I didn't update for so long before the last chapter that I am honestly so surprised there are still people following. This chapter is dedicated to a random commenter @bangsstory - Thank you!

Chapter 12: Winter Blossoms

With dark circles under his eyes, Drake continued to riffle through the papers spread around him in bed, while listening to the reports of the men before him.

"What is the situation in the South?" he asked.

"Prince Warren and Prince Dane's men are hunting down all supporters and sympathisers of the Crown Prince," the squire reported as he read from a scout's message. "A sennight ago they sealed the gates of Lyons, but many were able to flee before then."

"Mm, not surprising in times of political unrest," Drake mused, as he continued to sift through the stacks of missives before him at the same time. "How many have crossed the Wall for the North?"

"Not many so far. The roads have been heavy and strictly patrolled."

"Search them as usual, and let all civilians through. Let them know they are welcome in Steersberg for the winter."

"Sir, the recommendation from the Jarl of Penshaw is to stop them at the gates, lest we let Southern spies through," the squire reminded diligently.

"And the keyword in that is recommendation," Drake scoffed. "There are already spies in every court. If he cannot protect his own estate from spies then he should surrender his title and lands forthwith. Send my message to all the lords of the North, let them know they should prepare for refugees from the South. Anyone who objects is welcome to speak with me—personally."

"Aye, sir," the squire acknowledged with a smile of pride.

"If you can spare any men, have them escort the sick and elderly here from the Wall," Drake added, and reminisced of the last time he asked his men to escort a certain someone from the King's Wall. He allowed himself a brief pause to gather his thoughts before he continued, "And what of my father in law?"

"The Marlborough House is abandoned," the squire answered grimly. "Rumour in the city is he is one of the ones being held hostage in the palace, sir."

Drake pursued his lips and contemplated the news. "If the rumours are true, then he ought to be safe, for now. Send word to our spies in the palace to ensure he remains that way." And even though he probably did not need to, he reminded in a low voice, "No word of this shall reach my wife."

"Understood, sir."

Gentle knocks on the door accompanied the appearance of an elegant woman in the latest winter fashion.

"Alright, I'll leave the rest to you," he said to the squire and soldier before him, who departed with a bow. "Mistress Perryn," he smiled up at the woman who sauntered into his chamber, pulling off gloves that perfectly matched her fur-lined cloak.

"To what do I owe this honour, my lord?" she greeted with a curtsy.

"Ahh stop that." He waved a hand to dismiss her formalities. "I think you know very well why you're here."

"Oh, do I?" she feigned ignorance with a lift of her brows.

"I've heard how you enticed my wife away from my establishments with your wools and perfumed cloths," he stated pointedly, but with enough lightheartedness in the undertone of his voice to indicate a lack of intention to actually lay blame.

"The way you look now..." She made a deliberate show of scrutinising his ruffled hair, tired eyes and rumpled shirt. "It's not so hard to entice her away from anything to do with you."

He glowered at her with a harrumph, but turned back to his papers, rummaging through them until he fished out a crumpled piece of paper. "Here." He extended the note out to her. "Your mission."

Mistress Perryn came to his bedside and reached for the note with two delicate fingers. "What is..." she wondered out loud as she studied the incomprehensible lines and squiggles that covered the paper.

Drake sighed loudly, conveying his pretend-disappointment in her incompetence. She rolled her eyes in response, before he proceeded to explain each line and squiggle.

* * *

Having fallen asleep sometime past midnight, by the time Amelia slowly came to, the sun was already halfway up the clouded sky.

She yawned and rubbed at her half-lidded eyes, unable yet to fully open them. She saw enough, though, to scowl again at the purple drapes around her bed, and cursed internally for the seventy-eighth time at the culprit.

Amelia mindlessly dragged herself to the bathing chamber, and froze as she touched one bare foot on the smooth stone floor.

She gulped and stared at every familiar feature of the chamber before her, from the cream tiles of the walls to the large wooden tub in one corner and porcelain washbowl mounted on an ornately carved wooden stand. It wasn't quite the same down to the smallest details, but it was a close enough... replica of her bath chamber back home.

