It was the luncheon again before my tears finally stopped falling, and not one moment had passed that Seribelle had been away from my side. She was most attentive, which, had it been earlier, I would have taken offense to. Right now, I clung to this closeness, and I allowed her to guide me towards my rooms again. She suggested we take our meal on a tray there and talk.

I didn't know if she'd meant talk about my late husband or talk about our plans, but it hardly mattered at that point. I needed to talk, and she knew it. The conversation began with plans, but swiftly shifted.

"Are you sure you are able to do this, Ine? I mean, what with him gone…" Seribelle asked me this as she shut the door behind her. She'd managed this without turning to face the door, a feat I was no longer capable of.

"No, but I have to. For…"

"For him." She said that in unison with me, and I found myself nodding in agreement. By now I'd wept so long that my eyes were puffy and red. The funeral was to be in the requisite three days, as tradition dictated. Danio's bed was now lined with packets of herbs, meant to ward off spirits and bad odours as he lay for viewing. I knew that as Seribelle and I forced food down our throats, servants would be cleaning and dressing his body to make it more acceptable for the public eye.

Danio had been well-loved as a king, though his radical opinions had left too many people, including his chief advisor, cold. There would be many coming to view him and bid him farewell. Amongst them were his friends as well as his enemies, so I felt that I should be there.

Seribelle had already tried to convince me otherwise, of course, but I overruled her. Rank sometimes does have its privileges. She was only the daughter of a local Baron, while I was the Princess, and the late King's wife. And potentially the mother of the next King, should the child be born male. But it wouldn't be male, I knew. I had that feeling that pregnant mothers sometimes get.

"I need to look at the library," I said. My voice seemed distant, definitely not within my own body. I lifted my hand to tuck a strand of brown behind my ear, and continued. "I have to find out if there's anything the…his…" I swallowed hard, fighting back more tears. "I need to find out if the murderer left anything behind."

"You know the guard and his advisors won't let you," Seribelle said as she gazed at me with those greenish-blue eyes. She seemed lost in that one moment, and grief or no grief, I felt it was my turn to act strong.

"Then you'll stand guard outside. It is my home, and I will go where I will. Can you divert people from the room for a period of time?" My jaw hurt from clenching it, but it was the only way I could keep my emotions from taking control again.

"Not long, but I can try." Seribelle nodded, then stood swiftly, answering the door. Neither one of us spoke as the food was carried in and laid out on my little table. I was standing still and had begun to walk to the food when the door shut and we were again alone. My fingers plucked at one of the sweet rolls, but I found it difficult to raise to my lips.

Sometimes silence is golden, but at other times it is a curse. This time, it was a curse. It was the fault of the quiet that I began to talk about Danio, about how we had met, how he'd seen the brash Duke's daughter on her knees in the garden. How he'd touched my shoulder so gently, and didn't seem to care that I had dirt striped across my freckled nose. I told Seribelle about the night he proposed to me, and how stunned I was that he could want someone as plain as I was to be his wife.

"You're not plain," Seribelle protested, breaking my reverie. I hadn't noticed that my tears had betrayed me again, and were quietly working their way down my cheeks.

I gave her a look, but for the first time in my life, I was out-stared. Seribelle kept surprising me. I began to wonder why I'd ever disliked the chit in the first place. Then I looked down at my hands, saw the five marks where the needles had imbedded in my skin the night before, and remembered. It was her needlework. I had been jealous of her…of her stitchery and of her beauty. I began to wonder why it is that tragedy as horrible as what I'd undergone is the only way to open some people's eyes to truth.

"I…" The words didn't want to part from my lips, so I tried to go back to the planning. "Did you hear any details from the other girls?" Though Seribelle was constantly with me, I had three other girls who helped out, just as my husband had a few boys in his service to aid him in his daily procedures.

Seribelle glanced at me, an odd expression on her face as she glided towards my armoire to grab a darker shawl for me. "They haven't found the weapon." Her eyes narrowed, and a small frown graced her lips. "You were telling me how he proposed to you."

