morak hissed.

Fear gripped Tasha's heart. Now she understood why Richard had been taken away.

Sela had fallen asleep with the flower. Sometime during the night, she'd crawled out of her own cot and into bed with Tasha – taking the flower along with her.

By this time, Morak had already tortured Richard Castillo for hours.

To his astonishment, Castillo had never confessed.

Richard had suffered in silence to protect Tasha.

Drusilla and her aide had witnessed Palmer talking with Tasha and seized on the opportunity to discredit her. Palmer had been tortured too.

"She liked it. She fell asleep with it," Tasha answered.

"How many of them have you let touch you? Hmm? Is this what you do when I've been away?" Morak demanded. "Whoring! It's all you are, isn't it?"

Morak knew all about Tasha's time on Turkana as a Yar. She'd had no choice but to share during his interrogation with the Centaurian slug.

Morak found these stories fascinating and had forced her to recount her trauma for his benefit.

"You've betrayed me," Morak sneered.

Tasha was devastated. Since Sela's birth, she had done everything in her power to be compliant for the sake of her child. She would never jeopardise Sela's safety.

"I-I-I don't-"

"Uh, uh. You don't what?" Morak asked, mocking her stammering answer.

Tasha slowly lowered herself as best she could – a difficult feat given her swollen belly.

"My lord," she pleaded.

"How many times has Castillo come to your bed?" Morak asked.

Though he had failed to extract a confession from Richard, Morak had to be certain. And Tasha had no way of knowing Castillo had held fast.

"Never, my lord," Tasha insisted.

"And yet I find flowers in your bed. I hear whispers that you are seen conversing with other men," Morak said.

Tasha's body trembled. She felt like her world was collapsing around her.

"You were seen talking to him," Morak said. "In the courtyard."

Tasha realised Morak was dangling information in hopes of learning more. He didn't know anything. He had no evidence. He was simply trying to scare her into a confession.

"Is this child even mine?" Morak spat.

Tasha was aghast. She clutched her womb protectively. She was breathing hard, close to hyperventilating.

"For all you know, she's lying. She's been lying to you for years," Drusilla said.

She did everything in her power to drive a wedge between them.

"I've seen her. The way she flirts with the prisoners when you aren't around. Why else would they look at her when they know your rules? She invites it," Drusilla continued.

Morak was torn. He didn't want to believe Drusilla, but he was a naturally jealous and suspicious man.

"I've even heard some of the staff talking. She intentionally rid herself of her last pregnancy because it wasn't your child," Drusilla said, twisting the knife.

Tasha's miscarriage had been a sore subject. Morak was devastated. And given all the tension and suspicion around her numerous suicide attempts and efforts to end her first pregnancy, Morak had always wondered if the miscarriage had been intentional.

Morak struck her across the face.

Tasha reached up to clutch her cheek. It stung from the impact.

"Is this true?" Morak asked.

Tasha had never wanted another child. But Tasha had done nothing to intentionally end her pregnancy. She was too frightened of what Morak might do to even think of it the second time around.

Only Drusilla had been whispering in Morak's ear, planting the seed of doubt with the help of those loyal to her.

"No, no," Tasha sobbed.

"I don't believe you," Morak said as he backed away from Tasha.

Tasha wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve.

"And this one? Huh? Is it even mine?" Morak demanded in a harsh voice.

"Please. I need to be with Sela," Tasha said. "She's alone and frightened."

Morak snapped his fingers. Two of his guards escorted Ensign Palmer into the office. He was bruised and bloodied, barely able to stand without the support of the men holding him.

He had been tortured.

Palmer had struggled to understand why he'd been taken into custody and tortured. All he had done was speak a kind word to Tasha and her girl, offering the little one a flower from the gardens.

Though Palmer had never openly opposed Brown's vocal hatred of Tasha, he did pity her.

"Confess and I will permit her to live and raise your bastard," Morak explained.

Palmer's throat was dry. He was having trouble speaking due the extent of his injuries.

"My lord, I never-" Palmer wheezed.

Morak turned his attention to Tasha. One of his favourite methods of extracting information was to use people against one another.

He twisted his fingers in the back of Tasha's hair – forcing her to cry out.

"Confess," Morak ordered.

Morak brought his fist down across Tasha's face.

"Confess and all this will end," Morak urged.

"I-I never," Palmer said.

The interrogation was not going as planned and Morak grew desperate. He marched behind his desk and reached for the nearest instrument of torment he could find – an iron fire poker.

He raised his arm high in the air to bring it down with great force.

Tasha never saw it coming.

Morak stayed in his office overnight.

The fire poker lay abandoned on the floor next to the stained rug.

Drusilla had retired to her rooms shortly after Tasha had gone into labour.

A bruised and beaten Richard Castillo had been released so that he might care for Sela.

It's too soon.

That was all Tasha had repeated over and over again as she was rushed back to her quarters. Morak's physician had been summoned along with Kelley, a medic from the Enterprise-C, when her labour began.

She was only twenty-two weeks along. The physician had advised that the odds weren't good.

Two men had come to fetch away Palmer's body. In the end, Morak had come to believe the man's story.

Morak had been so convinced that Tasha had been unfaithful. In retrospect, he realised now just how ridiculous that notion was.

For all her human flaws, Tasha would never do anything to risk Sela's safety.

Morak recognised how deep that love ran – even if his own comprehension was twisted with notions of grandeur and thoughts of succession.

The timepiece on the wall chimed to signify it was 07:00. There would be no sunshine today.

Lightning flashed outside the window, streaking across the sky as if to signal some message of warning.

A soft knock at the door drew Morak from his thoughts.

Morak locked eyes with Commander Jarok who had come to deliver the news. His sombre face told Morak all he needed to know.

"Right then," Morak said as he moved to pour himself a drink.

Jarok was surprised to see Morak's hands shake as he poured a glass of Romulan spirits.

"And the child?" Morak asked.

Jarok had dreaded this question.

"It was a boy. My deepest condolences, my lord," Jarok said.

Morak slammed his drink and reached for another. He felt the divines had betrayed him now.

Twice.

"And was the child-"

Morak paused. He couldn't find the words.

"The physician confirmed that the child was yours, my lord," Jarok explained.

Initial scans had easily established Morak's paternity and even the physician grumbled that it was futile exercise to have skipped over that step in the first place.

But Morak's temper had often led him to such rash bouts of violence.

"I want to see her. Now," Morak ordered.

Outside, the sky was dark. Thunder rumbled as a fresh storm blew in from the Apnex Sea. The rain hadn't started yet, but Tasha could smell it in the air.

Both the Romulan physician and Kelley, the medic, had been unusually quiet during Tasha's delivery. They had simultaneously handled a complicated early delivery while tending to Tasha's extensive wounds.

Morak had beaten her within an inch of her life.

Tasha was drenched in perspiration. It had been a long, difficult labour.

"Why isn't he crying?" Tasha asked.

A clap of thunder boomed and echoed across the compound.

The silence was suffocating.

"Why isn't he crying?" Tasha demanded.

Kelley carefully bundled up her son in a loose swaddling and made to hand him over. He was about to speak when Richard caught his line of vision and took the child.

The tiniest child he'd ever seen.

He figured it would be best coming from him.

"Somebody tell me what's-"

Tasha stopped as she felt Richard clutch her hand. He carefully handed over her son.

In the moment she had expected to share first contact with her newborn son, she found only stillness in her arms.

He wasn't breathing.

An awful, unholy sound of pain escaped from Tasha's lips.

