An Accidental Queen

Chapter 6

BEFORE THE SUN ROSE the following morning, I ventured into the forest. Fleurine would be scandalized by my decision to do such a brash and improper thing, but I desired peace: something I had only ever found in the woodland's heart.

Because I knew Fleurine would not understand, I arose swiftly—drinking a mug of water-downed ale and pleating my bedraggled mane of hair before ascending the staircase.

Once the cool breeze touched my bare face and the dampened ground drenched the soles of my slippers, I felt the deep sadness of sweet Lady Adeliza's death climb up in my chest.

Lady Adeliza had been the pride of her parents. She had been talented at needlepoint and courtly dances. Educated by nuns at a convent beyond Toulouse's gates, she had learned to both speak and write Latin and had been devoted to her religious studies. Though I had heard her penmanship was not as precise as that of a scribe's and her Latin far from fluent, she was the embodiment of grace in every other regard.

She possessed a beautiful singing voice and oversaw the management of the household alongside her mother to prepare for her future duties at the royal court. She was an amiable person and never spurned an opportunity to engage her counterparts in lively conversation.

Though we never knew her personally, Lady Adeliza's death had cast a long shadow of grief over the servants of the household. Those who were old enough to remember had witnessed her grow from a cheerful babe into a precocious young girl, and finally into an elegant bride fit to claim the title of future Queen and mother of the next dauphin. The older servants had known her almost as well as they knew their own offspring. Better, even.

Yet, death was neither uncommon nor unexpected. Many children perished before they could even grow. Several of Countess Emeline's babies had died during childbirth and constant plagues slaughtered scores of people in Toulouse. Mourning was meant to be brief and restrained.

For some indiscernible reason, the unexpected demise of our young mistress touched me in a way I did not quite understand. I could not sleep the night before: my mind being afflicted with thoughts of Lady Adeliza's expressionless face and listless frame as her mother wept above her. My heart was heavy with grief.

As I ventured deeper into the forest, I attempted to assuage my troubled spirit.

I found a flat rock large enough to serve as a stool by the side of a brook and seated myself upon it, watching wildflowers of various shades and colours as they bowed to the cool breeze. A lone songbird sang a haunting tune above the evergreen trees.

Thoughts of the past day gallivanted through my mind until grief overcame me. Fleurine was in the twilight of her life, and soon I would possess no other close friends or kin to console me in my loneliness. I would continue toiling at the side of the river until my long hair turned silver and my hands weary and shrivelled. I would never know adventure or anything beyond the grey city walls.

Tears welled within my eyes as I grieved for something I could not express. I uttered a prayer as Fleurine had taught me to do—thanking God for enough food to fill my belly and a place to lie my head at night. But the words felt insincere.

A few moments passed until I gathered the hem of my tunic and slipped through the forest to return to the manor before Fleurine could notice that I had disappeared.

My journey was stalled when the earth beneath me shook.

I clung to a tree with gnarled branches and uneven bark, fear pulsing through me as I imagined what might cause the tremors. Through the mass of evergreen boughs, I could see a procession of carriages and horses galloping down the stone-paved road towards the manor.