Sarah's paces at the foot of Prudence's bed worsened the Princesses nausea.
"I knew our heavy breakfasts would break you."
Prudence moaned. "Would you please stop doing that? The pacing?"
The lady ceased, and gripped the edge of the bed-frame. "As you wish, Highness. Is there anything I can fetch for you? Water? Tea? Maybe a light lunch to erase the taste of the sickness?"
Prudence's eyebrows bunched. There was no way any meal would settle in her abdomen right now, perturbed as she was. Cornelius' words had rendered her too sick to have an appetite.
"Definitely not food." She'd changed into her nightgown minutes before, yet it already clung to her sweaty skin. Recalling her second accident the moment they entered her chambers, she clutched her covers and motioned at the window. "I should sleep it off. Would you mind...?"
Sarah hurried to the curtains and closed them, blocking the early afternoon sun from hitting Prudence in the face. "Better?"
"Much." Prudence waved her off. "Thank you."
Sarah curtsied and left the room.
Prudence fell asleep.
***
Prudence gasped for air as she woke, heart thumping faster than a racehorse,. Her dry throat ached and her limbs were still coated with perspiration.
Had Cornelius caused all this?
Half sitting up, she found a glass of water on the nightstand, and drained it immediately. Her dizziness had dissipated, it seemed, but not her thirst.
She peered at the clock, convinced it was late into the night; yet only an hour had passed.
"So this is what feeling sick is like." She'd been so grateful to never catch the influenza Cordelia had once had or the colds Sébastien and Antoine had often suffered through.
Was her immunity a Giromian trait? Sarah had mentioned, during their flight to her room, that Giromians rarely caught common illnesses. She insisted Prudence's weakness was due to fatigue, considerable stress, and the rich foods served for breakfasts and lunches and dinners.
I must be wary of Giromian delicacies from now on.
As she threw the covers off, she sat up completely and let her toes reach the cool wooden floor. For a moment, her tense muscles eased up; but when she put her weight on her feet, her belly gurgled.
"Oh, no," she muttered, placing a hand on her belly. She fell back onto the bed. "What is wrong with me? I must need more rest."
She missed Johanna in such times. She would have silently stood watch, feeding Prudence soup and forcing water down her throat while dabbing her forehead with a dampened cloth. And Céleste would have helped, too, would have kept her company and rocked her to sleep or read passages from that stupid Golden Girl book of hers. She'd divert Prudence's thoughts from her aches and shoo the sickness away.
"She must have received my letter," she said, glancing across the way at her vanity. "Maybe I should write another, just in case."
The events of earlier that day, given to her by Cornelius, woke in her mind; Clémentine's departure, Antoine's annulment, things about to change, as Cornelius had claimed.
What had it all meant? Was Céleste aware of any of it?
That fickle man had something else up his sleeve. Another crude mission, another harmful intent, another ploy to spread discord. He'd never be faithful to Giroma, she had no doubt; but Romain, blind as ever, would never believe her.
She snarled.
Antoine would have listened to me in a heartbeat.
She massaged her temples and sneered upon touching their drenched, sticky surface.
How would Céleste react to Prudence's accusations of Antoine? Had she already sought shelter with Antoine, thinking he was the only one who could protect her from the perilous Clémentine or the sneaky Adelaide? Or had she perceived a sense of impulsivity from him that bothered her, like it bothered Prudence?
She smacked her forehead. "And Cornelius! He will travel through Totresia to locate Romain's spouse, no? He would not dare go to France or Germany, and the path south is through Totresia... and he will stop at the castle, of course!" She wanted to sit up again, but worried her guts would spill out, so she instead she snuck under her blankets. "Perhaps he will pick a Totresian bride, despite his protests. Romain already rejected so many, his options are slim."
If Cornelius made a layover in Torrinni, he would bump into Céleste, for certain, which was perilous for her.
Had he already taken off for this journey, after their turbulent meeting in the gardens? Did Antoine have any idea he was coming?
"He will be furious. He will throw a fit of rage and his impulses will rouse him to attack, to wage war on us. On me."
Clutching at her gut as if it were bleeding internally, she crawled to her vanity. She extracted paper and her quill, and grimaced through every stroke as she wrote.
Dearest Céleste,
I believe Cornelius, Duke of Terter, will arrive in Torrinni soon. Surely Antoine has revoked his right to stay at the castle, but I would not put it past him to wander into court, regardless.
I fear he has malicious intentions. He said, "things are going to change", and Romain has sent him out to find a new bride for him—which may bring him to the castle in pursuit of a noblewoman. You are safe, engaged to Sébastien—but be on your guard. If you can return to Valeville somehow, I would suggest you do so, until it is certain Cornelius has left the country. I do not trust him not to start something—and you and I both know Antoine's temper may send him to launch a war, just like his father almost did.