"I am so sorry," Richard said as he wiped her brow with a cool, damp linen.

Tasha fell silent as she clutched her son.

Sela pushed her way into the room. She was excited from all the buzz and people. She knew something big was happening and wanted to be a part of it.

"Baby!" she squealed.

She had a little doll of her own and was at an age where soft toys, dolls, and anything else she could get her hands on was a 'baby' to play with.

In anticipation of the child's arrival, Tasha had spent many afternoons teaching Sela to 'be gentle' and 'soft kisses.'

"I hold," Sela insisted as she reached for the bundle in Tasha's arms.

"No," Tasha said in a strange, faraway voice.

"I hold!" Sela demanded.

Her face scrunched up. Her little legs began to shake. She was close to a tantrum.

Richard scooped up Sela and carried her – kicking and screaming – out into another room to give Tasha a moment alone.

The physician and Kelley were still working to patch Tasha up from the beating she had taken at the hands of Morak.

The physician tried to take her son, but Tasha clung to him.

"No," she repeated.

In spite of her cool exterior, Tasha was completely gutted.

Tasha found her baby's hand and carefully caressed his tiny, unmoving fingers.

Richard watched from the doorway as Tasha spoke to her child in the strange, beautiful language of her native Turkanan.

In their time together, Richard had picked up on some words and phrases. She liked to sing to Sela in her native tongue.

Though this was different.

Haunting.

"lunam et rionnag in nimbum Azura luca galad," Tasha whispered.

She wiped her baby's brow and then pulled him in for a kiss.

Admiral Jarok appeared at the door. Richard tried to stop him, but Jarok went in anyway.

He knelt down next to Tasha and spoke softly.

"He is a beautiful child," Jarok said.

Tasha knew that whenever Jarok was kind he was usually sent to do Morak's unsavoury bidding.

"I will take him to the Imperial Shrine and ensure he is laid to rest in accordance with our custom," Jarok offered.

"No," Tasha protested, clinging to her son.

She shook her head.

"No. No you are not taking him there," she said. "Not to that place."

Tasha hated the Imperial Shrine. She found their whole concept of religion repulsive – especially Morak's devout, twisted ideals.

"My lady, I am so sorry for your loss," Jarok apologised.

"You are not taking my son," Tasha said.

To Richard's surprise, Jarok relented.

"Right. Of course, not. No one will take him from you," Jarok assured her.

He turned to the Romulan staff present and wordlessly shooed them out of the room.

"My lady, General Morak was very sorry to learn of your loss. He would like to see you straightaway," Jarok said.

Morak had beat her nearly to the point of death. Had she not gone into labour, Richard was certain that Morak would have.

"No," Richard said, stepping out. "My lady has been through far too much. She needs to rest. She is in no condition-"

"The General needs to see her now," Jarok said.

"Then he can come here," Castillo said in direct defiance of Morak's orders.

The two men stared at one another. They were at an impasse. In truth, Jarok agreed with Castillo. But he could not openly acknowledge such an opinion.

"No," Tasha said, drawing their attention back. "I'll go. Please help me dress."

Morak paced behind the desk in his office. He was about to march down to Tasha's quarters himself when she arrived – supported heavily by Jarok and Castillo.

And with a small bundle in her arms.

Morak froze.

"You… you brought it here?" he asked, stunned.

It.

He couldn't even bring himself to acknowledge his child.

He had ordered the child taken care of in accordance with Romulan tradition. There would be a ceremony at the Imperial Shrine and three days of mourning.

"So, you may lay your eyes upon our son," Tasha said.

Her voice was cold.

Only Morak was afraid to look. He couldn't find it in himself to accept his own culpability.

A dark thought entered his mind.

For if the divines really had seen fit to deliver such a blow to his line of succession, then meant that Morak was not destined to father a line of Imperial leaders.

"Look at him," Tasha insisted.

Morak made no move.

"Look at him!" Tasha roared as she stumbled forward.

Morak stepped back as Tasha limped toward him. He was desperate to put distance between himself and the tiny, unmoving bundle in her arms. His face soured and he tried to quickly change the subject.

"The physician has advised that we should wait at least a year before we try again," Morak said.

It was devastating news.

"Obviously, I am disappointed. But you are young and there will be more," Morak went on, breezing over Tasha's grief. "I believe if begin trying again in a few weeks-"

He had ignored the physician's warning after her miscarriage too. Morak wasn't ready to accept waiting another year.

"I know another child will bring you happiness," Morak concluded.

"I DON'T WANT ANOTHER CHILD!" Tasha lashed out.

Morak caught a glimpse of his son.

He was so tiny.

But even in spite of his little size, Morak could spy the distinct Romulan features on his form. Morak stood motionless, petrified by remorse and fear.

Have the divines forsaken me? Morak wondered.

His own selfish thoughts were focused solely on his rise to power. He did not give a moment's thought to Tasha or the stillborn son in her arms.

Both Jarok and Castillo moved to intervene.

"Why don't we go somewhere quiet?" Jarok suggested.

"Let me help you," Castillo offered.

Tasha reluctantly parted with her child, handing him to Richard who cradled the bundle as if he were his own.

Then she rounded on Morak.

"You did this!" she roared. "You did this!"

She wallowed, pouring out years' worth of resentment as she beat her fists against Morak's chest. Morak was too shocked at her anger to react.

"You! Did! This! You're a brute. An evil, terrible brute and you deserve everything your gods throw at you," Tasha went on.

Morak blanched.

"This is divine justice for your crimes," she raved. "And my baby is the one who paid."

She stopped to breathe, taking a series of short, sharp breaths.

"You killed my baby," Tasha screamed. "You killed my baby!"

She chucked one the small divine statues from his desk across the room.

"Fuck your gods."

Tasha's voice was cold.

No one spoke.

"Fuck your divine right," she went on. "You will never be Emperor. My baby will never grow up. And the only solace I take from this is in knowing that my son will never have to know the hell that is living with you."

"You're right," Morak said in a faraway voice. "You're completely right."

Divine justice.

"You are absolutely right. This is a message. A warning from the divines," Morak said.

He looked up at Tasha as if he were seeing her for the first time.

"I don't know why I've been so reluctant to see it before," Morak went on.

He started shaking his finger as the idea began to form.

"You. This is all wrong. I never should have taken you as my consort," Morak said.

For a fleeting moment, Tasha thought Morak might have finally seen the error of his ways.

"This is punishment for defiling myself. My household. My bloodline with a human," Morak realised.

Tasha felt like the floor had been pulled right out from underneath her. This blow was one too many.

Tasha staggered and Jarok rushed forward to catch her.

"You've ruined me," Morak said.

"My lord, permission to speak?" Jarok interjected.

He didn't wait for an answer.

"Perhaps if I were to return Natasha to her quarters? You have not slept and if you were to lay down for a while and relax-"

Morak shook his head. He had to rectify this - now.

He sat down on the edge of his desk as the weight of his predicament fell on Morak. If he were to kill Tasha, it would only serve to prove Drusilla right.

Furthermore, Morak still believed that Tasha's appearance was some sort of divinely sanctioned act. She had fallen from the stars. A woman out of time.

He couldn't get rid of her.

Morak was worried the divines were testing him.

"See to it that she's granted a place with the other prisoners," Morak said.

"My daughter?" Tasha asked.

"You always wanted to be left alone to raise her," Morak retorted.

Tasha tried to keep her panic in check, at least they wouldn't be separated.

"Come," Jarok said.