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she ran her fingers across the rim of the tub and inspected the small murals of horses and dogs and flowers on the walls that she loved so dearly as a child.

She realised this was his "personal touch". She knew which traitor of a maid must've helped him, for whatever reason. But none of that changed a thing.

I like you.

So this was, like Marge had advised, the perfect time to secure his consent to a divorce.

Amelia padded languidly out of the bath chamber and slumped back into her bed. Feeling all... alone.

The next three days, she avoided her husband, preferring instead to help the rest of the manor with winter festivities.

Everyone was busy preparing for the Winter Feast. They needed her help.

The snow will only grow heavier in winter. 'Tis not a safe time to travel.

Sven could not plant and tend to all those winter herbs on his own. (In actual fact, he had always done so in the winters past, and a lady that had her mind elsewhere was more of a nuisance than anything.)

But these were the things she told herself. And, he'd only just renovated her bath chamber to her liking; it would be far too ungrateful and impolite not to make more use out of it... Now is not the time to ask, she insisted.

Three days was also enough for a smart man with eyes and ears all about his own home to catch onto her simple tactics.

By the fourth day, the Emir's warning—in no uncertain terms, that the Emira was no free labour to be used in her own household—had made its way to every corner of the manor.

"Nay, I can handle this, m'lady."

"Sorry, m'lady, these are priceless herbs I cannot entrust in thine hands."

"No offence, m'lady, I prefer ta cook on my own—oh, no, I cannot let ya do the dishes!"

Having just been rejected, yet again, for her offer to help hang up the festival decor in the Great Hall, Amelia cried out in rage with a throw of her arms, "Will you all cease saying 'nay, m'lady this', 'nay, m'lady that'!"

In unison, they all ignored her.

With an emphasised, audible sigh, Amelia stomped off with an angry pout.

What was one to do when there was naught to do?

She wandered the halls of the manor, bustling at this time of year when there was less and less to do out in the snowy fields, and let her legs carry her to the quietest part of the manor grounds.

Amelia strolled through the rows of leafless, fruitless trees, and touched her palm to the bark of each one, feeling their wetted roughness.

She kicked her boots into the snow as she walked. At times she turned her face up to catch fresh flakes on her cheeks, other times she focused her attention on the bits of snow she kicked up, smiling as they caught on the hem of her dress.

The simple woollen dress she wore was no match for the chill of Northern winter, yet in the calmness of her quiet solitude, she did not notice her own shivering, nor the figure who watched and followed her from a distance.

It wasn't until she reached the end of the row, and rounded the last tree, that she walked right into the man, and let out a piercing scream.

Drake winced at the ear-shattering shriek as he righted her teetering body at the elbows. "Really? Am I that frightening?" he jested.

"Uhh-umm, I just wasn't expecting—" Amelia drew a surprised breath, and looked down at her husband's legs in astonishment. "Why are you here? You can't be here! Your leg!"

"I've been bedbound long enough," Drake said. "I could see you from up there"—he pointed to the window of his bedchamber—"doing foolish things like spending the past hour freezing yourself half dead." He shook out the cloak he held over his arm and threw it over her shoulders.

It wasn't until she felt the cloak's heavy warmness wrapped around her that she realised how cold she had been. She breathed in the faint smell of pine wood and spice, the scent she'd come to recognise at his.

"And, my wife has been avoiding me," he said as he secured the straps of the cloak with a simple knot.

"I haven't been avoiding—"

"I've missed you."

His tender smile made her breath catch. She licked her cracked lips nervously, the action drawing his eyes to her lips almost immediately.

His gaze lingered a little longer before he reached for her cold hand, enveloping it in a welcoming warmth. "Come, walk with me."

Perhaps it was the warmth he offered, or the firmness of his request, or some degree of curiosity, but she let herself fall into step with him on a gentle tug of her hand without her usual inclination to object.

