Sigurd knocked and tentatively pushed open the door, hovering in the doorway for long moments as he peered into the darkened room.

Varda shuffled, adjusting her position on the bed and smoothing out her skirts. Her eyes were blackened hollows, dark purple blossoms blooming around the budding green of her irises. Though Hepsie had done an admirable job of setting her nose, its noble, equine slope would forever be marred by a slight hump. Sigurd carefully smoothed the unintentional grimace that flickered across his face before she could notice it.

He saw that she had carefully tied her hair back, every dark curl meticulously tucked into place. She was fully clothed in a shift with a newly sewn, green, lace gown atop that fitted snugly to her growing curves. Sigurd’s mouth curved into a slight smile. Another woman assigned to full bed rest would have been lazing about in her nightgown but Varda had insisted on dressing herself as though it were any other day. He saw that she had carefully set aside a tiny embroidery she was working on. Silky pale threads peeked out where they had escaped from the folds of cloth, curling softly like hairs on a newborn baby’s head. His heart gave a painful throb as tears pricked his eyes. She was sewing a dress for their baby.

“Hello Varda”, he gave her a watery smile as she tilted her pale face up, her inscrutable eyes meeting his.

“May I join you?”, he softly enquired and began to sit as she nodded her assent.

He patted ineffectually at the bedspread, his trembling hands attempting to subdue the scratchy peaks. He gave up and plonked himself awkwardly beside her.

For long moments neither said anything, lying stiffly beside one another like mute, wide-eyed puppets. Sigurd’s heart beat woodenly in his chest, his tongue lying thick and flaccid in his mouth as he tried desperately to formulate some coherent sentence.

Varda’s head jerked towards his, her hands still laying slackly over her belly. He was reminded of the tiny life growing inside her, even now working on small rows of the most perfect toes with matching perfect, minute toenails.

“Are they keeping him away from Valeriya?”, she asked harshly, her green eyes flaring like a copper fire.

“Yes, she is being taken care of by the Baroness. Radomir has been forbidden by the King to go anywhere near her”.

Varda sagged in relief, the severe lines of her face drooping as she relaxed.

He felt a flare of anger billowing from the hot coals of rage that were still burning deep in his belly, “He is to forfeit two hides of land to us”, he continued dully.

“Oh”, she gazed at him and he saw a flicker of momentary disappointment in the swirling depths of her eyes.

He saw it in the carefully set features of her broken face, the slight tremble of a lip that was quickly bitten between between rows of teeth. Her pain, her shattered face, the tenuous link between her and the baby inside her which could so easily and rapidly be severed completely meant nothing to these men. All it was worth in this piecemeal Kingdom was a boggy stretch of unworked land.

“Oh”, she repeated, trying to twist her shivering lips into a smile. It caught oddly at the edges, smearing out blankly like a badly painted leer.

“His nose isn’t going to heal as well as yours though”, Sigurd blurted out hurriedly.

It was suddenly imperative that she knew that someone cared enough, someone had wanted to make her tormentor suffer, that someone did not see a couple of hides of land as just recompense.

“What do you mean?”, she whispered, her mouth relaxing into a soft, careful smile as she began to understand, “Did someone break his nose… for me?”

She cautiously edged across the bed towards him, sliding her damaged body towards him and carefully tucking herself beneath his arm.

“Who was it Sigurd”, she asked breathlessly, “was it the King? Or the Duke? I hope whoever did it wasn’t punished too”.

In a moment of courage her drew her gently towards him, her frail, angular body pressing against his chest.

“No silly”, he murmured down at her as she gazed up at him in shock, “I hit him”.

“You”, she squeaked her warm breath rushing out in surprise and tickling his lips.

“Yes me”, he replied and kissed her open mouth while he had the chance.

“Oh”, she suddenly gasped.

“What… what’s wrong?”, he pulled back in alarm.

Her eyes were wide and she did not answer.

“Sigurd”, she murmured breathlessly, “the baby… it just moved. It felt like… like a tiny butterfly opening its wings inside me”.

He bravely laid a hand on her slightly rounded belly, his fingers lightly stroking the lace fabric.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to feel anything Sigurd”, she whispered in awe, “I could barely feel it myself”.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I will next time. That is if you and our butterfly baby wouldn’t mind my company in here sometimes now that you’re feeling better”.

“That would be nice”, she mumbled, a smile on her lips and carefully tucked herself against his chest again.