"And get rid of that thing," Morak ordered in reference to his son. "There will be no mourning ceremony. Dispose of it."

Lightning cracked overhead – hitting something nearby. It was followed by an enormous boom of thunder. The sky opened and a torrential downpour beat against the windowpanes.

Morak looked up at the mural that ran the full length of the far wall in his office. He had commissioned the finest Romulan artist of the day to capture Astradis.

Now it was a bitter reminder of Morak's folly. Without a second thought, he ordered the lights off. The mural was shrouded in darkness.

Morak sat down behind his desk. For the first time in ages, he felt like he could breathe.

Tasha stood at the edge of the prisoner camp. She had Sela in one arm and a handful of Sela's possessions in a makeshift wrap around her body. It had taken only minutes for Jarok to turn Tasha out – and it was all Tasha could grab.

On Morak's orders, Jarok had taken Tasha's stillborn son.

She'd pleaded for the chance to lay him to rest in accordance with her own traditions. It was a request that had been swiftly declined.

It was still raining. Tasha thought it was only fitting given the way she felt.

As she stood at the edge of the camp, she could tell the others were staring.

Even though she couldn't see them, she heard all activity stop as soon as she was permitted entrance.

Sela buried her head against Tasha's chest. She pleaded to return home. She didn't like this place. It was cold. It smelled awful.

Word of Tasha's fall from grace had spread quickly.

"Whore!" someone shouted.

Several of the prisoners whooped and hollered in support of this.

Tasha flinched as one of them spat on her.

A moment later, someone threw a piece of rotted rukesh root and waste in her direction. More quickly followed. Some of it was flung at Sela and she began to fuss.

Tasha had nothing left to lose.

"You would throw shit at a child?" she shouted at the assembled crowd.

The crowd fell silent. They hadn't expected her to say anything back.

Then the chief instigator found his voice.

"Consider it a welcome! After all, we wouldn't be here without you!" Brown hollered back.

Tasha knew that she wasn't going to win that argument. She clutched her support cane in one hand while simultaneously trying to shush her daughter.

Out of nowhere, one of the men intentionally tripped her.

Tasha fell.

She did her best to cradle Sela. But her injuries were too severe. Sela tumbled out of her arms. Tasha hit the back of her head and lay there in the muck and cold mud.

The tears flowed fast. Sela screamed, red-faced and frightened.

No one made a move to help.

Tasha's hand shot out as she felt around for Sela.

Tasha tried to sit up. But a wave of dizziness sent her right back to the ground. When she made a second attempt, Tasha's hand slipped out from underneath her, and she took a face full of mud.

Brown and his closest chums laughed as Tasha struggled to get up. All the while, Sela cried herself hoarse. She was inconsolable.

Tasha's mind spiralled. Some of her sutures had reopened during the struggle. If she were to bleed out there on the ground then this would all be over.

But what of Sela?

Not one of these prisoners had stepped forward to help or even to console Sela.

Just when she thought all was lost, Richard arrived. He swept in to scoop up Sela before the mob could get at her.

A cold, unfamiliar hand reached for Tasha.

"Here we go," Vil Arandev said.

He was a Betazoid and geologist by trade. He could sense Tasha's despair.

Brown rushed forward with the intent of giving her a swift kick when he found his path blocked by Ahn, the oldest and wisest Klingon among them.

Brown swallowed hard and looked up at the grizzled Klingon who stood a full foot taller.

"There is no honour in kicking someone that is broken," Ahn said.

He crossed his arms and stared down at Brown.

"Go," Ahn growled.

Brown scurried off.

The majority of the prisoners that had turned out to watch were disappointed. They had long wanted to exact revenge on Tasha for trapping them there.

And while there were still a number of hurtful words thrown in her direction – no one was keen to challenge Ahn.

Brown stormed back to the door near his own shanty and frowned.

"This isn't your fine house, and they won't always be there to protect you. It's just a matter of time!" Brown shouted after her.

Ghost quirked an eyebrow in Brown's direction.

"What?" Brown demanded.

"You're going to beat an injured woman and little girl?" Ghost ask, noting his disapproval of Brown's attitude.

Commander Jarok glanced down at the tiny bundle in his arms.

Morak had ordered him to dispose of the child's body – only that didn't sit right with Jarok.

He was forbidden from initiating the proper Romulan Imperial funerary rights. But that didn't mean he couldn't at least visit the Imperial shrine.

"My first boy wasn't much bigger," Drusilla said.

She had been passing the shrine when she noticed Jarok on his knees. Drusilla wasn't sure if it was morbid curiosity or a sense of the shared grief of losing a child (something she had experienced often) that drew her to this place.

"He lived for four days," she went on.

A strange feeling gripped her.

Is this remorse?

The whore and her bastard were now gone. They were no longer a threat.

But this infant? This tiny bundle that had never so much as taken a single breath? That would never know the feel of sunshine?

Drusilla had cursed this child. She had prayed to The Divine Shadow to take it away.

Drusilla had buried all of her own sons. She knew there was no greater pain. For once, Drusilla understood Tasha's grief.

Drusilla also knew exactly what it felt like to have Morak dismiss that grief, to refuse to even acknowledge it.

"Take the child to her," Drusilla ordered, in spite of her deep resentment for Tasha. "No mother should have to know this pain."

Jarok said little as he handed over the body of Tasha's boy. Though he did instruct Richard and Tasha that they should handle any arrangements with haste.

A silent understanding came with that instruction.

Morak didn't know.

Tasha caught Jarok's hand on the way out.

"Thank you," she said in earnest.

Jarok wasn't sure what to say.

"I have heard that sometimes your people lay your dead to rest in the sea. If that is case, I suggest you wait until dark," Jarok advised.

Tasha smiled as she stroked her son's face.

"That's alright. This little one's going under a blanket of stars," Tasha said.

Richard went alone with Tasha after dark. They took Sela with them as Tasha thought it may be the only chance she would ever have to show Sela the way of her Turkanan ancestors.

Richard took her out to a spot along the coastline that overlooked the Apnex Sea. They climbed up the rocky shoreline until they reached a spot marked by a cairn. It had been built ages ago by the prisoners.

They left handwritten notes for loved ones, prayers scrawled on rocks, and personal possessions that they wanted to shed in order to try and forget their lives before.

A place of both remembrances and goodbyes.

"You can see a whole sea of stars from here," Richard said.

He then recalled an important memory from their time on Narendra.

"The moon is out tonight," Richard assured her.

It was a lovely sliver of a moon – slim but bright. The clouds had cleared up enough that it peeked out from behind the shadow of a great fluffy, grey cloud above the ocean.

Tasha knelt down near the cairn. She carefully swaddled her boy and then pulled him back into her arms. Then she kissed the wisp of dark hair atop his head.

As she whispered to him, Tasha checked to ensure his face would have a clear view of the moon above.

The process was confusing for Sela. Tasha had struggled to put her grief to words - though she found a strange sense of comfort in breaking it down to a toddler's level.

"The baby wasn't healthy like you. He got sick and died," Tasha said.

"Like night night?" Sela asked.

She didn't understand.

"No. Not like sleeping," Tasha answered. "The baby died, Tuula. We must say goodbye now."

"Why?" Sela asked for the fourteenth time.

Tasha pulled her daughter in close.

"It's time to say goodbye. We'll do it together, okay?" Tasha asked.

Tasha started to repeat the same words Richard had heard her whisper earlier in her quarters. At the time, he thought it was a prayer.