They ambled through the field of barren trees in silence. Several inches of his too-large cloak dragged the ground, making a sweeping trail in the snow. Beside her, he limped with each stride of his still-mending leg.

At last, Drake broke the silence. "You don't like me, do you?"

She trained her eyes on her boots. This was a confrontation she'd not prepared for. "I..." She could not bring herself to say she did, but... she certainly didn't dislike him, either. Unsure what to say, she thought about her new bathing chamber and opened her mouth to express her gratitude.

"There's no need to lie for my sake, Amelia," he said, beating her to it. "I cannot deny I almost bedded another woman on our wedding night. I was drunk, I was angry, and not thinking straight, and..." He tilted his face to the sky and breathed a heavy sigh of regret. " And none of that can excuse me for what I did." He turned to face her and reached for her other hand. Holding both hands in his grasp, he vowed solemnly, "But I swear, on my life, my honour, the name of my family, I shall never bed ano—"

Oh, no, no, no. She pulled a hand out of his grasp and clasped it over his mouth. She couldn't very well let him swear everything away when she was about to leave, even though the thought of him holding another woman... she shook her head to rid the image. Seriously, what possessed him to bring up these awkward things anyway?

"Ahh-mm-ruh." He pulled her hand off and restarted, "Amelia, do you not believe me?"

"It's not that, it's... um, well..." Her voice trailed off. "I cannot deny that I slapped you too..."

He nodded. "Twice," he stressed gravely. "My comely cheek cannot deny that either."

"Oh, you shameless git!" She whacked him playfully on the chest.

"Ow!" he cried with exaggeration. "Now you've hurt my delicate heart too."

Amelia giggled and made to hit him again.

Drake wrapped a hand around her fist and spun her around so fast the trees blurred before her eyes. Then he pulled her back into his arms and rested his chin on the crown of her head. She gasped, and tried to turned around in his arms, but her weak struggles were no match for his vice-like grip.

"I know it's not been easy for you." His voice boomed above her head. "I know my people mocked you and spoke behind your back. But if you wish to wear wigs and large dresses, you may keep doing so. I will tell them not to laugh. They will not defy my orders."

The scene before her grew blurrier as he went on. Even though she hadn't liked the wigs and large dresses one bit, no one else but her own papa has ever permitted her to defy the rules of propriety. She bit on her bottom lip to resist the tears that were beginning to form.

"There's nothing to say I can't defy my own orders, though," he added.

Oh, the nerve of this boor! "Hmph!" She nudged an elbow back into his abdomen.

"Oomph! You really are in a violent mood today."  He turned their bodies together to face the east and pointed a finger to the eastern alps. "You would fit in well there."

"Why, you would feed me to the tigers?" This evil man, and to think she was just starting to find his company a little more... bearable.

"The Tigerfist Mountains, in actual fact, have no tigers. They are merely occupied by tribes of ancient warriors as strong and fierce as tigers. That includes the women too." He lifted a hand from her waist to flick her on the nose, obviously insinuating something.

"Hey!" She slapped his hand away, but her interest was piqued. "I've never heard of them."

His jaw rubbed gently against her scalp as he nodded. "They are free people. Many an ambitious lord and war general have sought to conquer or enslave them. Most fail to the harsh weather and steep mountain trails before even meeting the people themselves. 'Tis probably too embarrassing to write about in the history books."

"Have you met them?"

He nodded again. "Quite a few, actually. Every so often a band of tribesmen would turn up in our markets to trade. They've brought me up there a few times too, I'm so likeable after all—" This time, he'd learnt to block the incoming blow of her elbow before it made contact. "It's one of the most beautiful places in the world, in my view. One day, I will take you and our children there, too."

He said those words as easily and assuredly as if it were a simple law of nature. Was this the time to tell him she will not bear his children? No. When is the time, then? a voice screamed in the back of her mind. Not now! she screamed back. "How fares Lady Isabella?" she asked to change the subject, only to realise she'd held the question to herself for so long it was almost a relief to finally let it slip.