It is imperative that—
A knock on her door caused her to gasp and nearly tumble off her chair and mess up the last sentence.
"Who is it?" In haste, she slipped the paper under a book and stashed her quill among her jewels.
The door opened, and she pivoted in her chaise to find Pauline entering.
"Prudence," she said, gripping the edges of the shawl draped over her shoulders. "I heard you were indisposed." She turned around and gestured at someone to come in. "I wanted to check on you."
A young maid hurried in with a tray of broth and a cup of what smelled like mint tea. She set it all on the coffee table, curtsied, then shimmied out.
Prudence froze, afraid of getting up and hurling her innards out in front of her mother. "Thank you." She groaned as pain seared through her rib-cage and expanded into her stomach, down to the top of her thighs. It was like her monthly pains but worse, digging deeper, incapacitating her.
Eyes widening in horror, Pauline hurried over and grabbed Prudence before she collapsed. "You need to be in bed, my sweet." She wrapped Prudence's limp arms around her and heaved her, one awkward step at a time, back to the mattress. Once she released her, she blew out her cheeks. "You must stay there until we know for certain you feel better."
Prudence struggled to get beneath the sheets and blankets.
Pauline took up a chair near the nightstand. A rosy hue decked her cheeks, and she whispered something under her breath.
Even in her sickened state, Prudence could tell she was distraught. "What is it?"
"Nothing, darling." Pauline set her hand atop Prudence's. "It is just... your brother has finally approved preparations for your birthday night, but you are ill, so he might postpone."
"A celebration? Now?" Prudence gulped, praying for her queasiness to keep at bay until Pauline left her alone.
"A small ball, yes. An introduction to Giromian society, of sorts, followed by delicious specialties and the best vintages and pastries."
Prudence gagged and clapped a hand over her mouth. "No..."
Pauline got to her feet, and her shawl slid down her back as she braced to move out of the way, should anything spew from Prudence's mouth. But nothing happened; Prudence sucked in a deep breath of bland, stale air, and the stuffiness somehow eased her stomach.
She nodded at Pauline, urging her to continue talking—though she hoped she wouldn't bring up food again.
The Dowager got the hint. "Lavish dresses and decorations, yes. We Giromians throw spectacular parties." She winked. "I will keep you in my prayers, wishing for your speedy recovery. I... we would be so disappointed if our guest of honor could not attend or had to push things back."
Though she yearned to feign sickness to purposely miss the festivities, Prudence bit her tongue to not divulge it. "I should be cured. Sarah thinks it is the Giromian cuisine."
"Perhaps." Pauline studied her as she lowered into her chair. "It might be the altitude, too. My first weeks in Westten upset my routine." She scrunched her nose. "I was often queasy. Plus, I imagine the stresses of your upcoming marriage are not helping. Cornelius is intimidating, no?" She fanned herself. "I would not fare well so close to him, either."
Pauline meant it as a compliment—that Cornelius was an attractive man who made ladies weak in the knees—but Prudence sneered.
How can she approve of him?
"So you heard. We are engaged, then?"
Pauline flinched. "I believe so, yes."
"Is he truly a suitable match for me?" The idea alone prompted Prudence's belly to bubble, and she gritted her teeth, praying for nothing to shoot up her throat.
"Like him? I would not go that far, no. But he is a strategic option for us. Insufferable, yes, but I promise, deep down, he is a good man." Pauline lifted and shrugged the shawl over her shoulders as she meandered towards the coffee table.
A temper and a crude sense of humor were not traits Prudence would qualify as good, but if she protested too much, she'd be sick again.
Pauline brought the food and drink to Prudence's nightstand. "I know you dislike tea, but this blend is supposed to aid with stomach aches."
Prudence accepted the beverage, smelling the special herbs and spices. The scent appealed to her, soothing her anxiety and loading her with warmth.
"I appreciate it, Mother."
"If that works out, then you will try the soup." Creases formed near Pauline's eyes as she watched Prudence take a sip. There was a soft beauty to her up close—a fragile yet poised nature to her demeanor that Prudence prayed to inherit as she got older.
The tea calmed her enough to agree to sip some of the soup. She was hungry, and she disagreed with Sarah's stance on rich foods being the culprit. Cornelius was the culprit—his abrupt revelations, his sneaky attitude, his poisonous proximity had riled Prudence up so much she'd had to vomit out her feelings.
Meaning she'd likely be indisposed as long as they were engaged, and it was no use denying it, though her brother and mother would not care to change it.
•••