Now he understood it was a farewell.

"Loo-num… ay… ree… oh-" Sela said.

She was copying mum and doing her best to sound it out.

Richard glanced around to ensure they weren't followed. Then he knelt down behind Tasha to join her and Sela, squeezing her shoulder for support as they both did their best to repeat after Tasha.

"Do you see the stars?" Tasha asked Sela.

"Shiny," she replied, pointing at the sky.

"That's where the baby is now, sweetie. And whenever you want to see the baby, you just look up at the stars, alright?" Tasha explained as she swallowed down her own sorrow.

She couldn't see them.

But sometimes, every once in a while, Tasha could swear she felt moonlight.

An hour later, Tasha and Sela were tucked into bed on a makeshift mattress. Sela was tired and hungry, covered in bites, and freezing down to the bone.

"Scratchy!" she complained as she squirmed and readjusted her position.

Again.

She huffed and flopped onto her back.

"We go home now, mummy?" she sniffled.

"This is our home now, Tuula," Tasha said.

It was partially true. They were living in the shack that belonged to Richard. He lived in one of the longer shacks with several of the other men.

Richard had tried to negotiate a space for Tasha in the bunkhouse with most of the other women. It was guarded and considerably warmer.

But they had refused to allow Tasha access.

"Ow! The princess said. For even under all those mattresses stacked as high as the eye could see – she could feel that there was something in her bed," Richard said.

He tickled Sela, earning a laugh.

"And then everyone knew that she was a real princess. She married the prince. They lived happily ever after. And the pea was tucked away in the royal treasury where no one, not even a tiny little mouse, could find it," Richard concluded.

Sela listened with rap attention to this new bedtime story.

She'd been fussy ever since crawling in next to mum. Sela's sensitive skin wasn't accustomed to roughing it. In the big house, she'd had only the finest sheets. Even her baby clothes were made from Tholian silk.

Richard had been reminded of the story of The Princess and the Pea and thought it would help Sela fall asleep.

"It's time for bed," Tasha said in a stern voice.

Sela's brow furrowed.

She fidgeted and climbed down to peek under the makeshift mattress. It was stuffed with moss and straw.

"What's wrong?" Richard asked.

"No pea," Sela said with a small shrug.

To a child, it was only logically that a pea would be responsible for her discomfort now that Richard had shared this fairytale.

Richard chuckled and ruffled her hair.

"No pea," he agreed.

He scooped her up and tucked her back into bed.

"But you are my little princess, Lala," he assured her.

He handed Sela the only soft toy Tasha had managed to snag before being thrown out. Sela pushed it away.

"Baby doll," she said.

She loved her dolly. Tasha kicked herself that she hadn't been fast enough to grab it.

"Tonight, Kitty wants to snuggle with you," Richard said, handing it back.

He hoped to convince Sela to accept it without protest. The last thing Tasha needed was a fight.

Sela scowled and chucked the stuffed toy across the room.

"Baby doll," she insisted.

It would be another hour before Sela cried herself to sleep in mum's arms. Her stubborn, strong-willed little lass had even refused to feed without her baby doll.

Tasha was exhausted.

Richard stayed with both of them until Sela was asleep.

As soon as Sela was safely asleep, Richard checked to ensure they were alone. It was late and the others were fast asleep. The Romulan patrol would be by twice more before dawn to do a bed check.

But for the moment, they were alone.

"Do you want to talk about him?" Richard asked.

Tasha had been forced to bury her grief.

"I want to tell myself that this is for the best. What kind of life would he have known?" Tasha pondered aloud.

Tasha didn't want Sela to grow up in that world either. She wanted her daughter to be softer than she had to be. Most of all, Tasha longed to take her away to a place where Sela could simply be a child.

Where she didn't have to scurry away in terror when her father arrived.

"He will never have to know his father's cruelty," Tasha said. "But I wish he would have known – even for a moment – how much I love him."

"I am sure he does. Have you considered naming him?" Richard suggested.

Tasha had already done so. A sense of relief came from naming him.

Kodlak.

It had been her father's name and was special in more ways than one. On Turkana, it was a name that embodied strength.

It was also a term of endearment that parents sometimes used when their ferocious little cubs got too big for the britches.

"What is his name?" Richard asked.

Tasha just smiled and shook her head.

It was one of the many things she had whispered to her boy during their moment alone along the coast.

"I'm sorry. I can't," she said, alluding to the Turkanan custom for stillborn children. "It's a secret between my baby, me, and the moon."

In the weeks since Tasha's dismissal, Morak had poured himself into religious devotion. He had always been a spiritual man.

Yet this newfound religious fervour had crossed the line from zealous to neurotic.

He prayed so often that it started to interfere with his duties.

Meals alternated between grand feasts in honour of one long-dead Imperial leader or the next followed by days of fasting.

He donated enormous sums of money to the construction new Imperial shrines. Morak endowed his son's Education House with a new collection of religious texts. They were some of the oldest and most prized philosophical documents on Romulus.

The public adored him.

And Richard saw an opportunity.

Tasha ran her hand through her bangs and smoothed the front of her tunic, doing her best to ignore the whispers that surrounded them.

She was waiting outside Morak's office for an audience. Sela was in her arms.

"You must be good for mummy. Just like we practised," Tasha whispered against her daughter's ear.

The doors flung open, and Richard Castillo ushered them into the room.

Morak visibly startled when he took in Tasha's changed appearance. She was thinner, more drawn that he could recall.

She'd cut her hair again. Short. The same way she'd worn it (and preferred it) before Morak's ridiculously controlling demands. And it was easier to care for with their limited water ration.

For a brief moment, Morak was struck with the memory of the woman that had captivated him at the prisoner camp on Brea III.

Tasha swallowed down the urge to vomit as Morak gripped her chin. She reminded herself that she was here for her daughter's sake.

Come to beg.

"Divines, what have they done to you?" Morak remarked "Speak."

"I… I can't feed her," Tasha confessed.

Tasha was humiliated.

She felt like she had failed as a mother – no matter how often Richard assured her that was not the case.

"I see," Morak said as he loomed over them.

"You once said that you wished for her to-"

Tasha paused. She could barely bring herself to say the words.

For Sela. Tasha reminded herself.

"I would beg that you please take her into your sister's home for a traditional Romulan upbringing," Tasha managed to choke out.

The words felt foul. She didn't want to be parted from her daughter. But neither could Tasha go on listening to Sela's cries of hunger or living in fear of what the other prisoners might do to her.

"The upbringing you wished for. The one I begged you to reconsider," Tasha said with surprising composure. "I was wrong. I was so very wrong."

It was tradition for Romulan children to be raised away from the mother.

"She's a child. She's your child. And I can't protect her," Tasha said. "She's shunned by everyone for who she is."

She reached for Sela's arm. Tasha rolled up her sleeve to show Morak the burn.

"She's been lashed," Tasha said, hoping to appeal to his newfound sense of piety.

Morak's temper flashed for a brief moment. He was outraged by the thought that a lowly uhlan would dare raise a hand to a child of his bloodline.

Sela was a bastard.

But she was an aristocratic bastard.

He gripped Sela's face to get a look at her.

Morak hissed in pain. Sela growled and glared up at her father.

"I did like you said, mummy. I bite," Sela said, bursting with pride.

Tasha's hopes crumbled. In the corner of the room, Richard held his breath.

Yes, Tasha and Sela had practised that too. Tasha had told Sela that if anyone tried to pick her up aside from the men in the shack, Sela was to bite them.