"She disappeared when I was in Westdawn."

"Huh?" She tilted her head back at an angle to look at him in surprise. "What happened? Is she alright?"

"Henry has received a letter from her to say that she is safe and well. We do not know what happened or where she went, but I am sure there is nothing to worry of." He searched her blue-grey eyes for hate and found none. "You do not bear ill feelings towards her?"

Amelia thought for a moment, of the beauty that surpassed her own, of their intimacy... then slowly shook her head. They'd known each other. If anything, she was the third wheel who was always going to leave anyway. She swallowed the unpleasant sourness that surfaced in her mouth. "She likes you, you like her, maybe you and her should be... um... together."

"Amelia..." he growled as his arms around her body grew impossibly tighter. "You are my wife. Not Isabella, not anyone else. You."

"Well, what if... what if, I was... to leave?" she asked on a whisper, as if afraid to hear the answer to her hypothetical.

He spun her back around to face him. His dark gaze burned into hers. She fell a step back from the intensity. He advanced a step towards her. She staggered back again. "Never," he declared as he moved to close the distance. "Ever." Her back pressed up against the snow-damp bark.

He pressed a palm into the tree beside her face, while the other gripped her at the waist.

This was not good. Not good. She should say it now. "Drake, I—" want a divorce.

He sealed those words with his lips.

She should object, she should tell him what she needed to say. But when her lips moved next it was to kiss him back.

He took the opportunity to snake his tongue between her lips.

With their first kiss, she was cocooned in a cloud of homesickness and sorrow. This time, she was fully exposed to the bottomless heat of his passion. When the walls of uncertainty and timidity shattered, she returned it with a fervency of her own.

Her arms slid up to his neck and she grabbed a fistful of his dark hair to pull him closer. He growled low in his throat and tightened the grip at her waist as he involuntarily pressed his hips into her.

She wasn't so innocent to mistake the stiffness against her belly for what it was. She shuddered in his arms as it awakened something within her.

No one has ever told her what happens next, though.

In her kissed-senseless mind, the mental imagery that took form was the closest thing she'd seen seen with her own eyes, and she cracked into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "Y-You're like... a dog in heat!" She snorted and tipped her head back and laughed even harder.

"Damn it, wife." Drake scowled down at her as he ran a hand through his mussed up hair. "You sure know how to ruin the mood."

Determined to punish her for it, he pulled her into him again and cupped the back of her neck as he put an end to her guffaws with another searing kiss.

He nibbled on her bottom lip, down to the base of her chin, then rested his lips against the soft skin of her neck before biting down gently on the quickening pulse of her throat. She whimpered—

A rough cough sounded from nearby and they both pulled apart at once to see William, who threw sneaky peeks at them as he looked this way at that.

Amelia hid her face in her hands whilst Drake grimaced at his steward. "What?" he demanded grumpily, his voice low, threatening a storm should it be anything but the most important business.

William cleared his throat and avoided eye contact with the fuming man. "Apologies m'lady, someone is here to see you."

Amelia lifted the upper half of her face from her fingers to peer past the steward into the direction of the manor. She gawked at the entire audience of soldiers and serving maids who watched them from a very respectful distance. Clearly, they'd been there a while.

She closed her eyes and groaned. "That's not someone, William, that's everyone."

"Do not fret. They were just looking at their crippled lord walking again." Drake pulled her into his arms again, and added, "They've seen more than enough of you these days."

Amelia grunted a muffled protest at his chest and punched him gently with a fist.

"M'lady!" a child's shout broke the air.

Amelia pushed away from Drake and gaped at the small figure who was struggling to tug a pony through the snow.

William attempted to explain. "I asked him to wait, m'lady, but he insisted—"

"Timo! Spot!" she cried excitely as she bounded towards them, almost tripping over herself in the oversized cloak.

Drake threw a nasty glare at the steward, then frowned at the boy and pony—especially the pony—who'd just enjoyed more hugs and kisses than he'd ever received from her.

When will people (and beast) stop vying for his wife's attention?!