“You could tell him. You can march right up to the office and show him you’re pregnant. You could let him see for himself. Or you can make it so he sees you as he did that night.”
“And how is that, do you think?”
“You were exactly what he needed, dear girl. If he thinks that that’s going to come in the form of an aristocratic woman, then present yourself to him that way. Once he knows, once he sees that you’re both, he won’t be able to deny you.”
“Or,” she said, “he’ll hate me forever.”
“My dear, there are some sad truths about women who bear the issue of kings when they’re not married, especially when they’re not from the same class. I have deep respect for King Onyx, but he is a king. And a man besides. There is always the risk that he won’t acknowledge the child as legitimate. That he may style you as a nanny. Or that he may make you a mistress. That your son will have to exist in the shadows.”
Birdie knew that. Deep down she did, and there was no reason for her to believe that it would actually be any different. Because no one in her life treated her like she deserved to be anywhere but in the shadows. That was the truth of it. Her stepmother despised her. Her stepsisters saw her as nothing more than a servant.
They would be doing everything they could to finagle an invitation to the ball, even though they hadn’t been at the funeral. Trying to get themselves on the invite list. Trying to get themselves in front of the king. If her stepmother knew that she was having the king’s baby she would be outraged.
“You can’t hide forever,” Elizabeth said. “Or you can. You could leave. You could never speak of it again. You could go and raise your child alone. Not risk yourself.”
Birdie shook her head. “No. I’ll do it. I’ll go to the ball. But I don’t… I don’t have anything to wear.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I have just the thing.”
That was how Birdie found herself being ushered out of Elizabeth’s quarters, into a wing of the palace that she had rarely ever been in. “You know,” Elizabeth said. “I served the queen. Not Queen Circe, Onyx’s mother.”
She hadn’t fully appreciated ever that Elizabeth must have known everyone in the palace for years. That she would’ve known Onyx when he was a child.
“Oh.”
“She has the most glorious wardrobe, still here in the palace. And there’s one gown… It would suit you so well, Birdie.”
“I can’t wear the…the dead queen’s dress?”
“What better time? She would have liked you very much. She was such a brave woman. You know, she was common in many ways.”
“She was the village leader’s daughter,” Birdie said. “Of the disenfranchised people that lived in the mountains. Before they unified the country. She was royalty, in her circle.”
“Yes. But not in the way the crown had ever acknowledged it before. What she was, was an incredibly brave, strong young woman who took a chance. Even when it was frightening. And she would’ve seen you, she would’ve seen how much you cared for her son. I don’t wish to speak ill of anyone who has passed. But Onyx’s wife didn’t… He married for duty.”
“The queen was lovely,” Birdie said softly.
It was one of the things that had always made her feel so guilty about her crush on the king. Circe had been kind to everyone who worked in the palace. Funny, bold and fashionable, there had been nothing to dislike about her.
“In some ways. She wasn’t compatible with the king. At least not to my eyes.”
That wasn’t something Birdie had seen. She’d thought they were a beautiful couple. So much so that it hurt.
“I have no children of my own,” Elizabeth said. “But I have watched Onyx since he was a boy. And I’ve cared for you since you’ve come here. I would rather see you on the throne, Birdie, by his side, than any of these noblewomen that might be invited. And you’re the one having the heir. No, we can’t guarantee that everything will work out. But we must have courage.”
She opened up the vast wardrobe, and Birdie walked inside, the array of ball gowns that glittered before her stunning. Elizabeth walked to the back and pulled out a lavender confection of a gown, with lilac netting, and gold vines twining down the bodice. “Oh,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”
“It will do its job covering up your bump.”
“Won’t he recognize it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Try it on.”
So she did, and stood before the mirror, barely recognizing herself.
“Leave your hair down,” Elizabeth said.