Hard.

Morak chuckled as he shook his poor finger. To Tasha's stunned relief, Morak was impressed.

"Look at me child," Morak ordered.

Sela blinked up at her father.

For the first time in a long while, Morak actually took the time to give this child more than a passing glance.

Since the disappointment of her birth, Morak had seen Sela for two things only – she was a way to control Tasha and a routine hindrance to her duties as a consort.

Morak had never paid Sela much mind beyond that.

He had planned for Tasha to give him more children, children that would be far more Romulan and likely to survive than this chubby blonde human-esque lamb.

Yet where he had once seen nothing but softness, now Morak saw something else.

The same blue eyes.

The same look of fierce determination.

"So like your mother, aren't you?" Morak remarked.

Morak had rejected Tasha's offer. He was concerned that it would offend the divines were he to petition for Sela's legitimacy.

Instead, Morak would ensure a food and fuel ration for Sela. They would be moved into a shack of their own – the best one available.

It meant displacing several other prisoners and only served to further the resentment most of the camp held for Tasha.

First in line for ration distribution. First in line for the bathhouse.

A double water allotment.

Most importantly, Tasha had secured a promise that none of the guards would ever again lay a hand on Sela.

And if the prisoners touched her – they were to be hanged.

Tasha was more of a pariah than ever. But it was a small price to pay for improving Sela's station.

Morak also assigned a guard to stand watch outside of Tasha's bunkhouse.

But as Tasha soon learned, the guards had very little interest in stopping the other prisoners from tormenting her.

They were quick to look the other way when it came to taunting and threats.

Tasha was brushing Sela's hair when Brown and his posse strolled in. The guards let them walk right past.

"Whore," one of them called out.

"How's the little vampire? Learning to be a good little consort like mum?" another said, taunting Sela.

"Maybe if you sucked his cock better we'd all get a bigger food ration, eh?" Brown asked.

The men whooped and hollered, making rude gestures that frightened Sela. Tasha covered her daughter's ears and waited for Brown to get on with it.

Tasha had learned it was all over much faster if she didn't acknowledge them.

"Tell me, luv. Is it harder working out here with us or on your knees all day for him?" Brown went on.

Tasha's lips thinned.

"Aww, does the General's little tart have something to say?" Brown taunted.

"I do. Out," Richard ordered as he stepped inside.

Brown stepped in front of Richard in an attempt to intimidate him. He may have been smaller than Castillo, but Brown had numbers on his side.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Generals lapdog," Brown spat.

"Out," Richard repeated.

Brown scoffed.

"And just what are you going to do?" Brown asked.

Castillo leaned in close and locked eyes with Brown.

"I'll go directly to the General and tell him you lot were trying it on," Richard threatened. "Who do you think he's going to believe? Hmm?"

Brown backed off.

"Do you want to wind up like Palmer?" Richard pressed.

The men quickly dispersed.

"You shouldn't have done that," Tasha warned.

Richard was quick to dismiss her concern.

"I mean it. They're going to call your bluff one of these days. Or do something to you. You can't risk it," Tasha pleaded.

She froze as she felt Richard's presence close to her.

"I would risk everything for you, Tuula," Richard whispered, keeping his voice low to avoid the guards' ears.

2347 | Romulus | Winter

"Obh obh, ahàidh deòir roanjiasch," Tasha sang.

Sela flailed, arching her back as she let out a powerful wail that tore through the encampment.

"Shut that green-blooded banshee up!" shouted one of the men from a nearby shack.

Tasha fought the urge to scream herself.

"Obh obh, sanuti dhut," Tasha sang in a soft voice as she rocked her daughter.

Sela was inconsolable.

Not that Tasha could blame her.

Freezing, hungry, and teething to boot – Sela was miserable.

Tasha was gutted. There was nothing she could do for her girl. In the months since being forced from Morak's favour, Sela had struggled to adjust.

Once she had everything. Now they were reduced to living in squalor.

Even Morak's guarantee of a food and fuel ration for Sela was hardly adequate for a growing child.

When Tasha had first escaped Turkana, she thought she had finally made it. She had no intention to ever have children – Tasha found the whole process traumatising.

But she had poured herself into motherhood, finding solace in caring for Sela.

With her fall from grace, Tasha found her living conditions were not unlike those on Turkana. As the months dragged on, Tasha felt like she was drowning in guilt.

She had a difficult enough time managing with one child – she couldn't begin to fathom how her mother and grandmother managed with all of their children.

Morak's estate was located far from the nearest city. Centuries earlier, his family had selectively chosen the area because there was safety in having such a remote compound.

To the north sat the Apnex sea – a half-frozen, tumultuous body of water that brought cold wind even on the warmest days.

South of the compound were the orchards and fields that fed the estate. It bordered the dense forested land Morak used to hunt game. Beyond was nothing but rough grassland as far as the eye could see.

The nearest Romulan city was thousands of kilometres away. Even if one managed to survive the journey, the elements, and starvation – there was nowhere to escape to.

The city certainly wouldn't accept humans or Klingons.

Prisoners that tried either died of exposure or wandered back humbled by the experience.

The General, his family, and their staff lived in luxury in the grand estate. The Romulan serfs that belonged to Morak were housed in their own building. Their quarters weren't grand – but far above that afforded to the prisoners known as the unrai private.

Slaves.

They lived in crude hovels that had once been home to the Romulan serf labourers that had first built Morak's impressive family estate centuries earlier.

The hovels were small and had only ever been constructed as temporary housing. In the centuries since, they'd been reinforced, expanded, and shored up with whatever the current occupants could find – scrap polymer, tarps, corrugated metal panels, and even wattle and daub patchwork walls.

Theft of food and fuel rations was often overlooked. Fights and gambling were common.

The mental strain of living in such conditions was enough to break anyone. But raising a child in that squalor only added pressure.

Tasha felt awful. She wanted to give Sela the world. Instead, all she had done was trap an innocent girl in this hell.

She couldn't keep Sela warm. She could barely keep her child safe from the normal, everyday dangers like falling and bumping her head – not to mention the possibility Morak could easily change his mind and kill the girl.

As she tried to lull her daughter to sleep, Tasha felt guilty.

She was singing the only lullaby she'd ever known – one that came from a world away. It was her native Turkanan, but the words felt foreign.

The skies on Romulus were grey. There was no moon to watch over her daughter nor stars to kiss her eyelashes. Tasha didn't feel right telling little Sela to fear no darkness.

She couldn't promise her safety.

Sela's face was red. She threw her head back and sobbed as Tasha desperately tried to soothe her.

Richard Castillo pulled aside the heavy woven cloth that covered the open door. It kept the chill out and provided a small semblance of privacy.

For a moment, he stood in the doorway and listened as Tasha sang the hauntingly beautiful lullaby. A small gust of wind swept into the hovel.

"Who's there?" Tasha demanded.

"It's me," Castillo said.

Tasha relaxed.

"You don't have to-" Tasha insisted as Richard took Sela into his arms.

"I want to," Richard assured her.

He knew Tasha felt guilty accepting help. She didn't feel she deserved his kindness.

"I'll be right back, my lady," Richard said as he set Sela down on the floor.

She sat and sobbed, confused why she was being left alone. It was only for a few seconds. But for a young, overwhelmed toddler it felt like an eternity of neglect.

Sela raised her arms, begging to be picked up.

Castillo glanced over at the door to check that they were alone. Then he took Tasha's hand and guided her over to the straw mattress in the corner.

