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“Pregnancy and childbirth were common occurrences amongst the people I lived with for the last six years. It wasn’t a taboo subject like it is amongst royal society. We were open about it. Most of us trained in general aid, and I attended my share of births. While I’ve never experienced the condition myself—”
And never will, thanks to Morkai. The thought invaded her mind so suddenly, her breath caught in her throat. Breathing deeply, she forced the unwanted thought away and focused on what she’d been trying to say. “I have knowledge that can help, should you want it.”
Mareleau quirked a brow, unimpressed with Cora’s credentials. “And what knowledge is that?”
“First, that you really should see a physician when you’re feeling ill. It isn’t safe to neglect such care. Why did you, anyway?”
The queen shifted awkwardly in the bed, a hint of embarrassment on her face. “I didn’t want him to know I’d had wine. If word got back to my mother…ugh. Must I spell it out for you? She wouldn’t approve because of this…” She waved a hand at her belly. “Condition. Don’t you dare say a word to anyone.”
“I won’t, but I doubt the royal physician would have been able to read your perceived sins through your vomit.”
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “How should I know what a physician can and can’t do? Is it not their job to read the inner workings of one’s body?”
Cora would be amused if she weren’t so tired. Now that she knew Mareleau wasn’t in any immediate danger, she was desperate for sleep. Brushing her hands on her skirts, she took a step back from the bed. “I’ll request a cup of ginger tea be brought to you at once, which you should have daily from now on.”
“Why is that?”
“Morning sickness can last weeks, and you’re certainly far enough along for it to begin.”
“Surely I’m not. My wedding night wasn’t yet three weeks ago.”
“Oh, right,” Cora said, tone flat. She recalled what Sera had said about Queen Helena preemptively spreading word that her daughter had conceived on her wedding night. All to cover the fact that her daughter was already with child. “Even if thatwerethe case, it still isn’t too soon for these symptoms to begin.”
Mareleau released a disbelieving snort. “What do you know? I already told you it was underbaked cake and wine…” Her words dissolved, taking with it the color in her face. “Wait, what do you mean it’s not too soon to experience…symptoms? That…that even if I’d conceived on my wedding night, I could…”
“It’s exactly what it sounds like.”
“No,” she said with a light chuckle. “That’s not possible.” She held Cora’s gaze with a hopeful grin as if waiting for Cora to agree with her. When Cora remained mute, Mareleau’s expression went blank, eyes wide as they locked on Cora’s. “No!”
A spike of the queen’s emotions slammed into Cora. Terror. Shock. Panic. They made Cora stagger back before she could strengthen her shields. Breathing deep, she closed her eyes and connected with the elements, weaving them tighter around her.
When she opened her eyes, Mareleau’s face had crumpled.
“Seven devils, no,” the queen said, chin quivering, before a sob tore from her throat. She hung her head and covered her face with her hands, shoulders heaving as she dissolved into a pool of tears.
Cora stared at the other woman, too startled to know whether she should comfort her or leave her in peace. She chose the latter and backed out of the room. The last thing she heard as she softly closed the door was Mareleau’s distressed, high-pitched wail that ended in, “I’m godsdamned pregnant.”
33
Larylis Alante never would have believed there was anything lonelier than being a bastard. Now that he was king, he knew it to be a far lonelier endeavor. He had guards. A bevy of attendants. His late father’s councilmen. But being surrounded by all these people, most of whom were no better than strangers to him, made him feel even more alone than if he were in an empty room. Empty rooms, in fact, held a certain comfort no space filled with strangers could have.
He felt this now as he sat in King Arlous’ place athiscouncil table inhiscouncil room withhiscouncilmen. As the king’s bastard son, he’d never been allowed to attend such meetings before. Now, with his father gone and Teryn having abdicated, he had no choice but to attend them. He sat in his father’s mahogany chair, wore his royal coat and crown of gold, yet he struggled to reconcile his change of station. The same doubt shone in the eyes of at least half of the councilmen who sat around the long oak table. They may address him asYour Majestyand pay him the outward respects required, but how many of them wished to see Teryn sitting in Larylis’ place?
Larylis certainly did.
Or that Teryn was there, at least. Not that he had any intention of admitting as much to his brother. It wasn’t pride that drove his silence but sympathy. He knew Teryn would come home at once if Larylis confessed just how much he could use Teryn’s lifetime of knowledge as future-king-in-training. But Larylis was willing to suffer—willing to pretend he felt an ounce of confidence when he passed laws, made judgments on petitions, or sent correspondences marked with Menah’s royal seal—if it meant Teryn had all the time he needed with Cora.
His own relationship may be temporarily stunted by distance, but that didn’t mean Teryn’s should be too.
Besides, Larylis had the means to adapt to his current struggles. He didn’t have Teryn’s lifetime of royal tutelage, but he had one reliable resource that had never let him down—books. Every night, he read about the kings of history. Great kings to emulate. Terrible kings to learn from their mistakes. During the day in his father’s study, he learned from another form of the written word—his father’s. He read over Arlous’ correspondences, studied his diary, memorized the names of his allies, spies, and other important contacts.
He hadn’t learned much to instill confidence in his capabilities, but facts, stories, and histories had always made him feel at least somewhat secure. They helped him pretend. If he could step into a role from fiction or history, he could separate himself from all his worries.
Right now, he was pretending to be Marsov, Fifth King of Rezkos, crowned Year 87 of the Sheep. Like Larylis, Marsov had been born a bastard. He, however, had claimed the throne without being legitimized and kept his crown despite many other contenders. It would have been an inspiring tale, were it not for the sixty years of war King Marsov put the Kingdom of Rezkos through, but that wasn’t the part Larylis was emulating. Instead, he was mimicking the confidence he’d read about, the way King Marsov always sat with his chin held high, refusing to acknowledge any slight against his lesser birth.
Larylis wasn’t sure if it helped or just made him look like an ass, but either way, his council continued to defer to him in every decision as the meeting continued. He wondered if King Dimetreus was receiving the same respect from his council. What was it like being served by a council made up of men from another kingdom? Larylis had that to be grateful for. Had it not been for Verdian’s wariness of Dimetreus, the king may have tried to position his brothers at Dermaine instead.
Larylis’ Head of Council, Lord Tolbrook, brought up the next subject for their discussion. “Are you certain you want to grant the Kingdom of Tomas inclusion into our trade with Brushwold?”
