Chapter 8
“Marc. Thank goodness you’re here.” Locryn rose from the gilded bedside chair beside Marc’s mother as she slept. As Marc approached, his father gestured him to follow into the hall.
His father paced away, pausing in the open-air passageway lit by narrow slits of natural light and torches mounted to the stone walls. As he turned to face his son, Regent King Locryn ran his hand through his thinning hair, his eyes red and strained.
Marc’s stomach knotted. “Father, I came as soon as I heard.”
“The baby died a couple hours ago, shortly after Saffir came to find you,” he said, his voice hoarse, somber. “Your mother is still very weak, having lost a lot of blood and from a long labor.”
Marc stood frozen, in silence and pain, as his eyes started to well up. It was not the news he expected to hear. This was her eighth child. Childbirth was never easy, and yes, his mother had been through long and difficult labors before, but she’d always recovered quickly. To hear his father speak of her being so weak when she’d always been strong had his insides twisting in turmoil.
“I pray she has the strength to recover.” His father gathered himself, and then continued in a proud but still shaky voice. “She specifically asked to see you, Marc. I’ll be in my chamber. Please come see me after you speak with her.”
Locryn turned abruptly and retreated down the darkened hall. Marc inhaled deeply and returned to his mother’s room. He sat in the chair recently vacated by his father.
Endelyn lay in bed, layers of linen sheets pulled over her to keep her warm. Dark circles had formed around her eyes and her skin was very pale. He had never seen her this ill before.
“Mother.”
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Marc.” She moved her hand toward him, and Marc clasped her hand with his. Her skin was cold and sweaty.
Marc spoke through the strain rising in his throat. “You sent for me?”
“My heart is giving out on me, but there is something I must tell you.” She paused to take a breath. “Your father is going to push you to marry Genevieve for the sake of his alliance with Bertaèyn.”
“I won’t.”
“I know.” Endelyn pressed her pale lips into a weak smile. “The soul bond is as rare as it is powerful, Marc, but you still must choose to accept it. Trystan must as well.”
“I know.” Marc knit his brow.
“Fate has a purpose, for who would Trystan have if not for you?” Endelyn tightened her grip on his hand, but her grasp remained feeble. “Protect him, Marc. Trystan will need you more than he knows. Also, trust Lord Emrys. He is more than who he claims to be, but his intentions are pure and he has sacrificed immensely for not only Trystan, but our kingdom.” She stopped and pulled a ragged breath into her lungs. “Open your mind, and should you ever doubt, you need only remember to follow your heart. Trystan changed my destiny many years ago and he is certainly meant to be a part of yours.”
“How do you mean?”
“Emrys will explain when the time is right.” Endelyn moved her hand over her midsection and let out a weak cough. “And do not worry about your father, for he will soon see what I have come to see in him, and in you.”
Endelyn paused again, her energy waning. With trembling hands, she pulled the ring off her middle finger. “I expect great things from you, Marc. Take this and go now. Bond with Trystan and fulfill your destiny.”
In his mother’s outstretched hand rested the silver ring she’d worn on her middle finger for as far back as he could remember. He read the engraving on the inside of the band.My heart for eternity with you.
Marc looked at his mother, her unspoken gesture filled with hope and understanding. He wasn’t certain it would fit Trystan, but then his hands were smaller than his were. Perchance it would, and if not, he could have it made to fit. He placed the ring in his small leather satchel and held it tightly in his hand. The ache in his chest expanded.
The Queen closed her eyes and rested peacefully. Marc kissed his mother’s hand, praying he would see his mother well again. Though, in all likelihood, he would not. Childbed fever was something very few women, if any at all, recovered from.
***
Marc kept the satchel in his hand as a reminder what he was meant to do and entered the King’s private chamber. His father sat as his desk, a quill in his hand. He looked up as Marc entered.
“How is she?”
“Resting.”
“Good.” Locryn sighed. “I, uh… I did not wish to do this now, but this cannot wait any longer. As you well know, we had discussed many months ago, a new treaty with Bertaèyn—a marriage treaty.” The King paused for a moment as he reviewed a document laid on the table before him. “It is important that we maintain the alliance with Bertaèyn, for without it, we stand to lose much that we have gained.”
“I’m not marrying Genevieve, Father.”
