???
Her arms were aching by the time she reached the Queen’s quarters, but when the Gard standing sentry offered to take the tray from her, she declined – Marie had given her a task, and she’d be damned if it got back to the kitchen that she hadn’t completed it.
When she edged inside, her mother’s bedroom was dim and silent, the curtains drawn and a slim figure tucked deep into the swaths of blankets on the vast bed.
“Your Majesty?” No response. “Mother?”
The shape in the bed stirred, but did not rouse. Adeline set the tray down at the table by the fire, and turned hesitantly to her mother. Should she wake her? Slowly, she approached the bed and peered over the fold of the blankets. Her mother was pale; not her usual glowing porcelain but a translucent greyish-white. Her eyes moved feverishly beneath thin eyelids, the skin around them so dark they looked bruised and painful. Her lips were parted to rake in weak gasps of air, the corners cracked and dry. Adeline’s heart slid into her throat. This was a simple flu?
“Mother?”
The Queen whimpered, and without opening her eyes, clawed one small white hand free from the blankets and reached out for her daughter. Adeline froze at the unfamiliar gesture; and then, without knowing why, she took her mother’s limp and clammy hand in both of hers.
She didn’t know how long she stood like that, holding the sick Queen’s hand, barely daring to breathe too loudly, or even to move, her legs slowly stiffening beneath her. She thought her presence, her touch, brought some small comfort to the frail creature in the bed, so unlike the mother she knew. At the same time, she feared any movement would wake the Queen, bring her wits back to her, and see Adeline dismissed from her rare company. And so she stood, warming her mother’s hand between her palms. After some time, a door slammed from within the Queen’s quarters, and Adeline quickly pulled her hands free. She turned to see her mother’s chief handmaid come hurtling through the inner doors, dropping a hasty curtsey as she went.
“Your Majesty – Oh!”
She gave a second curtsey.
“Princess, please forgive the intrusion,” she said, addressing her own feet.
Adeline waved her up, though honestly she was grateful for the split second to compose herself. She was hot and flushed, and for some reason, reminded of the time that Mareda had poked around her desk and found the terrible romance novel she’d tried to write aged seventeen. As though she’d been caught doing something shameful.
She breathed through the uncomfortable squirm in her chest. “Is something wrong, Tara?”
The handmaid hesitated. “There is a visitor. To see the Queen.”
Adeline blinked at her. As the only Senior Royal not currently unconscious or attending public court, she supposed this was her problem to solve.
“Oh. Okay. Er,” she paused and glanced over her shoulder at the feverish Queen, barely moving but for the weak rise and fall of her chest. “Well, my mother is ill and Princess Mareda is holding court. Could you ask this visitor to return tomorrow morning?”
The chambermaid didn’t move. “He is insistent. Your Highness, I fear he might be quite mad. He is – an odd sort of man. He insists he travelled here from within Eisalaan, but claims he’s –” She flushed slightly, like Adeline was forcing her to repeat a dirty word. “A King.”
“A King?” Adeline said, but the chambermaid was now watching the bed with wide eyes, and quickly dropped into yet another curtsey. Adeline turned.
“Mother – Your Majesty.”
“Adeline.”
The Queen had opened her eyes, and dragged herself halfway to sitting.
“I would like you to go and greet our visitor on my behalf,” she said. She spoke slowly, gasping slightly between words like a winded athlete. “Address his concerns to the best of your ability. I will be with you shortly.”
Adeline frowned.
Her gravely ill mother was going to humour this madness? Why? Who exactly was she expecting to find at their gates? Adeline began to shake her head, more in disbelief than denial, but –
“Please,” said the Queen, quietly.
She paused. It was a word rarely heard from her mother’s lips. Adeline hated that this was all it took to convince her.
“Certainly, mother.”
???
After stopping to fetch her cloak, Adeline had rushed through the palace and arrived breathless and hot at the entrance hall. She took a moment to compose herself, drew herself up and folded her hands at her waist, calling to mind images of perfect posture and effortless grace; of Mareda, and of the Queen.
The Gards on duty stared sternly into the middle distance, bowed in unison, and heaved the doors open. Adeline stepped outside and screwed her eyes at the sudden white light of the midday sun bouncing off the blankets of snow and the clean, bleached stone of the castle walls. The scene of the courtyard was blank and still, save for a far corner by the gates; a flurry of darkness against the snow, a swell of noise in the thick white silence.