Tasha opened her mouth to protest.

"You don't have to do this alone," Richard said.

He pulled a warm rock from near the fire and wrapped it up in a spare linen. Then he pushed it into Tasha's hand to warm them – just as she'd taught him to on Narendra.

"Let me take this one, Tuula," Richard said.

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and then scooped up Sela. He swaddled her up in the long scarf he wore to keep warm – his only defence against the chill.

"Blue skies smiling at me. Nothing but blue skies do I see," Richard crooned.

He sang as he spun Sela around the room to try and soothe her, holding Sela tight until she cried herself to sleep.

Once her breathing changed and it was safe to move her, Richard tucked Sela into bed next to Tasha.

"Do you ever think we'll get out of here?" Tasha whispered.

"I have to believe we will," Richard replied in a soft voice.

He kissed the top of Sela's head.

"For her," he said.

Shortly after the New Year, Tasha received a strange late night visit.

It was Brown.

And this time he had no smart remarks.

"I have a problem and I was told you may know how to help," Brown said.

Tasha could tell he was frightened by the sound of his voice.

In her short time in the prison camp, Tasha had begun to slowly win over the other prisoners. The Klingons respected her for staunch resilience – ignoring the taunts from Brown and his followers, taking her lashings without complaint.

Tasha tended to the sickest among them. Her skills from Turkana and training in Starfleet field medic operations had equipped her to handle even serious injuries like broken bones and the worst of the lashings.

And her knowledge of natural remedies and creative solutions made her the go-to person when one fell ill.

Prisoners that were sick for more than three days were moved to a bunkhouse and left to die. Some recovered. Most never emerged.

But with Tasha's care, those numbers had changed dramatically.

It ate up a considerable amount of time. But Tasha considered it was a safer option. Sela liked to be with Richard in the evening after spending all day with mum.

It was the only part of her routine where they could offer Sela a sense of normalcy.

And it was safer for all of them if Tasha and Richard limited their time around one another. They were still concerned about showing too much familiarity. Morak's charge for Richard to look after them provided some leeway.

But if Tasha was being honest with herself, she was afraid that she would slip up.

It was hard to be around Richard and know that she could not act on those feelings.

"I know I haven't always been kind to you," Brown acknowledged.

"What's wrong, Mr Brown?" Tasha asked.

Straight to business. That was her style.

"I um, well you know Tilara? She's the one that works up in the kitchens," Brown stammered.

Tasha knew of whom he spoke. She was a young human serf that had been bound to serve Morak's estate since her birth in this very camp. Her parents had been captured from a non-Federation human colony years before.

"We um… we thought we were being careful," Brown went on.

He shifted nervously from one foot to the other. He cleared his throat.

"She's in trouble. In the family way," Brown said.

"She's pregnant?" Tasha asked to clarify.

"Yes," Brown answered.

Though sexual relationships and intimacy were forbidden among prisoners, there were still some that risked flouting those rules.

Tasha couldn't begrudge them - it was a cold and lonely existence in the camp. She thought it was wonderful for anyone that could find solace with another.

"I don't know where else to go," Brown confessed. "If they find out-"

Tasha put her hand up to stop him.

"Of course. You don't have to explain," Tasha said.

Tasha walked him through a list of ingredients that Brown would need to collect. She advised where he could find them and what Tilara would need to smuggle out from the kitchens.

"Have her bring them to me here," Tasha instructed.

"I'll stop with them as soon as I have it all," Brown replied.

Tasha shook her head.

"No. I need to speak with her," Tasha said. "Alone."

"You don't trust me," Brown said.

"I don't intend to try and talk her out of this. That's her decision. But I have some questions only she can answer. And it's important that she know what to expect," Tasha explained.

Brown understood. After thanking Tasha, he turned to go.

He stopped just shy of the door.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

Brown turned back and scratched the back of his head in confusion.

"I mean, that's it? No snappy comeback? No word of 'I told you so?' Nothing. Just like that?" Brown asked.

He didn't understand. This was Tasha's chance to hold it over him.

She could have demanded he offer something in exchange. She would have been well within her rights to refuse his request.

Brown had hounded her for years. He'd made her life miserable. Hell, he'd been the primary instigator when it came to venom the others spewed at Sela.

"No, Mr Brown. That is all," Tasha assured him softly.

Brown was so distraught about the possibility that both he and Tilara would face hanging if they were to be caught that he experienced a rare moment of conscience.

"I'd feel a lot better if you got it off your chest. I'm sure there's more than a few things you could say," Brown said. "You don't even want to demand my food ration?"

"I would never do that, Mr Brown," Tasha said.

Brown was stunned.

"Why are you helping me?" Brown demanded.

Tasha paused.

As if on cue, Sela stirred in her sleep and rolled over. Tasha was sitting on the edge of the bed. Sela was directly behind her.

"Because I know what it means to have a child in this place," Tasha confessed.

She reached back to caress her daughter's hand. Sela's fingers clutched at mum.

"She's just like a little girl, isn't she?" Brown pondered aloud.

"She is a little girl," Tasha said, correcting him.

Brown instantly regretted his choice of words.

"You know, I thought living here, working with the other prisoners and serfs, that you would come to understand being a Romulan does not make one an oppressor," Tasha said.

Most of the Romulan population on Morak's estate was just as trapped as the rest of them.

"And her?" Tasha went on. "She is neither Romulan enough nor human enough for any of you."

Tasha's face flushed. It was hard to control her temper when her daughter was in question.

"She is shunned by all of you simply for who she is, for circumstances that are beyond her control. And she will grow up rejected by her father and scorned by those who swore an oath to seek out new life," Tasha continued. "Because of what? The colour of her blood?"

Brown fell silent.

"So no, Mr Brown. I would never mock you for being afraid to bring a child into this hell. And I am so glad that you came to me – I truly am," Tasha said. "Because I would do anything to ensure that no one ever has to endure what my little girl has to live every single day."

That night when Tasha finally retired to bed, she curled up tight next to Sela.

Sela flinched and rubbed her eyes.

"Mummy?" she asked.

"I'm right here," Tasha assured her.

"I had a scary dream, mummy," Sela whined.

Tasha pulled Sela into a warm embrace, offering soothing words and shoulder to cry on until Sela calmed down.

Eventually, tears gave way to a giggle. Tasha grinned and tickled Sela's sides. She laughed and laughed until her stomach hurt.

Tasha lifted her into the air before bringing her down to nuzzle her nose.

"I've got you now," she said, holding Sela tight.

"I get you, mummy," Sela replied.

She scrambled out of mum's grip.

"Mwaah!" she said, planting a sloppy kiss on mum's face.

Then Sela flopped down and snuggled in close.

"You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you, Sela," Tasha said.

She kissed the top of her daughter's head.

"I love you, mummy," Sela replied in a tiny voice.

It was rare for the prisoners to get a break.

On occasion, their duties were reduced on certain Romulan Imperial Religious holidays or for official state celebrations.

Once in a great while the weather was so severe they were forced to call off work or risk death.

And the great snowstorm that blew in that year was just bad enough to warrant such a stop.

The guards were all huddled inside their own bunkhouse. No one was going to risk escape in these conditions.

Tasha had bundled Sela up as best she could. Richard had braved the storm to escort them back to his hovel.

It would be far warmer and safer for Tasha and Sela to sleep there with the rest of them than risk freezing to death overnight.

Some of the other prisoners had joined too and the shack was crowded.

But by cramming in together, they could conserve fuel and hopefully make it through the night.