All this time, the baby within me remained silent. I even felt warmth from within during the time I spoke of Danio, and the memories I had with him. It seemed to me, in an esoteric way, that she was approving of my speech and activity. I wondered how the baby would feel about our investigations. I also wanted to know if she felt my loss as strongly as I did. If she felt her own loss, though she would never know there was a loss. "He was so demanding," I said, forcing a tiny smile to my lips which grew as the warm feeling increased. "He proposed to me in the middle of the ballroom, in front of thousands of witnesses." Seribelle's eyes widened, then she giggled. She actually giggled.

"So you'd not be able to say no, and retain your dignity."

"Exactly." I nodded, then glanced at the door. "Are you ready?" My fingers traced a pattern on the arm of the chair, and I kept my eyes down. Seribelle had wandered to the window, her motions less spritely than they usually were. She closed them as she responded.

"No," she said. "I want to see if we can think of who might have done it." She swirled around to give me a small smile, then returned to her chair. "Who would want Danio dead?"

I paused, my brows creasing with the strain of thought. "His advisor and he never got along," I began. I tilted my head back, and saw a lone spider crawl across the ceiling. My finger waggled in her direction as I continued. "There's his second cousin, as well. I turned down his proposal a year before accepting Danio's." As I spoke, Seribelle had again stood, and she had slipped the candle snuffer into her fingers. She stretched up and used the end of it to crush the loathsome bug.

"And there's his brother." My voice went as cold as my gut.

"Jameson never seemed to be the sort who would…" I detected a glint of worry in Seribelle's eyes. It was mingled with something I recognized, something I felt when Danio gave me my first handful of roses. I bit my lower lip and let her finish her comment. "He couldn't have. He's a good man."

"Of course. But those are the only three who I can think of." I began to push myself out of the too-comfortable chair. Seribelle placed the snuffer upon the silver tray for the maid to remove with the dishes. Even in efficiency, that girl managed to be perfect.

Decorum isn't my specialty.

I will never sit on a throne well, wave the proper wave, wear the right ballroom gown, or say the right thing to make the crowds adore me. I'm too blunt, and it is this severe desire to speak the truth that both gets me into trouble and provides me the greatest source of personal pride I can lay claim to.

I can not say the same thing for dear, precious Seribelle. A fragile little daisy, she spends half of her time plucking at those infernal embroidery threads, and the other half of her time primping her delicate auburn locks. She's built for it, though. One glance at those fingers and you knew she was a master with the needle.

All of this made it even more infuriating that I was the one expected to play with that spindle, needle, and thread. Golden strands, silver strands…what a waste I found it all to be!

Even as I entered the sun room, Seribelle sat beside one of the windows, stitching some pattern into the first garment my newborn will wear. The room was laden with gifts for young whatever-her-name-would-be. I scowled at them, having resented the celebration my dear husband had thrust upon me. Call me practical, but I would prefer to see the child survive birth before seeing the gifts. It didn't help that they all assumed the child was a boy while I knew, deep down, I carried a daughter.

"Your Ladyship," Seribelle said. Her voice was like bells that I so dearly desired to silence. "You are looking well today." I grunted a greeting to her, and proceeded to my own seat by another window. Sunlight sprinkled the room, a pleasant reminder of the Summer I was forced to waddle through. Before my large rump had settled into the familiar seat and my all-too-swollen ankles had rested upon the softly padded ottoman, Seribelle was up and placing the shawl across my shoulders.

"I'm not cold." I dearly hoped at that point that the venom in my voice would be enough to lay Sweet Seri, as my brother used to call her, down into a grave as cold as his was. She chose to ignore this, as she often did, and pulled the cord to summon the servant for our tea. Five years of service, and I had yet to ruffle those perfect feathers of hers.

