Sera gave a frantic nod. “She insists she can cry and throw up well enough on her own.”
Finally, Cora found an appropriate target for her anger. What was Mareleau thinking refusing help while ill? Wasn’t she with child?
A dreadful thought occurred to her. What if she was having complications with her…her pregnancy? And didn’t want to tell anyone? Cora’s heart softened the slightest bit.
“Take me to her.”
Sera blinked at her a few times. “To…Her Majesty?”
“Yes.” Cora wasn’t even sure why she insisted. Whatever Mareleau was going through was none of her business. But with the dreadful pressures of queens and royal women so fresh in her mind, she couldn’t stand idly by if the woman was suffering.
Sera led her down the halls toward a familiar wing of the keep. Cora shuddered as they neared the late Queen Linette’s former chambers.
Master Arther put her here?
It made sense considering both Cora and Dimetreus had refused to claim the room, and it was one of the largest in the keep. Of course the steward would appoint it to the visiting queen.
Sera opened the door and ushered Cora inside before quickly closing them in. Cora nearly gagged as the scent of vomit reached her nostrils. The windows were open, allowing a gentle evening breeze inside the room, but nothing could hide the smell of sick.
Cora took in the state of the room, saw ewers of water, soiled rags, and clothing haphazardly strewn about. There was no sign of blood, but that didn’t mean the worst hadn’t happened. Mareleau lay upon her bed, the back of her forearm covering her eyes. Her hair was slightly damp around her forehead and her cheeks were pale. Her two other ladies, Breah and Ann, fluttered about next to her, trying to coax her into taking a bite of bread.
“I don’t want any more bread,” Mareleau said with a grumbling moan. “Just leave me alone and stop fussing.”
Sera led Cora to Mareleau’s side. Cora addressed the queen’s ladies. “What are her symptoms?”
With an affronted gasp, Mareleau threw back her arm, revealing her blue irises, the whites of her eyes bloodshot. “You can ask me myself. I’m not dead, you know.”
“Fine,” Cora said through her teeth. “What’s wrong with you?”
Mareleau’s eyes widened as she took in Cora’s presence. “What the seven devils are you doing here?”
“I’m here to check on you, Majesty.” Cora’s barbed tone relayed just how much she was already regretting doing so. “Tell me your symptoms.”
Mareleau scoffed. “Do you fancy yourself a physician?”
“Do you fancy yourself a fool? Surely you know better than to neglect your health in your condition.”
“My condition?”
“Your pregnancy, Majesty.” Cora was done dancing around the subject. If Mareleau wanted to be difficult, then Cora would be blunt. “The child you bear. Whether you’re suffering from the condition itself, the loss of it, or some other ailment, it’s folly to refuse proper care.”
The queen’s mouth fell open and color rose to her cheeks. “It’s…it’s not—who told you? Never mind. Get out!”
Cora lifted her chin. “No.”
“I am the queen?—”
“Not mine, though you keep forgetting. Now tell me your symptoms or I’ll plant myself in this room until you do.”
Mareleau bared her teeth with a growl of frustration. Her gaze shifted to her ladies. “Out! The three of you.”
The maids exchanged wary glances, but as Mareleau added a sharp, “Now,” the three scurried from the room and closed the door behind them.
Mareleau groaned as she pulled herself to sitting, struggling to arrange the pillows behind her. The shoulders of her silk gown hung loose as if the back had been left undone. Cora almost felt bad for the queen as she winced with every move, but her pride was too strong to offer help. Mareleau likely wouldn’t want it anyway.
Once she was able to comfortably recline while sitting, she spoke. “It’s not about the baby, trust me.” Her eyes flashed to Cora’s, then quickly away. A flicker of emotion—something like guilt or shame—crept past Cora’s shields.
“Then what’s wrong?”
