"Lady Mother," Felicite says, chewing anxiously on her lip. "I must speak with you."
"What is it?" Anjolique asks, glancing up from her embroidery. The face of Felicite's mother is a mask, as always, filled with serenity and calm. She offers her daughter a patient smile, encouraging her to proceed.
"I have not bled."
"Oh. Oh!" Anjolique says, standing so quickly the embroidery falls to the floor. "Are you not happy, child?"
Felicite shakes her head. "It is not as though this child is born from love, Mother," she says bleakly.
Anjolique places her hand on Felicite's belly, still flat, her waist still slim. "This child is a blessing. A boy, for certain. A prince. His conception does not matter, Felicite. What matters is that we raise him to be strong, and proud, and we raise him to be an Agincourt, an Agincourt prince to become an Agincourt king."
Felicite knows that her mother is right. She loves this child already, if that is possible, despite his parentage, despite the lack of love that led to his conception.
"Well, shall we send a messenger? Or shall I tell him myself?"
"You tell him," Anjolique says. "The news should come from you. It will help endear you to him."
As Felicite turns to leave, her mother calls for her attention once more. "This is our triumph, Felicite. You will join me every morning at dawn to pray that you have a boy."
That evening, Gabriel opens the door to the chamber and permits Julien entry. But when he approaches Felicite, she raises her hand to stop him.
"I carry your child."
There is joy in Julien's face, once understanding settles in, and for that, she is grateful, for he is far more handsome with a happy face than an angry or mocking one. He takes her hands in his - more carefully this time than ever before, and draws her closer to him, as if he has the intention to hold her tenderly.
"I am glad to hear it," Julien says. "Thank you for telling me. This is...this is wonderful news." He is speechless for a moment, gazing at her with something akin to tenderness before releasing her.
Felicite nods, her face serious. She cannot force a smile despite his sudden tenderness.
"You are so beautiful," he says softly.
"And I have proven myself fertile," she replies dryly.
He nods. "Yes, of course. Of course you have. And will it be a boy?"
"I've no way to know," Felicite replies, looking at him as though he is an idiot. "How could I know?"
His hand drifts to her belly, a tender touch between loving parents, and yet it makes her feel nauseous. She is confused, her warring emotions wearing on her.
"I hope it is a boy," he says. "A Fleming boy. This...this means so much, Felicite. Have you told anyone else?"
"No, Your Grace," she lies, and a thrill of pleasure runs through her at the lie. "I wanted you to know the happy news first."
"Felicite...I know that I have been selfish, that I have been cruel to you. But my mind has not only been on my own security, you must know that. If the child you carry is a boy...your son will be the king. The wars between the houses will be ended forever with this child. This is the only way for there to be peace. And you have brought that for us."
He draws her against him, but she turns away, remembering the king she loved, the king whose son should now grow in her womb, a royal heir not conceived in hatred and jealousy but with love between parents destined for one another.
Julien takes her hand gently. "There are still enemies, Princess. Not only Fleming enemies, but Agincourt enemies, as well. We must pray to the Ancestors that this child is a boy. A girl is no good to me. All of this will have been for nothing."
Felicite feels sick again with the pressure and the thought that she endured all these nights of torment at his hands for naught, and she presses her hand protectively against her belly.
"At least we know that you are fertile. If this child is a girl...we can still try for a boy. But it will be a far more difficult path for us without a male heir to my throne. You understand that, don't you?"
"Better than anyone else."
He nods.
"And if I could not conceive? What would you have done?"
Julien raises an eyebrow, as though this is a foolish question.
"I would have married Claude, of course."
"And would you have forced my sister into this position, like you have me?"
Julien looks away, for the first time showing regret for his actions. "Yes," he admits. "I have no choice. I must know that the woman I marry can give me a son. You must understand that I did not take the throne from Jolis for myself. It is time for a new ruling family for the Three Kingdoms, Princess. I am not taking a wife because I am lonely and desire one. I am taking one to make the new royal family the Three Kingdoms need. The Agincourts lost at Beaufort, Princess. You lost at Beaufort. And you are the spoils of war."