"Your Ladyship," This honorific was utterly obscene in my humble opinion, and I informed her of it. There was nothing ladylike about me, especially looking as I was. She didn't have time to respond, however, as it was then we heard the scream.

As screams go, this one was impressive. It was familiar: a man's voice, which seemed to build upon itself, sending resounding calls through the air as a harpy or banshee. Or perhaps both combined. I tried to stand, but failed. Cursing my impregnated state proved of little to no benefit, though that unbelievably cheerful sprite was useful. She helped me out of my seat and held the door as I waddled as fast as I could towards the direction from which I'd heard the sound. I pushed hard upon the heavy doors to the musty library, squinting my eyes at the dark hues within, then stepped within.

My husband was already there, lying dead amidst a sea of books and blood.

That's why I screamed. Although I joked with him frequently, telling him I deserved better, I loved the man. From the now blood-soaked, rapidly receeding hair to the bottom of his soft boots, I loved him.

It was then I realized I had not yet cried, not yet shed a tear. Without thinking, I knelt and cradled Danio's head in what remained of my lap, smearing his blood all over those precious threads that Seribelle had worked so hard on when stitching my garment together. I heard someone wail. It was myself. I cried for a long time, unable to move, unable to even breathe. I cried from grief, knowing I no longer would have the only man I'd ever loved to hold onto in a stormy night. I cried from fear, knowing the dangers of being the widowed mother of the unborn heir. I cried because I knew my husband would have been a wonderful father. And I cried because I knew he'd never have the chance to meet his daughter, see her face, show her how much he loved her.

I knew he had loved her, though I had less than two months left in term to go. The nursery was fully decorated and prepared. He'd gone through countless hours of interviewing to find just the right governess to watch the child when I was too tired. When I'd left his room that morning, he'd even gone to his knees, lifted my chemise, and kissed my belly, whispering sweet words of affection. The kiss he'd left on my lips would be the last. My heart nearly stopped, and for the longest time, I wished it had.

After the last note of the cry had gone, my grief continued and drove out every rational thought. I blamed Danio for leaving the child without a father. And blamed his murderer for forcing me to have to sort out what was to be done with the title. The child was unborn and thus hardly fit to rule. I certainly didn't consider myself fit to rule. And I had one thing left on my mind: Vengeance.

I did not feel the hands on my shoulders, trying to lift me and pull me away. I did not notice when they removed my hands from my husband's head. I did, however, notice the sharp cry of pain that I then let forth. I glared down at my hands, and screamed in horror: I had been stuck by five bloodied, golden needles each dangling thread behind. Bloody thread. Thread from my Danio's head. Before they managed to lift me from my husband I saw that a portion of his head was shaved. A patch of fur had been sewn to his scalp, and more needles dangled inside his head, point up, as if returning from a stitch.

I murmured something about the needles as I was lifted, then led away to my rooms, where servants cleaned me, and tried to get me to rest…"for the child's sake."

I fear I wasn't very coherent as they held me down to the bed. Seribelle tried to feed me some broth, but I pushed it away, sending it in a hot splatter across her gown. Had I not encountered such a shock, I probably would have smiled, but I didn't care. I wanted to know who murdered my husband, and I had my suspicions. The prime one was trying to pat her dress dry. My sleep was fitful at best. I know I dreamed. I saw a needle pulling thread, in and out, out and in, sewing a fur coat. The furs varied, they were bear and wolf, coyote and fox. My stomach was in stitches as well, causing me to wake often, crying into my pillow. I wanted my husband. I wanted his murderer. I wanted to kill.

When I woke to a light room again, I managed to stumble out of bed, holding one hand against the frantically kicking child in my womb. I pressed hard, willing her to silence as I grabbed a shawl to warm myself. Determination came upon me, and I pushed my door open, slowly. My eyes, still dancing with tears, did not hamper my vision much as I peeked out of my room. The normally ever-present guards, thankfully, were not there. Most likely, they were occupied elsewhere, due to my husband's sudden death. I snuck out of my room and waddled in a half-run towards the nearest corridor. Tossing my bulk around the corner, I breathed a sigh of relief. I held my head up high, and tried my best to express dignity as I paraded towards where my husband was laid out.

