“Read this.”
I reached for the book Chevalier handed me, but my hand froze before touching the red cover with the gold lettering. “Go Along With It?” I asked, frowning up at him. “Clavis isn’t coming, is he?”
“No, he is not,” Chevalier said, smirking as he pushed the book into my hand. “If you recall, I said you would like the book, and yet you have not read it.”
“Because I was a little distracted by Clavis kidnapping me and trying to kill you,” I pointed out, looking down at the book again as Chevalier’s hand came to the small of my back. “And then there was your birthday, and the journal, and Christmas…”
I let that sentence trail into silence as he guided me down the hall, and he let the silence linger. Christmas had been a new experience of the highest joy and deepest sorrow for me. I’d filled my spare time, and my mind, with finding the perfect gift for everybody I could think of, doing everything I could to distract my thoughts from the one person with whom I would not be celebrating. Chevalier had been the hardest to shop for, again, and I bought presents for each of his brothers, Sariel, Theresa, Belle, Rio, Julius and the rest of my guards, my doctor, Mother’s doctor, my old and new priests, the Stotts, the foreign princes—the list grew and grew until Christmas Eve, when I walked into the chapel for the candlelight service, and the crushing realization hit me all at once.
I'd walked through those doors alone. Without Mother. And I'd never spend Christmas with her again.
I’d been a mess the rest of December and well into January.
“It didn’t rain on our wedding day,” Chevalier finally said, “but I suspect she would have been pleased.”
“She would have loved it,” I replied softly. The familiar ache was back in my chest, but I forced myself to smile up at him. “And it rained a couple of days ago, so I think that counts. Speaking of which, we aren’t about to get rained on again today, are we?”
“See for yourself.”
There wasn’t a cloud in the clear blue sky. The rain had left its mark on the carefully cultivated gardens and the surrounding countryside, bringing life to new flowers in bloom and zest to the birds singing the songs of spring. Chevalier and I settled on the same hillside we’d tumbled down before the rain to engage in the much tamer activity of reading in the afternoon sunshine.
And darn it, he was right about the book.
It wasn’t a light read. The protagonist was a young noblewoman who, on the surface, followed all the spoken and unspoken rules of aristocracy, learning the right things, saying the right things, doing the right things, all while secretly entertaining herself with stories she created in her mind. At a tea party, she was the perfect hostess, but later that night, the mean older woman whose veiled insults she endured became a wicked witch with a singular weakness: scones. One bite of the pastry was all it took to melt the witch into a puddle of tea.
Not all the stories were humorous, and not all of them had happy endings. They were the protagonist’s coping mechanism, a way of reframing her reality into a form she could tolerate. Her arranged marriage to a cruel man twice her age became a tower caging a princess from the world, keeping her safe from the unknown as long as she met the tower’s demands. The servant she fell in love with was a butterfly in a garden, beautiful and calming, but always out of reach.
Go Along With It. The title summarized her entire life—or at least, what I’d read of the book before an idea came to mind and I set it aside.
“I’ve decided what I can do as queen,” I announced.
Chevalier turned a page in his book, and I had to admire the way the sunlight highlighted his pale blonde hair in gold. He turned to look at me with eyes a few shades lighter than the blue sky above, his fair skin set against a backdrop of vibrant green grass and colorful spring flowers, and I wished I had the artistic skill to paint the scene. It would easily become my favorite portrait.
“Oh?” he asked.
“Managing the household staff. It's really a waste of time for your brothers to handle their own servants when they could be free to focus on governmental affairs, and I know how to do the work, so I can put my experience to use,” I explained.
He nodded, and the corner of his lip turned up in the hint of a smirk. “The court ministers won’t approve.”
I felt my lips pulling up into a smile, too. “Because I’m only supposed to decorate your arm at parties and produce lots of little princes? I think I can manage that on top of everything else. And on that note,” I shifted closer and rested my head on his shoulder, “how many children do you want?”
He didn’t answer immediately, instead turning his face to the sky in thought. I wrapped my hands around his arm, snuggling closer, and he closed his book and set it on the grass, but he remained silent. And the silence stretched uncomfortably long.
“Chevalier?” I asked hesitantly.
He sighed and turned to look at me again, and when his fingers brushed across my cheek, there was something achingly tender in his touch. “I had planned to marry only for political reasons and produce at least two boys: one to inherit the throne, and one as a stand-in should something happen to the first. Although I anticipated having more, pending additional political marriages as necessary and the unspoken agreement that such marriages should produce children. But now…”
I smiled encouragingly. “But now, you’ve married for love, and you know I wouldn’t be content as just the favorite in your harem.”
That got a small smile out of him. “Nor do I want a harem. You are more than enough trouble on your own.”
“Well, you knew that from the start, didn’t you?”
We lay there in the grass for a few minutes, basking in the sunshine, our books abandoned on either side of us. I closed my eyes while Chevalier traced his fingers across my face, following my hairline, the curve of my jaw, the outline of my lips. It felt good, but there was something in his eyes that bothered me. Something I didn’t want to see. I still felt it in his touch, though, in the silence where his answer to my question went unspoken, and the gentle warmth of the sun wasn’t enough to stave off the chill that silence gave me.