"I carry your child," she replies. "There is no longer reason to delay our marriage. I have done as you wished - as you commanded. I have given you your heir. You will shame me publicly no longer."
Julien falters at this, but nods in agreement.
"Shall I stay?"
"You are the king," she replies.
"I am," he says, his words heavy with weariness, and for the first time, Felicite sees him as he truly is - a young man, who should still be hunting in the forest with his friends, feasting and tournamenting and laughing merrily, but instead, his face bears the exhaustion of an old man.
Yule arrives, and Felicite and her family are invited to visit her betrothed husband in the palace at Corunna, two days' ride north from Ravaenna. This is to be the palace of Lady Saoirse, Julien's mother, and where she will hold her court. It was once the winter home of her beloved Jolis, and the corridors and rooms are haunted with memories for Felicite.
She is surprised when she arrives in the great hall of Corunna, sandwiched between her mother and Lady Margrithe, with her sisters trailing behind her, that Saoirse greets her warmly, ignoring the curtsies and instead enveloping Felicite in her arms, as though she were her long-lost daughter, come home from a far away court.
"You are most welcome here, Princess Felicite. Lady Anjolique, and Lady Margrithe," Saoirse greets them.
"Thank you," Felicite says softly, unsure what to make of her betrothed's mother. She is a stunningly beautiful woman with sharp features and long, auburn hair that spills in ringlets and curls down to nearly her waist. Her smile is genuine and her green eyes sparkle.
"I know you are here to enjoy the Yule feasts, Princess, but I had hoped we may discuss arrangements for your wedding."
"If it pleases you," Felicite replies simply.
"You will come to be fitted for your gown in the royal wardrobe in the coming weeks," Saoirse says, then gestures to Anjolique and the princesses. "Your family, as well."
"Thank you," Felicite murmurs a reply.
"I am so pleased to hear this news," Anjolique says pleasantly. "And my daughter's coronation? What preparations are being made?"
"Her coronation will follow the wedding," Saoirse replies, her steady gaze holding Anjolique's, and Felicite feels a chill as she realizes that her mother has met her match. "I feel a progress is best, after the wedding, to show the people the union between the houses of Agincourt and Fleming. Her coronation will follow the birth of an heir."
Anjolique nods politely.
"My son will see Princess Felicite," Saoirse says, nodding to a page. "Escort the princess to the king's private rooms. Lady Anjolique, Lady Margrithe, there is much for us to discuss."
Julien dismisses the scribe that he is speaking to the moment the doors open and his eyes land upon her. She glances about the room quickly, noting distinct memories with Jolis - that table there, where Julien is studying a map of the northern counties, even - she cannot hide the smile at that thought, but then she forces the memory from her mind as she plasters a different smile on her lips for her betrothed.
"Our mothers are getting along. They will be friends," Julien notes.
"It appears so," Felicite replies.
"When we are wed, they will find common interest in their grandson," he adds.
Felicite remains silent, and to her delight, this seems to irritate Julien. It is as though he wishes this to be a happy visit between two lovers, as though he has forgotten that he has made her his enemy.
"You are well, Felicite?"
"Yes," she says. She does not elaborate. She will not give him any more information than she must. This child belongs to her and her alone.
Julien's smile - the fatherly pride and excitement - should make her happy, and it would, if only he were Jolis. If only this child was conceived in love by two joyful parents, if only this child was not burdened with three kingdoms and the demands of parents who despise one another, of royal familial obligations...of everything his lineage will force upon his tiny head.
"At our wedding, Felicite... will you not try to look happy? The Three Kingdoms wish to see a joyful bride, and I do, as well. This would please me. I will not ask you for much-"
"You ask for everything! You demand everything of me."
"You are impossible," Julien scowls. "I had hoped to enjoy Yule with you, before our wedding-"
She laughs then, so bitterly that it actually causes him to take a step away from her. "You hoped to enjoy Yule with me? As though we were deeply in love? As though we were mates?"
"How do you know we are not?" he asks suddenly, advancing toward her and taking a firm hold of her wrist.
"Be serious," she says, narrowing her eyes defiantly.
