Cora was all too aware of the ticking clock.
She’d spent the previous hour talking with the council. Or being talkedat, to be more accurate. No matter how she’d tried to argue in her brother’s defense, the truth was that she and Dimetreus had already agreed to give Dimetreus’ council the final say on the king’s abdication. These terms had been necessary to forge the alliance with Verdian and would be written into the upcoming peace pact. Cora knew Verdian would refuse to sign it if she tried to go back on her word, and there was no talking the council out of their decision. Especially since the king had wholeheartedly agreed.
All that was left was for Cora to marry Teryn.
But she couldn’t do that until they had a chance to talk. She couldn’t enter their marriage with the secret of her curse.
She wandered through the halls of the keep, unsure where she intended to go. Returning to work in the tower would be too dangerous in her current state of mind; she knew she couldn’t focus on clearing with her head so full of this newest burden. But as she passed the wing that led to her room, she found herself unwilling to turn. No, she couldn’t sit idly in her bedroom either. She glanced out one of the windows in the hall and caught a glimpse of the early evening sun. There was still plenty of light left in the day. Perhaps she could sneak out after all…
She turned down a corridor that led to a portion of the keep that had yet to be refurbished, her mind set on entering the servants’ passage?—
She pulled up short as a figure, hunched at the base of the far wall, came into view. At first, she saw only a curtain of silver hair draped over dark blue silk, but as she took a step back, the woman’s face lifted from her hands, revealing Queen Mareleau’s tear-filled eyes. Startled, Mareleau bolted upright and pushed to her feet, swiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
Sorrow surged against Cora’s shields, and she was too fatigued to block it. It swept over her, sinking her heart. Or perhaps it simply rested alongside a heart already sunk. Cora could tell Mareleau was embarrassed at being caught crying, so she dipped into a curtsy and turned to leave.
“I’m pregnant,” Mareleau said to Cora’s back.
Cora turned back around. “Oh?”
“My moon cycle is overdue. I’d lost track during my travels, but that and the emotions I’ve been having, not to mention the—” With a grimace, she put a palm to her stomach. “The nausea. I…I think you were right. I’m pregnant.”
Cora frowned. Her voice sounded so empty. So resigned. “Did you not know, Majesty? I thought it was merely a well-kept secret, not something you were unaware of.”
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Who told you in the first place?”
“Lady Sera,” Cora admitted, feeling no guilt about outing her. “She mentioned instructions your mother had given your maids, insisting that you’d conceived on your wedding night, and that they were to forbid you from drinking wine.”
“Mother.” Mareleau bit out the word like a curse.
The queen’s emotions surged against Cora’s shields again, a medley of annoyance, guilt, and grief. At least this time Cora’s nerves were more at ease, allowing her to connect with the elements and thicken her mental wards. Apparently focusing on someone else’s problems were enough to distract her from her own. As much as Cora lacked any sort of friendly feeling toward Mareleau, maybe the distraction was what she needed. And from how the woman had stopped Cora from leaving with her statement that she was with child, perhaps Mareleau needed someone to talk to.
She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to be that someone. For now. She took a few steps closer. “If this was something your mother already knew about, then why do you seem so surprised?”
Mareleau narrowed her pale blue eyes, lips pursed tight. Then, with a sigh, she spoke. “I lied.”
Cora arched a brow. “About what?”
Mareleau averted her gaze and wandered to the nearest window. Lacing her fingers through her hair, she wove a messy braid as she stared with eyes that didn’t seem to see anything beyond the window. “I lied about being with child so that my father would allow me to wed Larylis.”
Silence stretched between them in the wake of her confession. Cora could hardly believe what she’d heard.
“No one else knows but Larylis—and Teryn too, now—so don’t tell anyone.” Her voice was nearly monotone, devoid of the barbed ire Cora expected from her.
Cora moved closer and lowered her voice. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because my lie no longer matters. It’s true now.”
“And you aren’t happy about that?”
Mareleau shook her head, lips curved down in a frown. “I’m not ready. I wanted more time with my husband. More time to…just be a woman in love. My parents kept me and Larylis apart for three years. Now that I have him, I just wanted it to be us for a while.” She shifted her gaze to Cora. “You think I’m selfish, don’t you?”
Cora could tell her that this new development neither added nor subtracted from her opinion of her. She expected the queen to be selfish. Cold. Haughty. That was all Mareleau had shown of herself so far.
Instead of saying that, she admitted something that hit far closer to home. “At least your position as queen is secure. You’ve managed to fulfill your singular duty.”
“No,” Mareleau said, whirling toward Cora with a clenched jaw. “I haven’t fulfilled my duty, I’ve only taken the first step. The first of many exhausting steps, and one I wasn’t even ready to take. Do you know what happens next? Next everyone will speculate whether it’s a boy. When I birth my child, I’ll be praised if it is. If not, I’ll be consoled. Then I’ll be expected to try again. Again. Again.”
For the first time, Cora found herself able to relate to the queen. She too felt the burdens of such a role. But she wasn’t ready to express their similarities. “It doesn’t need to be a boy. You and I are both women and heirs.”
