The Broken Crown

Chapter 22

Adrianne

Adrianne watched as Raphael – not Raphael of House Turell, but her Raphael – strode up the steps to the throne, his deep red mantle covering his broad shoulders. He didn’t look like his father; his hair was blonde like her brother’s and his eyes were blue like cornflowers. When he sat himself on the throne, it was a vision of prefecture. Somehow, the entire people was there, the popularis of Etheron, watching him with smiles and cheers.

The sun shone from a cloudless sky as he giggled childishly. His crown was of paper and his mantle nothing but a cape, but he beamed all the brighter for it. He ran in circles, a kite flying high above him and then he turned, running towards his mother. She knelt down and spoke to him, sweet words of encouragement.

And there was Raphael, her husband, her King. He was smiling proudly, warmly even. His beard was grown but his face wasn’t older, and suddenly he was on top of her. It was her wedding night all over again, and she felt the pain between her legs. And then the cramps began…

Her eyes shot open, seeing nothing but blackness. The dreams had evaporated around her and she was most definitely alone. But still she felt the pain between her legs, the pain that had lessened for each night she spent with Raphael until it had been gone one night. Furrowing, Adrianne reached one hand beneath the covers to massage her abdomen. Slowly, her hand fumbled further down.

When her hand met damp cloth, her furrow grew and she pulled back her hand. In the dark night, it was hard to make out her fingers, but after a second or so, her eyes had accustomed to the light. And that’s when she saw it.

Her fingers were covered in red. Blood. Disbelievingly, she brought her hand closer and stared at it until shooting up to sit, throwing off her covers.

The entire bottom half of her was red, drenched in crimson. It stood in stark contrast to her white gown, the white sheets beneath her. And it wasn’t just red – sometimes it became so dark it seemed black. It took her a moment to realize…

And then she screamed, with a voice that seemed not her own. It was so shrill, so scared and hurt in a way she did not feel yet. Tears emerged, blurring her vision, making everything seem so faded. Her chest seemed to clench together, painfully, as realization hit her. It couldn’t be. Of course it wasn’t.

“My lady?” It was Lily who spoke, so very quietly. Then she heard Anne’s gasp and Tatiana’s slight scream.

Somehow their presence calmed Adrianne. “It’s not…” she began, unsure if it was them or herself she was trying to reassure. “How is there so much blood?” Her voice broke.

Hearing someone kneel beside her, she turned her head. It was Gabrielle, her face a mask of worry. “Your Grace?”

Adrianne remembered Gabrielle’s bastard. She’d been pregnant before, she’d know… “It’s natural, isn’t it?” Adrianne nodded to herself, sure it had to be something her mother had forgotten to tell her about. “It has to be, right? It’s just…”

 Her lady-in-waiting hushed her patiently, waiting for her words to stop. “It’s okay, Your Grace,” she said calmly, “it’s okay, you’re alive, you’ll be alright. It’s just a miscarriage.”

For a moment, she did not understand the words. Her eyes widened in shock, then she blinked, several times, trying to see some way they could be lies. “No…” she whispered. “It can’t be. No. No! No!”

Adrianne’s screams grew incoherent, tears streaming freely once more. It felt as though she was being ripped apart from the inside out. She saw her son, her beautiful, little son with the cornflower eyes and golden hair, so much like everyone she’d ever loved. Heard his laughter. Relived the moments that would never be. “My little boy,” she whispered, her voice shrill and coarse from screaming. “He was a boy,” she told them, leaning forwards and touching the blood, hoping that somehow it would vanish and she could go back to sleep and never, never have to feel this way again. “He was a boy, he was…”