It was a simple question: How many children do you want? A question he’d evaded by giving his answer from the time before we met.
Was it the reminder of how much I’d upended his life? Did he have any regrets about us? No, he’d always made it clear he loved me and wanted nobody but me, and the only regret I’d seen from him came when we touched on the painful events in my past, the things he couldn’t prevent.
Was this about his fear of losing me?
“Did your mother have any trouble giving birth to you?” he asked.
I opened my eyes, and if his question wasn’t confirmation enough, the troubled look in his eyes was. “No, not at all,” I said, making an effort to keep my voice as airy and light as the floral perfume wafting around us. “Which was good, because she had no help, either. Are you worried about me? That I’m too small to have children?”
“Among other things, yes,” he admitted.
“Okay, well, I don’t know about these ‘other things,’ but there are a lot of petite women who never have trouble,” I reassured him. “You’ve seen Mrs. Stotts. She’s no bigger than I am, and she had no trouble with any of her children, even the twins.”
His brows remained knit together; his lips remained tight.
“From a logical standpoint, I know you are correct,” he replied. “But there are other considerations. Your nutrition in early childhood was not ideal, correct?”
I nodded. “There were occasional days without food, yes.” More than occasional, and he knew that as well as I did, but I didn’t want to worry him more. “But my mother grew up as a noblewoman, so I doubt she ever went without food, and she was only an inch taller than me. I really don’t think my growth was stunted, if that’s what you’re worried about. I want to have children, Chevalier, and you need an heir to the throne. Everything will work out fine. Besides, I have the best doctor in the world if we run into any problems.”
“He is an army physician. Your injuries following your abduction were within his purview. Pregnancy is not, especially if there are complications.”
I frowned. He could have been talking about the risks every woman faced with pregnancy, but I had the feeling he had something specific in mind, and that made me uneasy.
“Complications? Are you not telling me something?”
He pressed his lips together. I wouldn’t break eye contact, though, and his eventual sigh sounded like a resignation.
“Among the many bones broken during that ordeal was your hip. The doctor did not know the extent of the damage, but he felt your speedy recovery was a good sign. However, he could not say with assurance it would not cause difficulty in the future. He was especially concerned about labor, as am I.”
Sickening, surprising; a sudden shock to my system delivered by a verbal punch to the gut. That’s what his words felt like. I remembered all too clearly the six miserable weeks of strict bed rest, the horrible pain I’d felt just from sitting upright for too long, the memory dulled only slightly by the months. I had known the doctor wasn’t telling me everything, but I hadn’t wanted to know, and I’d thought it was all over when he’d cleared me to return to my normal activities after that additional two weeks of exercise restriction. He’d said something about arthritis when I was older. That was all. Nothing about trouble having children.
I hadn’t realized until now how much I wanted to have children. Chevalier’s children.
“I can’t lose you, little dove,” he said in a heartbreaking, pained voice.
Something about his tone pulled me back from what could have been an inward spiral, refocusing my attention on him. On us. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. This was our honeymoon. It was supposed to be fun, and worrying would do neither of us any good, anyway.
“Well, for all we know, it’s already too late, isn’t it? And you still need an heir.” I took another steadying breath. “Besides, we don’t know for sure that I will have trouble, and I know you’ll ensure I have the best medical care in the world. So,” I leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss, “let’s not worry about it. Okay?”
“Ivetta…”
“And I really want to have children with you,” I continued, hearing an earnestness in my voice I hadn’t expected. “You gave me the future I never thought I’d have, and I want to give that back to you. And…maybe we can fix the past, too. Maybe we can give our children what we never had. Two parents who love them and provide a happy, healthy home for them.”
His eyes never left mine as I poured out my heart to him. When I finished saying the words which I hadn’t known I wanted to say, he closed his eyes and sighed. And then, when he opened his eyes again, he smiled. Just a small smile, but it was there, and the tension lessened in his face, too.
“You’re very persuasive,” he said. He cupped my cheek in his hand and rolled onto his side to face me. “One. We’ll start with one and see how you handle that.”
“But what if it’s a girl?” I asked, smiling back at him as relief lightened the heaviness in my chest.
He shrugged and smirked. “Then Rhodolite may have to accept a crown princess instead of a crown prince.”
“The court ministers won’t like that,” I replied, feeling my cheeks stretch as my smile widened.
“They like very little of what we do,” Chevalier said, bringing his face closer to mine. “You would have enjoyed their expressions when they discovered you would move into my room upon our return.”
“Scandalous.” I brushed his bangs back from his face and lowered my voice conspiratorially. “Marrying one woman for love and sharing a room with her?”
He chuckled. “So, tell me, my queen, how shall we further upset them?”
“Hm…why don’t we…”
Sweet kisses in the sunshine and sweet murmured words chased the last dark whispers away, for the moment. And I was okay with that. Simple pleasures like these moments together were as important and enjoyable to me as the physical ecstasy of making love, the familiarity of casual conversation, the comfort of reading in shared silence; it all had its place, and right now, my place was at Chevalier’s side, savoring the here and now.
Go Along With It.
It wasn’t such a bad phrase.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa5pJxluAxI
