It pained her to think of Ollie. A true innocent in everything, she feared that if the Revolution were to be successful, he would be right there with his parents on the execution block. Wouldn't matter that he wasn't even twelve years old yet. He was damned because of his mother's eyes and his father's dark, wavy hair. No one would ever be able to look at him and not know who he belonged to. His DNA was plastered all across his handsome face. Despite her tendency to stray from her marital bed, there was no question who his father was. Not even the worst of the gossips who loathed the very ground she walked on could deny the truth. Even if he was somehow spared the fate that his parents earned, he would never be able to live in his native country without the stain of his heritage marring his existence.