Cicatrice

Chapter XXIII

QUEEN ESTELLE BELSHAW

"So is this how it's going to be, Eddie? You're just not going to talk to me anymore? You are around me twenty-four-seven, it's never going to work out," I cry, my heart full of pain as I watch him scrub the tiled floors, his eyes remaining fixated below him.

I never got the chance to explain what had happened the other night. How I felt I had no other choice like it was one of my duties as a wife to sleep with Malcolm.

"You won't even let me explain!" I scoff in frustration, my lips trembling and my throat closing up. I observe him as he clenches his soft jaw. For a minute, he stares up at me with his baby blue eyes, but they were no longer holding endearment. They shot daggers at me.

"What can you explain, Este? How you slept with your husband? There's nothing wrong with that," he states, but I know he doesn't mean that. I knew that deep down there, he was suppressing his feelings.

My heart begins to ache.

"Just talk to me, Eddie. I know you don't mean that," I whimper as he gets up from his knees, his eyes looking dead inside as he takes a deep breath. Had I stared deeper into my eyes, I would be afraid that I would lose myself.

With his baby soft lips pursing, I watch as his eyes become glossy, pain buried deep within them. "But it's the truth, isn't it?" he whispers, a humourless laugh escaping from his mouth before he turned away, heading outside with his scrub.

I despised the fact that I gave into Malcolm's manipulation tactics. It pained me that Eddie wouldn't even give me a chance to explain. But most of all, I hated how I hurt him.

⁂

With bile piling up my throat, I hurl over the toilet, spewing my guts out. With my arm dangling over the head of the porcelain, I couldn't have felt worse. My stomach had been in knots for quite a while, and I had just assumed it had been nerves from the orphanage.

Feeling my stomach deflate, I hurl one last time before getting up from my knees and flushing the toilet. Staring into the mirror, my face appeared pale, with my eyes drooping. Perhaps it had been the start of another plague? If so, I didn't care if it killed me, the pain just had to end already.

I had already felt like death.

A sudden knock on the door catches me out of my self-pity. "Estelle, darling, is everything alright in there?" Marguerite calls from the other side of the door, concern laced within her voice. "Everything is alright, Marguerite, thank you," I say, not too convincing as my voice wobbles with low confidence.

Before I have time to stop it, Marguerite makes her way in to see me hurled over the toilet bowl, her eyes widening in shock. "Estelle, what is going on, dear?" she whispers, coming to my aid as I heave and cough my lungs out.

"I don't know, I think I am ill, Marguerite," I whimper in pain as she caresses my back.

She insists to aid me down to the infirmary, although I had been feeling better after I had gotten it all out.

"Her majesty has seemed to come down with some sort of illness, will you please have her checked immediately, Vivienne?" Marguerite speaks eagerly, the look of worry still plastered all over her face. "Of course," the nurse nods. "Please, your majesty, lay down," she softly smiles at me as I take her hand, making myself comfortable on the hospital bed.

"Really, this is not necessary. I'm sure it's just a flu of some sort," I brush it off, however, I knew I was not going to leave, not on Marguerites watch. "Nonsense, your majesty. We must see what's causing the issue here," she speaks with calmness in her voice, whilst checking my body for sickly symptoms.

"Say 'ah' for me, your majesty?" Vivienne requests as I stick out my tongue, doing as she says. "Hm... well I don't suppose you have an internal illness," she says, looking perplexed. Suddenly, she starts gazing at me with suspicion in her eyes.

"You majesty, may I perhaps ask you something?" she questions, sitting on the hospital bed next to me, sincerity in her eyes. With hesitation crossing my mind, I nod slowly, worried about what would come out of her mouth.

"Have you engaged in sexual activity recently?" she asks, immediately trying to explain herself as the look of horror crosses my face, my stomach sinking swiftly. "I only ask because, well, you are showing the early signs of pregnancy," she continues, sympathy in her eyes.

"I... well... yes, I have," I stutter, feeling my face grow a bright red. That's when the realisation had hit me, I had become impregnated. With my vision turning hazy and my stomach churning, I feel as if I would be sick again.

"Well, I have some exciting news for you, your majesty-" the nurse exclaims with a bright smile on her face, but before she can finish her sentence, I cut her off with panic.

"Bring me a bucket!" I yelp, feeling the bile piling up in my throat, but before anyone can bring me any soft of bowl, I spew my guts all over the floor, my vision dizzy and my mind running with chaos.

I wasn't sure if my nauseous sensation was connected to my pregnancy, to the fact that I couldn't believe I would be having a child of my own, or, more importantly...

...I would not have a clue who the father is.