Prudence had expected some grogginess the next day, but she'd also hoped for her illness to subside.
It didn't. She woke with bile in her mouth and bitter thoughts swirling in her mind. The sickness was strong, clutching to her like a leech, heating her skin to the point of boiling.
She threw her covers off, but before she could try to set a foot to the ground, a horde of ladies—sans Sarah—appeared at the end of her bed. A chorus of "are you unwell, still?" and "let us aid you, Highness!" filled the otherwise silent room.
Their shrill voices caused Prudence's nostrils to wrinkle in displeasure. Annoyed—and further sickened by their breakfast breaths and their overwhelming desires to please her—she assured them she was fine and dismissed them.
But as she took a big puff of oxygen and got up, she regretted sending them away, because she couldn't keep upright. Dizziness enveloped her senses, and she was desperate for air.
She somehow hobbled to the window and opened it, basking in the instant wave of freshness. "Much better."
With difficulty, she crawled back to her sweat drenched sheets and settled onto her side. Her insides jiggled with the remnants of her mother's tea and soup, and she clenched her teeth, praying none of it would swarm up her throat. She winced, flipping to her back with her legs bent and her hands atop her stomach. There, she found enough comfort to fall into a nightmarish sleep loaded with images of Cornelius cackling, Romain yelling, and Antoine running after her, begging for forgiveness.
***
She woke again at noon, and her gut groaned for nourishment. Yet when she craned her neck to her nightstand and discovered a tray of soup and biscuits, she nearly hurled. The smell—more like a stench, slithering into her nose without warning—intensified her aches, so she dug herself deeper into her covers. Whoever had delivered the meal had also closed the window, and she moaned, wishing they hadn't.
She hesitated to get up and summon someone to take the tray away, but she worried her ladies would see right through her lies of being fine. They'd then spread rumors—Pauline warned how gossip catapulted in Giroma, and how quickly it blew out of proportion. The nobles would discuss her as she lay in bed, sick, trying and failing to recover from whatever had poisoned her—
With a gasp, she lurched up into a seated position. "Poison?" The word bubbled like acid in her mouth. She put her hand over her belly, and her nightgown was stuck to her sticky, sweat-ridden skin. "Could someone have..."
She wracked her brain; who would want her bedridden, if not dead?
Cornelius!
Had Cornelius ever had access to her food, her drink? He'd never eaten in her presence, but who was to say he didn't have means to sneak into the kitchens, pour some illicit substance into her coffee, flake peppers onto her meat, drizzle a spicy sauce onto her potatoes? The list was endless.
Or had he done something to the surrounding air? Was there a poison—other than influenza—that spread by coughing, by breathing? And how to inquire about it without arousing suspicion?
She scoffed. "Romain would not believe me. And Mother... I doubt she would, either."
Her only solution was to ask her ladies. Sarah, with her vast knowledge of the castle, might obtain information, speak with cooks, kitchen staff, perhaps Cornelius' crew. But could Sarah be trusted?
The door opened, and as if magically summoned, the woman in question arrived. "Highness?"
Prudence sank into her half-huddled position. "Sarah?"
The maiden shuffled closer, then stopped at the foot of the bed. "They lied to me! You lied to me." She stomped. "You are not well yet! Why did you dismiss the ladies? They only wish to help!"
"Their help was poisonous," said Prudence, rolling her eyes. She bit her lip. "And speaking of poison... I fear the reason I am so ill is that something might have been put in my food. I have never been so incapacitated before, and I worry."
Sarah hurried to Prudence's side and kneeled by the mattress. "Absolutely not! Your meals receive the same treatment as the King's! Checked, tasted, tested—the works!" Her face drained of color, turning as pale as the bed-spread. "Not a soul in this castle would dare!"
Prudence had learned many years ago to distrust everyone. "How can you be certain?" Something twinged in her pelvis, and she cringed. "Were you there? Did you supervise the chefs?" Sarah dropped her chin and shook her head. "Exactly. You cannot know. It would not surprise me. Surely some nobles here have access to the kitchens, and have a private stash of poisons—"
Sarah tilted back up, fire in her eyes, her lips curled downwards. "I guarantee, Your Highness, that no one touched your food or drink. We check anything that is to be in contact with your mouth. His Majesty was clear on that—any suspicious activity is to be reported to him. He feared this, too, but has done all in his power to prevent it." She readjusted herself and made for the vanity.
Prudence flinched, praying her unfinished note to Céleste remained concealed beneath a book. Luckily, Sarah snatched the bench and dragged it to the edge of the bed. She perched atop it and crossed one leg over the other.
"He worried the nobles might doubt your identity, or might conspire, but so far, all have accepted you. As you will see at the ball, in a few days."
The ball.
Prudence refrained from gagging. "If I am alive to attend it."
Sarah smacked a hand over her mouth and inclined her head. "You will not perish on my watch. Anyone wishing to harm you will deal with me, first! My role is to protect you, serve you, ensure your needs are met." She jumped up from the chair so fast it nearly toppled backwards. "Do you require anything now? Water? Tea? Wine? A snack? I can—"
"—Sarah!" Prudence's voice came out loud as a trumpet, but strained, as if she were choking. Yet it had the intended effect—it halted Sarah's flailing about. "I need rest and isolation. And information. Someone to notify my brother of my concerns and of my condition. And watch him. Especially those around him." As her anxiety grew, her belly gurgled, begging to spill out its contents. "And... my fiancé, too. I have a bad feeling about him."