Fortune smiled upon my goal, for I reached the hall without too much difficulty. I even managed to get to the corpse. I knew that observers would disapprove of me being here, pregnant as I was, but I hardly cared. I didn't hold by the superstition that bringing an unborn child into the presence of a recently deceased victim would bring bad luck. I took Danio's hand in my own, and murmured words of grief. As I did this, my eyes, hidden by my lank hair, darted to the wound. It had been cleaned of all the blood, and the fur had been removed as well as the needles, but the wounds were still there. There was one long gash, and two punctures parallel to each other on either side of the gash, as if a surgeon was trying to stitch the gash closed.

This put things in an stranger light. I couldn't picture Seribelle as the murderess. She was obnoxiously cheerful, and would most likely have fainted at the slightest hint of blood. However, the stitchery was what I knew her best for. In my grief, I wanted to blame her, but I couldn't figure out what purpose the stitches had? How could they have been stitched on so swiftly, between the time I heard my husband's scream to the time I arrived by him? As rational thought returned, I admitted that Seribelle could not have placed those stitches. She was with me when he died. Reluctantly, I accepted that I could not blame Her Daintiness.

I heard a rustle, and spun my head around. A rat scampered across the floor and dived from the room, but that was all. My eyes fell upon a tray, where threads and needles were lain. Motion came from the tray, yet nobody was there. I lay my husband's hand back upon his chest, and made my way to it.

The child within me resented the motion, and began to inform me of it with several solid kicks. I had gotten close enough to the tray to see that one needle was hovering, and there was thread making its way to the eye.

I managed not to cry out, either from the final thump from within or the fear at what I observed. And as I laid both hands over the painful portion of my stomach and backed off, both needle and thread dropped, lifeless, to the tray. As the last dingle of the needle against the tray faded, I turned around and fled the room. Though I'm proud of my iron nerves, I was far too fearful to remain where I was. Before I knew it, I'd returned to my room, lain back on my bed, and pulled the blankets over my head. Irrationally, I thought Seribelle would have laughed to see me so afraid. As I already disliked her, I would have found myself justified in having her executed for mocking me. It was her fortune that she wasn't there to see me.

The door creaked its monotonous protest as I remained in my self-made den of blankets. I listened as several feet pattered across the stones then pittered back, finding silence with the door's single thump. The smell of eggs and bacon surrounded me, which was a reminder that I'd not eaten much since the luncheon the day before. I again rose from the bed and was rewarded by the absence of a kick from within.

The eggs were light and fluffy and the bacon was crisp. At least, I think they were. I don't recall, as they disappeared from the plate before I even knew I'd begun to eat. I then tried to pull on the black dress that had been lain out for me. After making the best effort I could, I finally gritted my teeth and summoned Seribelle. I might not like her very much, but I'd become certain she was not the killer, which led her to be the only human I could trust not to murder me.

I waited, and the tears again clouded my eyes. I swatted them with an angry swipe, and managed to pull my shoulders back as the door again sounded its opening song.

"Your Ladyship?" Seribelle's voice grated my ears, and I felt my jaws clench. "It's Ine. Call me Ine. Not 'Your Ladyship.' Not 'Your Grace.' Not even 'Your High and Mighty Fat Pigginess!" I was crying again, and could not force myself to stop. Not even when Seribelle approached and hugged me. Not even when her dreadful perfume assaulted me. Not even when she called me "Ine" for the first time in her six years as my Lady in Waiting.

"We'll solve this together, Ine," Seribelle said.

I choked out my next words, stuttering as my breath fought to remain untaken. "What do…you mean…we?" "We. Together, Your Ladysh…Ine. We'll find the killer, or I'll never sew another stitch."

The determination in her voice left me speechless.