"I am quite serious," he says.
"You are hurting me again."
He drops her wrist immediately.
She gazes up at him, open-mouthed as the tingling sensation begins to flutter inside of her belly and then upward through her chest to her head.
"You feel it. Don't you?"
She shakes her head. "I feel...I feel nothing."
"Touch awakens the bond in the male, but a true act of intimacy is what wakens the bond in the female," he replies.
"Have we not been intimate?" she replies. "And still I feel nothing."
"What we had was not intimacy," he says.
"You admit it was rape?"
"No, of course not!" he snaps. "But it was not a true act of intimacy for you. So it did not awaken the bond."
"That is because there is no bond to awaken. You are not my mate."
"I suppose Jolis was?"
"No, of course not," Felicite says. "But I loved him. I do not love you. I could never love you."
In honor of her pregnancy, Julien orders new rooms for Felicite, and employs a new lady-in-waiting to attend her. He has an exquisite fur cloak commissioned for her from the city of Paredes, so that she will be warm throughout the winter and will not catch a chill. He sends mulled ale to her chambers every night, along with platters from the kitchen piled high with breads, meats, cheeses and fruits, so that she will not be hungry for a moment. He sends for the finest midwives in the Three Kingdoms to attend her. She does not enjoy the attention, and prefers to spend her time alone, but this is Julien's way of showing his devotion to her, and so she must accept it, and in her heart, she begins to find she is glad of it.
The servants bring the yule log, a large ash tree, to burn in the enormous hearth in the Great Hall at the palace of Corunna. The yule log is the trunk of a great tree - greater than those that burn in all the homes throughout the Three Kingdoms, and in any palace in any realm. The log will burn for all the days of the Yuletide holiday.
The mood in the palace is merry, for there is a new, healthy young king, poised to wed an Agincourt princess and unite the Three Kingdoms, and with an heir to succeed him to the throne, although the last bit of information is kept private between the families for now.
Throughout the castle, the servants and the nobles alike are singing traditional songs, and they revel in the spirit of the holiday. The children take in the merriment with exuberant joy, and no one has the heart to tell them they cannot. Dulce and Cosette giggle until they fall onto the floor in Julien's Great Hall, but not even Lucien and his dour wife Elliana are allowed to chastise them, as they are favorites of the king.
Julien wraps an arm around Felicite's waist as they watch the servants drag the great trunk to the hearth and shovel red-hot coals around it, waiting for the moment the ash begins to glow. The entire court bursts into applause, and now the Yule festivities can officially begin.
Felicite finds herself leaning into his embrace, despite her insistence that he is not her mate. The holiday season is her very favorite, and despite her grief for Jolis and her trepidation over the child that grows in her womb, she longs to find some comfort so that she might enjoy the festivities.
"Next Yule celebration, we will share with our son," Julien says into her ear. The thought pleases her and she nods.
The musicians strike up a merry tune and Felicite grants her ladies, Shimara and Bragnae, and her new lady-in-waiting, Samira, permission to dance; they are all lovely and dressed in fine gowns, a credit to her name and her house. She smiles broadly at them and claps politely for their moves, which they have practiced together for the occasion.
"Will you dance with me, Princess Felicite?" Julien asks, and she takes the hand he offers, allowing him to lead her out. The others drift to the edges of the dance floor to watch the king and his betrothed as they cross the room elegantly, swiftly, her beaming up at him as though they are truly in love.
If it is a show that King Julien wants, it is a show she shall give him.
His voice is nearly a whisper, his head bent close to hers. "You are a true beauty, and I am fortunate indeed for the Ancestors to have blessed me so with you as my mate."
She blushes, accepting his compliment, and when they part ways, she holds his hand a moment longer.
"This evening, I am going to have a game of cards," she says, gazing up at him from beneath lowered lashes. "Will you play with me, Your Grace?"
Julien releases a breath and grins. "I will, indeed. I shall have Princess Dulce as my partner."
Felicite grins mischievously. "Then I shall have Prince Killian."
"Until later, my love," he bows, pressing a kiss to her hand as he fades into the crowd.