"Of course, Highness." Sarah lowered into a curtsy. "But your betrothed... he left."
"Left?" Prudence's throat constricted.
It is as I thought; he is en route to Romain's bride, and likely to Totresia.
"When he gets back, monitor him." She snapped at Sarah. "Now leave me, so that I might recover."
Sarah scampered out, leaving Prudence to wait as her footsteps faded down the corridor. Once she was far, far away, Prudence lunged to her chamber-pot and unleashed herself into it.
***
When a frosty breeze weaved into the room, grazing over Prudence's overheated cheeks, she woke. To her right sat Pauline, her caring face illuminating as their gazes met.
"There you are." A muted lavender gown draped her figure, its skirts so voluminous they concealed the chair beneath her.
Pauline was a welcome reprieve from the nightmares that bathed Prudence's mind in blood, sweat, and tears.
"Mother," she whispered, sucking in a large whiff of the refreshing air. "What is happening?" She slid up against her headboard and massaged her temples.
Eyes creasing as she smiled, Pauline extended her hand. "I was hoping to take you on an evening stroll, if you can bear it. I always find the nighttime gusts to be soothing."
Pushing her covers down, Prudence peered at her gut. The thought of getting up, getting dressed, fixing her hair—
"I picked out an easy gown for you, without restricting undergarments. And it will be beneath your cloak, no one will know," said Pauline with a wink.
She pointed at Prudence's changing panel, and sure enough, a demure red dress lounged there—Prudence remembered it as slightly oversized.
"I am unsure if I can walk," said Prudence, shoving her blankets farther down.
"I will help you." Pauline rose from the chair. "We must get you better for the ball, and staying in here with this stench will not benefit you."
Prudence agreed; the odor in the area was foul. Sickness and rotting food and staleness—how had she survived thus far?
"Well... I suppose it will not harm me to try."
So after standing—without collapsing or throwing up, by some miracle—and shrugging on the comfortable gown, Prudence sat at her vanity while Pauline brushed her hair, freeing it from its matted appearance. With a pinch to her cheeks for color, Prudence was ready.
They headed downstairs at a slow pace. Most of the court was at supper, meaning the risk of bumping into anyone was scarce.
Nausea clouded her sight, but Prudence managed, one step at a time, with her mother's fingertips wrapped around her wrist, assisting her in keeping her balance.
Outside, the icy chill of recent snow and freezing temperatures hit Prudence's face. She smiled, relaxed by the delicate aroma of pines and winter blossoms as she opened her mouth to drink it all in.
"I knew this would help." Pauline beamed as she guided Prudence down the balcony stairs and onto the crunchy, snow-covered pebbles.
They strode in silence. Prudence enjoyed the cold nipping at her skin, and the quiet nature soothing her heavy heart. Her stomach still ached, but the change of scenery took her mind off the knots inside.
"When I first moved to court, I got sick often. Each time, to fix the pain, all it took was fresh air." Pauline sent her arm under Prudence's. She peeked up at the stars in the cloudless sky. "Did it work for you? How are you feeling?"
Prudence shrugged. "I am not cured, but I am calmer." She chuckled. "I have never been this sick in my life. Not once."
"Neither was Romain," Pauline said, a hint of nostalgia to her tone. "I must tell you; he was so happy to be reunited with his twin. So many years of never being sure if he would meet you... we are all so relieved."
Prudence's momentary joy faded.
It was your fault he only met me now!
Her breath fogged up her vision, and she quit walking. "But you—" a sharp pang cut off her voice, and she pressed a palm to her pelvis, "—you knew of me. You did not warn him."
Pauline fluttered in front of her, grabbing her upper arms, keeping her from tumbling. "It was in his and your best interest. I swear, I waited for the right moment. Or so I believed. I cannot apologize enough." She placed her gloved fingertips on Prudence's cheeks. "You are my child, and I made sure you were safe, even with the enemy."
Again, her stomach seared with pain; a quick jolt, like an internal kick, a pinch, that sent chills up and down her spine.
"Please, understand me, daughter." Pauline's voice distorted, and as Prudence looked at her, her expression blurred. "You are my child."
The pain prickled Prudence's belly again. Faster, like a lightning bolt.
"I would never dare hurt my child!" Pauline sounded distant, her timbre an echo in Prudence's head.
She chewed on her tongue, trying to ignore each stab, but unable to ignore the word that seemed to cause them.
Child.
Another pang.
Child?
The spasm sprawled across her lower abdomen now, like a multitude of punches to her internal organs.
Child, child, child.
She hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes until her mother's features suddenly tuned back in, revealing her raised eyebrows and fast-moving lips.
"Prudence? Darling, are you all right?"
Prudence's knees were bent, and she was hunched over, as if about to vomit—but nothing had spiraled up her throat, and no acrid tastes lingered on her tongue.
"I..." She redressed herself and stepped backwards. "I am fine."
She wanted to yelp, to throw her arms up, to run for the forest she wasn't allowed to enter. Thankful her large petticoat concealed her buckling knees, she fixed her face into a semi-smile, desperate to fool her mother into thinking she was all right.
She was not. The realization had hit her square in the jaw, like a wild jab in a fighting pit. She wasn't ill at all.
I should have guessed it the moment my discomfort began.
It had been a little over two weeks. In her experience at the Totresian court, she'd seen the symptoms, the signs, the obvious tell-tales. The sudden vomiting, the nausea, the disorientation. The inability to keep anything down, the sweats, the shivering.
Prudence carried a child inside her. Antoine's child. The Totresian King's sole heir.
•••