Charles heard the clock strike one in the morning from the mantle in his bed chamber, but still he was awake, pacing the room, like many other nights before. He'd just been thinking of Sarah, wondering how she slept when a knock came at his dressing room door, and then a head of golden hair peeked around it.

"Charles?" she whispered, but then seeing him still awake at the fire, she came fully into the room, carrying a tea tray.

"What are you doing?" he asked in confusion, "You should be asleep, you have been ill," he was protesting as she set the tray down.

"I find I have nothing to busy myself with, now that I've given up polishing silver," she said primly as she began to pour, "I was having trouble falling asleep, and then I thought of you," she said handing him a steaming cup. Charles drank in the sight of her in nothing but a dressing gown and her thick golden braid hanging like rope over one shoulder. He longed to unbraid it.

"Please tell me you have not been walking about the house in the middle of the night," he demanded, going closer to her and setting the tea down entirely, "You're going to relapse, walking about in your bare feet, woman!" he admonished gruffly.

"I am fine, Charles," she purred at him before taking her own cup of tea in hand and sitting down on the bend that rested just before the fire. Charles growled to himself and went to pull a blanket from his bed.

"You are ridiculous," he continued to scold her, trying to banish the image of her, deathly white in a sickbed, "You will kill me," he said, knowing that to be more true than ever before as he busied himself with wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.

"The tea is not poisonous, Charles," she persisted, missing his point entirely, "It's meant to help you sleep. Remember the day you scoffed at my womanly methods?"

"Mmm," Charles replied, for he was caught up in the way she was looking up at him, all golden hair and blankets. He reached out and ran the back of his hand against her cheek.

"You keep looking at me like that," she admonished, and he dropped his connection, reclaimed his cup of tea and joined her on the bench, realizing as he did how grateful he was for her company, what her presence did to his peace of mind.

"Why can you not sleep?" he asked, and waited a long moment for her answer.

"Nightmares," she said finally in a tiny voice, and a softness crashed through him as he turned to study her, swaddled in his bed blankets and staring into her teacup.

"Will you tell me what frightens you?" he asked gently.

"Warwick," she answered coldly, "It's how I learned of the tea."

"You do not have to fear him, ever again," Charles urged her, but she only shrugged.

"Do the things that keep you awake still have the power to hurt you?" she countered softly and he held his tongue. For yes, the fear of losing her held a great deal of power over him.

"So this is the tea for a soldier?" he repeated her words from that day that felt so long ago.

"Drink, Charles," she commanded without looking at him. The two passed several moments in silence afterwards, Charles recalling that day in the library with greater detail.

"Who was the soldier, the one that you lost?" he asked, and he saw her expression change to one of guilt in an instant. His stomach clenched, so it was someone she'd loved, perhaps loved still.

"I'd rather not tell you," Sarah answered, her gaze planted firmly in her cup of tea. Jealousy flared up in him, causing his voice to sound hard when he spoke.

"You care for him, deeply, I can see that," Charles growled as he stared into the fire, "Do I not have a right to at least know who it is that has so captured my wife's affections?"

"You exaggerate, Charles," she said it impatiently, only feeding his anger.

"Do you love him? Is he the reason you asked for an annulment?" he continued, feeling like a wounded beast.

"Of course not!" Sarah cried indignantly and when he turned to look at her, it was clear that she was distressed. "I do not want an annulment so that I can run off with someone else. Do you really have so little faith in me?" she beseeched him, looking more hurt than anything. Charles did not answer her, but looked away once more.

"You do have so little faith in my fidelity," Sarah confirmed after a moment of silence. Charles still didn't speak, he was paralyzed by the thought of Sarah's heart longing for someone else.

"I will ask you again," she said, her voice quivering, "Grant me an annulment, please."

Charles looked up at her then, saw the sadness and desperation in her eyes. It was clear that Sarah wanted out of the marriage. But could he truly do it? Could he let her go?

"No, Sarah," he said it quietly as they watched each other in the firelight. His wife was just inches from him, but still out of his reach. This must be what she felt for the soldier, and that thought pained him more, "I will never grant you an annulment," he finished firmly, but he felt tired.

"Sarah, if you have a nightmare, about Warwick, you can wake me –"

"No," she interrupted him harshly, "For it would be the same nightmare, awake and asleep, wouldn't it?"

Charles felt as if she'd slapped him, comparing his company to that of Warwick's. She truly hated him. Sarah turned back to the fireplace and was still for several moments, tears were beginning to brim over and slip down her cheek as he watch her profile. He wanted to touch her, to dry her tears and hold her, but he simultaneously could not stand the sight of her. Charles did not have to choose, for at that moment Sarah rose from her spot beside him and walked back from the direction she'd come, and he let her, without saying a word.