Stew was shared and stories were swapped.

Ahn, the oldest among them, told an interesting tale of his time before open conflict with the Federation.

"I was part of the Klingon Defence Force then. So young I could barely grow a beard," Ahn recounted in his great, booming voice.

He'd been stationed on a ship that was assigned to patrol a disputed area of space.

"We were so desperate for shore leave. Six months on that ship without so much as a seventy-two hour layover," Ahn went on.

He leaned in close over the fire, resting his arm on his knee.

"We finally got permission to stop at station K-7 and when we arrive, the Federation requires we have an escort and limits how many of us can be there at a time," Ahn explained. "So, as you can imagine, it was pretty competitive."

"What happened?" Roosevelt asked.

Ahn paused to take a drink of his tea.

It wasn't really tea – just some boiled herbs that tasted a hint better than water alone.

"If you can believe it, we stopped at a pub with worse swill than this," Ahn went on. "No Raktajino. No bloodwine. Starfleet officers everywhere."

His comment was said with more than a hint of playful banter.

"And some fool selling Tribbles," Ahn said.

The Klingons present groaned in disapproval.

"The whole trip was a bust. But it was worth it for one thing," Ahn said.

He paused for dramatic effect.

"I saw the Captain James T. Kirk in person," Ahn said.

Everyone (Starfleet officers and Klingons alike) blinked in confusion. It seemed odd that Ahn would care at all about the chance to see Kirk – especially given the history between Kirk and the Klingon Empire.

"You wanted to see Kirk?" Roosevelt asked, voicing the question that was on everyone's mind.

Ahn chuckled.

"Not really. But it made for a good story in the years that followed," Ahn explained. "I always remembered that and told everyone I knew because it was a reminder that Kirk was just a man."

Ahn smirked.

"A short, fat man," Ahn concluded.

Everyone roared with laughter. Ahn's great Klingon belly laugh filled the room. Even the Starfleet personnel present found it amusing.

Kirk was so highly revered in certain circles (and controversial in others) it was refreshing to hear a story where Kirk wasn't the dashing hero everyone made him out to be.

"Now it is your turn," Ahn said as he lifted his glass to Richard.

Richard turned toward Tasha. He gently touched the inside of her leg to indicate he was there.

"Tasha has the best stories," Richard said.

"Oh, I don't really-"

"Story?" Sela asked hopefully.

"Alright," Tasha agreed.

Sela settled in on Tasha's lap, lounging back against mum as Tasha launched into one of her favourite stories from childhood.

"How about something funny?" Arandev suggested, hoping to lighten the mood.

"The stories from my homeworld have little humour," Tasha said.

"A love story then," Ahn requested.

In the short time she had come to know these Klingons, Tasha had discovered they were deeply invested in romantic literature and poetry.

"I am afraid our stories of love all end in tragedy," Tasha confessed.

Tasha knew many stories full of love.

The Widow and the Fisherman.

Dehus and Idunn.

The Folly of Cerensa.

Yes. Tasha knew all of these stories and more. And all of them ended with lovers torn apart or separated.

Or death.

There were no happy endings on Turkana IV.

Even the most famous love story in her culture, the tale of Seridia and Kieran, was the very legend that spawned the custom of the 'Dark Bond.'

As Tasha ran through the list of stories in her mind, she smiled.

"Well, there is one that's not entirely sad," Tasha said.

She bit her lip and grinned.

"This is the story of the eagle and the fuadwyn crwydnog," Tasha began.

"Bless you," Roosevelt said, teasing her.

Everyone laughed.

"What is this fowd-" Ghost trailed off as he tried to wrap his mouth around such a strange word.

"Loosely translated it means hungry wanderer," Tasha explained.

She described the animal for the rest of them. The fuadwyn crwydnog was a common animal on the dusty plains of Turkana's central region.

Most people simply called it the crwydnog for short.

"It's not quite a dog or a wolf – but similar. They have a sort of reddish fur that lightens in the warm months," Tasha went on.

"Like a fox?" Ghost asked.

"No. Bigger," Tasha replied.

She racked her brain to find the right word to compare it to a creature on Earth.

"Legend says he was a trickster that liked to smile," Tasha said.

"A coyote," Richard offered.

"Yeah," Tasha answered with a smile.

A coyote.

"Well, this coyote was clever. Very clever. But no matter what he did, he was always hungry," Tasha continued. "Wandering place to place in search of food until one day-"

Tasha paused.

"One day he saw a great shadow pass on the ground – like an eclipse. And when he looked up, this coyote saw a brilliant blazing eagle with wings of fire," Tasha said.

The Klingons roared. Sodan wiped tears from his eyes as he collapsed against Ahn in a fit of laughter.

"A bird on fire!" he chuckled. "He would eat the burned meat of a bird?"

"No joke. That eagle was Nastasiyla. She's a great, golden eagle that once fell from the sky and was reborn in flames," Tasha explained. "She was ridden by the warrior, Sela-"

Sela perked up in Tasha's lap.

"Me! Me, mummy. I Sela," she insisted.

"Yes. Yes you are," Tasha assured her.

Sela beamed as mum kissed the tip of her nose.

"Sela rode her into a battle against her brother. And it was Nastasiyla that carried Sela to safety after they stole fire to give it to humans," Tasha went on. "You see, that's what Coyote was after. He knew humans used fire for cooking. It kept them safe. And warm."

Ahn frowned.

"Then he did not want to eat the burned bird?" Ahn asked, confused.

Tasha giggled.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "He wanted to capture her so she would share the secret of fire with him but then-"

Tasha paused.

"Coyote laid a great trap, and he did indeed succeed in capturing Nastasiyla in a cave," Tasha said.

She went on to explain that the coyote was disappointed.

"But when she was captured, he found there was no fire. Her golden wings no longer blazed like they once had in the sun," Tasha continued.

Her expression changed.

"Her spark went out because she could not bear captivity," Tasha said.

That hit too close to home.

A tense silence descended onto the prisoners huddled around the fire. For several seconds, there was no sound save for the crackling flames and the howl of the wind.

"The coyote saw how sad she was. And it broke his heart. So, he brought her stone from the river. It was washed smooth and very shiny for he knew that eagles sometimes liked shiny things," Tasha continued.

She shook her head.

"But Nastasiyla did not want pretty stones. Next, he brought her a blanket that he stole from the humans because he thought she would want a soft nest," Tasha recounted.

Her grandmother used to wrap her up at that point in a blanket of her own. Tasha was grateful Sela was wrapped tight like a little bean already. Just the top of her head was poking out and she had been surprisingly well-behaved in spite of the chill.

"And though it was beautiful and bright with lovely woven colours, Nastasiyla would not light her wings," Tasha said.

Richard could not ignore the obvious parallels between Tasha's own circumstances and that of her namesake.

"Finally, coyote brought her seeds and laid them down beside her. For he knew that birds sometimes like seeds. But Nastasiyla would not eat them. She turned away and covered her head with her wings to hide from the world, for she felt great shame," Tasha said.

Tasha knew she was wading into a sensitive topic given men like Ahn and Sodan that were present.

"Nastasiyla was the companion of a great warrior. And as an eagle, she was meant to fly free. Untamed," Tasha said.

During the darkest depths of her time at the prison camp, Tasha had clung to this story. When Morak called her his 'songbird' Tasha had reminded herself that she was an eagle.

A warrior.

"Then coyote brought her a snake," Tasha shared. "It was the greatest gift he could give her. Coyote had not eaten in many days. But neither had Nastasiyla and the coyote was so sad to see her hurting."

