Felicity had left the palace in a hurried, flurry of emotions. The greatest of them all was sorrow. She was lost, both as a citizen of Lorendale, a wife, and a mother. She had no faith in her queen and the future of their kingdom, she didn’t know where she and her husband stood, and between being stationed at the border and now trying to promote change she hadn’t seen her kids in what felt like weeks. Was this the life she was destined to lead?

Where Tybalt could put their bond out of mind, Felicity was always acutely aware. She longed for her husband in a way she was certain wasn’t reciprocated, and in fact at times she had to consciously fight against the awareness of him that it brought. Surely when they had gotten it they never imagined to be at odds the way they were now.

Felicity waited until they were outside of Loren to raise her window shade and rest her chin on her arm. She watched the landscape roll by and tried not to think. When Tybalt’s presence drew near she straightened and moved to fix her appearance, only then noticing how wet her cheeks were. Swipe swip and they were dry, a slight hardening of her features and he would never have known she’d been crying…except, of course, that damned bond.

She felt weak at the sight of him pulling up alongside the carriage. Queasy, even.

“My Lord?” Stiff, cordial, but polite, the way she would address any nobleman. Her window could slide down into the door, and with a hand she reached out and made it do just that.

Caution. Hesitation. Uncertainty. In classic Tybalt fashion, Felicity’s husband proceeded like a man walking slowly down a dark, dangerous corridor. Felicity was the monster, prone to charge out any minute, bowling him over. At least, that is how this exchange was making her feel, sinking her deeper into her sadness and self-pity.

“It’s not so simple.” Came her soft reply, voice lacking what it had in her greeting, sounds far more fragile. Things in life were never simple—unless you were an individual prone to oversimplifying, in which case everything was black and white and easy. Felicity lived in shades of grey.

Felicity let Tybalt’s rhetorical question sit between them. Indeed, nothing was simple these days. In fact, that was an understatement.

Her gaze timidly flickered over his face before settling just beyond his horse once more. At the mention of their children her heart’s pace quickened, something he would surely hear.

“Maybe it is time to call in a favor with the king.” She didn’t like the idea of sending them away, but what he said was true. They were lucky. They had choices. So many of Lorendale didn’t, and their queen was doing nothing to help that.

Felicity wanted to gaze into the depths of those blue eyes where once she had felt safe and accepted, but her eyes danced away from his as she spoke, scared and confused when she looked into them these days. She didn’t see an ally anymore; now she saw an obstacle.

“Ah.” Was all she said, a neutral acknowledgement that she had been told. Birkhall was ridiculously big. Scout coming to stay didn’t mean Felicity had to have breakfast with her. In fact, she would ensure it didn’t. Both Tybalt and Scout seemed to stand behind the queen, even if it meant watching Lorendale burn to the ground. That wasn’t something Felicity could stand by and allow anymore.

It wasn’t permission, so she had nothing more to say on that matter.

Felicity fixed her attention on something within her carriage. It was nothing, but it was a refuge from Tybalt’s gaze.

She would have loved to speak with him, but not about the weather. She would like to bring up what plagued her mind, what plagued her dreams; she still saw her men and women being snatched up into the sky by the red power of Myla Eldouir, still heard their screams. Yet still nothing had been done. No public acknowledgement made. She was a footnote in the queen’s life, her and her loyal soldiers, merely forgotten pieces in a chess game that Iliana was playing poorly. What would Lorendale become?

But she couldn’t speak to Tybalt. The last time she tried he would not hear her. His loyalty to Queen and country had blinded him to the heart cry of his wife. She feared he would never let down his walls to truly see and hear her. She loved Lorendale. She was a loyalist, too. Not to a person, but to their kingdom, and to anyone who would do what was best for the kingdom.

Felicity didn’t want to fight. She couldn’t hope to penetrate Tybalt’s walls. He was set in his ways. She kept from blinking so that her wet eyes would quickly dry.

“I do not know what to say to you.” The words were soft rather than sharp, quiet, full of resignation.

Birkhall was a monstrously large estate. They could, in fact, function as they were and barely cross paths. That was how they had been managing to stay separated for so long. For Felicity this wasn’t politics; this was right and wrong.

“I don’t know where I would begin.” She refused. It was a pleasant way to do so, but it was a refusal all the same. If Tybalt wanted to break a barrier and have another conversation where he refused to acknowledge Iliana’s incapability as queen, then he’d have to start that one.

The silence wasn’t as uncomfortable as it normally would have been for Felicity. She had missed Tybalt, and if being silent with one another was the only peace they could have together then she welcomed it. Of course, she might have preferred kissing in silence, but even the thought brought a blush to her cheeks and sent her dark gaze as far from him as it could go without offending. Three kids in and you would think she wasn’t as bashful as a virgin, but here she was.

When he did eventually speak, Felicity turned her face fully towards him. It was a start. Vague, but a start. She hopes he wasn’t only saying it to appease her. Tybalt was a smart man, and he was inside many important circles.

Her eyes searched his with hope.