A Gift Unto the King

In Sickness

CW: illness, nausea, fainting, pregnancy loss, abortion discussion, medical procedure mention.

Carmilla awoke to the cold chill of the hard, wood floor against her dewy skin. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, pulsing rapidly through her temple. She tried to collect herself, but her vision was blurred and doubled. With a series of hasty blinks, it slowly returned to its proper focus—a process that took a bit longer than she cared for. Cautiously, she shuffled her arm to prop herself up, peeling her sweat-stuck cheek away from the floorboards. Her skull rattled with painful throbs, the ringing in her ears nearly deafening. She felt lost and disoriented, panic threading through her as she tried to bring herself out of the fainting spell. Taking a few deep, calming breaths, the ringing grew dull and began to subside. With more force, she pushed herself up further, grunting from the strain on her groggy body. Carmilla's arm shook beneath her slightly, a fierce aura piercing through her eyes as a sharp pain ricocheted through her skull. Instinctively, she pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead, letting out a harsh hiss.

Once the pain had lessened into a more tolerable ache, she glanced around through squinted eyes, finding herself alone in her chambers, uncertain of exactly how much time had elapsed in her involuntary absence. Drawing a deep breath, she pushed herself up from the floor, another sharp throb plunging into her forehead.

"Nn-" She squoze her eyes shut, keeping them clenched until she'd firmly righted herself. Lightheaded, she attempted to stand still, her body wobbling as her equilibrium stabilized. She had half a mind to grip the bed, lest the dizziness force her to the ground again, at least then she'd know where she'd land.

"Your highness?" A small, muffled, voice spoke through the closed chamber door, following a soft knock.

"Y-yes," Carmilla grunted, opening her eyes, and pushing her body upright from the mattress, "come in."

The door clicked against the squeaking hinges as it swung open. A small framed woman quickly slipped into the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. The ginger-haired maid glanced towards the queen, her eyes finding Carmilla in a dreadful state—something she had grown accustomed to in the passing weeks, though this time seemed to be the worst of it.

"Your highness, are you alright?" Aoife asked, her voice calm, but laden with concern.

"Mm." Carmilla forced through a brief wave of nausea, "I'm fine, thank you."

The queen felt a gentle hand squeeze her arm, and she glanced over to meet the hazel gaze of her maid, who's brows had now upturned, forming a strong crease over the bridge of her nose.

"You look quite unwell, your highness."

"More than usual?" Carmilla joked lightly, however, Aoife didn't find the humor in it.

She did look more unwell than usual. Far more unwell. Her ashy skin glistened with sweat, her coils matting down against her damp forehead. The pale colored chemise no longer loosely draped over her body, but rather clung to it heavily, sticking to her chest and thighs. Aoife detected a slight tremble in the queen's limbs, and she couldn't be certain, but she felt a touch feverish.

"Please, sit down, I will get you some water." The ginger guided the elf towards the chair, gripping her firmly as she lowered her into it.

Carmilla's forehead felt dewy and her heart raced uncomfortably. The waves of nausea would ebb and flow, though thankfully not growing any further than a severe annoyance. Her head still furiously ached, and she wondered if perhaps she had hit it on the floor when she'd fainted, a theory confirmed by the tender soreness of her temple when her fingers lightly brushed across it.