Queen of Shattered Dreams

20 - No More

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The next morning, I instruct my new maid not to tie the dress as tightly as usual, complaining of a stomach ache. The servants will certainly talk about this and I doubt the stomach ache will stop the rumors that I want my dress looser, tongues will wag that I am pregnant. I may be, it's too soon to tell. Why would Feodor even think so? He was so drunk last night that he couldn't stay conscious. But maybe he has been more attentive and noticed things I hadn't even realized.

What if I am pregnant? For over three years I've wanted a baby, but I've wanted one for the sole purpose of disinheriting Dendrite. It's been nothing more than a vindictive dream but now—I'll be free of Feodor soon, free to do what I please with my life. My heart flutters at the thought of a child. Once I'm alone, I hold my stomach and look in the mirror. I want this baby, if there is one, whether it's a boy or a girl, able to hurt Dendrite or not.

I've just made the irreversible decision to kill the king, the only plausible father of this child. I don't regret it though, if I am with child, I'm happier at the thought of raising him or her without that monster in our lives.

My gaze drifts to my dressing table where I've hidden the hostrirel, the herb I've set aside for Lady Bryde, the herb to terminate her unborn child. That will have to wait—it must be done of course. I can't have Feodor's unwed, pregnant mistress among my court and what if she bears him a son—would he have any legitimate claim to the throne? It's not unheard of, an illegitimate son rising to take the throne. The thought of Lady Bryde becoming queen regent makes me sick.

But for now, I have myself to think about. My pale, too thin expression stares back at me from the mirror. I pinch my cheeks to give them some color but the effort is useless. I've lost weight, a lot of it. That can't be good for the baby. I'll need to visit Hassiba for some remedies. Once Feodor is gone, I'll keep my own store of herbs and spices so I won't always have to go to her.

The path from my rooms to hers is so familiar I could walk it with my eyes closed. Unlike Lady Bryde, Hassiba has been a real friend.

When I enter, I find Hassiba sitting alone by the fire place, staring at the flames, worrying her bottom lip.

I knock on the door so as not to startle her. I've never seen her so deep in thought before.

"Queen Mila." She straightens out her dress as she stands. "What brings you here this early?"

I lay my hand protectively on my stomach without even realizing it. I smooth my dress and keep my hand tight at my side. Suddenly, my stomach drops, feeling empty. I'm nervous to say it out loud—after three years, what are the odds that I could actually be pregnant? It's stupid of me to give so much weight to the suspicions of a jealous drunkard. Tears prick at my eyes but I chase them away. "It's nothing really." I attempt to laugh. "Feodor seems to think I'm pregnant."

"That's impossible."

My head jerks back. Impossible isn't quite the word I would use, especially because it hurts to hear it. "I—"

Hassiba won't meet my eye. How long has she felt this way and is only now saying it aloud?

I open my mouth again, ready to say that there's always a chance, but Hassiba knows this. The only reason she would say it's impossible is if--I think of the hostrirel in my dressing table. Served in small doses, mixed in with a drink, it would likely prevent a pregnancy. The only tell is a slightly bitter taste. Hassiba, who has offered me a cup of tea every day she sees me, even brought me tea when I was bedridden, and then later when I was imprisoned in my rooms. But she's not offering me any now, nor has she for the past few days. It doesn't make sense though, why would Hassiba wish to keep me from becoming pregnant?