It was a notion that struck a chord with all the prisoners.

"The coyote told her that he would give her anything to bring back her fire – including his own food," Tasha said.

Due to scarcity, there was no greater act of love than sharing a meal on Turkana.

"Nastasiyla told him that there was only one thing she wanted and that was to return to the sky," Tasha said.

"And did she?" Roosevelt asked.

Tasha grinned.

"She did. The coyote reluctantly allowed her to leave because he could not bear to know he was the cause of her pain," Tasha answered.

Tasha paused as Sela shifted in her lap.

"Comfy?" Tasha asked.

"Uh huh," Sela replied as she rested back against mum.

"Well then, on her way out of the cave, Nastasiyla's wings started to glow. Her spark had returned. And as soon as she stepped into the sunlight, those glowing embers ignited," Tasha said.

She explained that Nastasiyla offered to teach coyote the secret of fire to thank him for releasing her.

"But he didn't want it anymore," Tasha said. "He felt terrible for capturing her. He did not mean to harm her. And she understood that the coyote was only trying to survive."

Tasha sighed.

"The coyote was very sad. He did not want to say goodbye because he had fallen in love," Tasha went on. "And he was very sorry to see her go because that meant he would be alone."

Ahn cleared his throat to hide the fact his beard was wet. Vil Arandev wiped his eyes. Roosevelt murmured something about dust in the air.

Richard sat perfectly still from his spot in the corner as he listened.

"And the eagle confessed that a part of her would like to stay. In my culture, the significance of sharing a meal represents the greatest act of love," Tasha shared.

She flashed them all a sad smile.

"They were destined to be apart. Nastasiyla knew they could never be together. The coyote could not fly, and she could not stand to be parted from the sky," Tasha continued.

Destined to be apart.

Richard had never before found himself connected so deeply to a character in a children's story.

And it stung.

"But the next day the coyote left his den and a snake dropped from the sky. Then the next day, another snake dropped from the sky. And the coyote thought it was strange because it could not rain snakes," Tasha said.

Tasha grinned.

"For even though they could not be together, Nastasiyla never forgot the coyote nor his kindness," Tasha said. "And she did not want him to be hungry."

"I hungry, mummy," Sela interjected.

Tasha chuckled.

"You're always hungry," Tasha said fondly as she kissed Sela's cheek.

It was time to feed Sela. She'd been so good during the stories, and it was fast approaching her bedtime.

"And so, for the rest of his days, the coyote continued to wander. But he was no longer hungry. And every once in a while he would feel a shadow pass overhead. They say the coyote got his smile because he knew that his love was free to fly," Tasha concluded.

Sela burst out of her wrap and threw her arms up in the air.

"I fly too!" she declared.

She jumped off Tasha's lap and into the waiting arms of Ahn. He lifted her high overhead as she stretched her arms out. He tossed Sela into the air.

She laughed and laughed until her rumbling stomach won out.

"The great eagle," Ahn said as he caught Sela.

Sela scowled and shook her head.

"No. I baby," Sela asserted.

Richard scooped up Sela and returned her to Tasha so she could feed.

"You are my baby," Tasha said.

She brushed Sela's hair as she fed.

"Promise you'll stay my baby? Always?" Tasha asked.

Present

It was nearly 03:00 and Ten Forward was abandoned save for the two men sharing a bottle of whisky in the far corner.

"Then this child-" Picard began to say.

A strange, sad look crossed Castillo's face.

"Sela," he said.

"Sela?" Picard inquired.

"You can't tell her that," Richard said suddenly. "You must never tell her that."

Richard knew how important Sela was to Tasha – both the child and the name. He did not want to disrupt this timeline in any way.

This Tasha Yar was different.

Though his Tasha had ben terrified by the prospect of ever having children, Richard didn't want to assume the same for this timeline.

And he certainly didn't want to ruin something Tasha held so dear.

"She was such a bright, sweet child," Richard explained.

"Was?" Picard prompted.

His expression hardened.

"Now she's dead," Castillo said.

His lip began to quiver. Moisture pricked at the corner of his eyes.

"I promised her mother that I would watch over her. I promised I would save her," Castillo sniffled. "That I would get her out of there. Away from Morak."

Jean-Luc handed him a handkerchief and Richard paused to blow his nose.

"Then she was as much as a prisoner as the rest of you?" Picard pried.

Richard's head moved back and forth.

"I don't think she ever had the chance to be anything other than General Morak's heir. She tried so hard to please her father because she knew her survival depended on it," Richard shared.

It all felt so unfair.

Sela had been both witness to and subjected to abuse at the hands of her father. Richard suspected the emotional turmoil of witnessing her mother's murder had somehow fractured Sela's psyche as a child.

Richard knew it had disturbed him – and he didn't think there was anything left that could give him nightmares at that point.

"How did it happen?" Picard inquired.

Richard dropped his gaze to his lap.

"We were pursued by a Viper-class ship. It was her," Castillo said.

It hurt to acknowledge that she was really gone. With everything that had happened in the last few days, Richard had barely had time to process.

"We took a vote. I lost," Richard answered simply.

"Then she fired on you. She was part of her father's-"

Castillo put his hand up to stop the Captain.

"She was just a child. A confused, lonely child," Richard continued.

His shoulders slumped.

"It wasn't easy for her. Half human, half Romulan. Raised by two of the coldest, cruellest people you can imagine," Richard went on. "They beat every sense of sweet child from that girl. Moulded her into this image of a model Romulan."

Castillo grimaced.

"Her expected public persona became who she was. Because if she failed then she could easily wind up like her mother," Castillo said. "I think that fear is what kept her under her father's thumb all these years."

2348 | Romulus

Richard Castillo walked as fast as he could down the corridor that led to the side entrance to the big house.

He didn't want to run in the house for fear of drawing attention – but he needed to reach the camp quickly.

As soon as he was free of the courtyard, Castillo burst into a sprint. He flew past the guards and the prisoners that were washing their clothes in the public area.

"Where is she?" he huffed.

"Orchard today," Roosevelt answered.

Richard took off again. His lungs were on fire. But there was nothing that could stop him from reaching Tasha to warn her.

Morak's heir was dead.

Tasha was in the orchard with Sela. They had been assigned to work there for the day picking the first of the kindten. They were a small, tasty fruit used for all sorts of dishes.

The humans called them 'frost plums.'

Tasha was singing softly as she worked.

"Dat one, mummy," Sela said, pointing out their next target. "Up. No. Too high!"

Sela cheered when mum found the fruit. Tasha handed it over to her daughter.

"Can you put it in the basket, please?" Tasha asked.

Sela dropped it in. She was at the age where she loved being mum's little helper. Tasha only hoped that it would last. It wouldn't be long before Sela was too big for Tasha to carry in a sling all day.

"I did a good job, mummy," Sela announced.

Tasha grinned.

"Yes. Yes you did, baby," Tasha replied.

Tasha heard someone approaching fast. She instinctively clutched Sela tight.

"Lilo!" Sela called out.

Richard stopped. His chest was tight and heaving. He threw his hands up overhead in an effort to breathe better so that he might speak.

"Morak," Castillo choked out.

He could barely speak.

"Heir. Dead."

Richard gasped for air.

"His son… is dead," Richard panted.

Tasha's blood ran cold.

"No. N-n-n-no. No. This can't happen. No," Tasha stammered in disbelief.

She knew what that meant.

They were coming for Sela.