Marysia Jagiellon, Princess of Poland, had never expected to become Queen of England. Such a high title was never in the cards for her, as a woman of questionable birth, rumoured to be the daughter of her mother's lover and not her royal sire. She c...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❦ ════ •⊰❂⊱• ════ ❦
November 6th, 1454 Krakow
The sky outside Wawel Castle was blood red when the child was pulled out of Elisabeth of Austria's body, screaming for the whole world to hear. Ragged gasps clawed their way from her throat as Elisabeth pushed herself up, her tired eyes searching the room. It was an entire month too soon for the child to be born, and fear had gripped her like a cold talon throughout the hours of the gruelling birth.
A month too early. Or right on time. It was an invading thought that plagued Elisabeth's mind since she found out she was with child a month after her wedding. A fear that she couldn't chase away, no matter how much she tried. It was just one night, she knew. One lapse in judgement from an eighteen-year-old girl terrified of her soon-to-be husband. A husband who, by all accounts, already despised her and proclaimed her unsightly to all who would hear it.
She knew now that it was a pointless fear. Casimir was kind to her. Kinder than she ever would've expected. And her sin would undoubtedly be forgiven by God. Why wouldn't it be? She'd prayed and repented for hours and never gave herself to anyone other than her husband ever again. Undoubtedly, the Lord would hear her and understand her plight. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if that night had taken root in her womb, comeuppance for her actions.
"Is it healthy?" she gasped through the burning in her throat; scratched raw from her cries of pain. One of the midwives looked up from the kicking babe, giving Elisabeth a smile that was meant to be comforting.
"It is a little early, and she is a bit small, but other than that she appears to be in fine health, moja królowo." The relief that swelled inside her chest felt like a damn breaking open, and Elisabeth let out a desperate relieved laugh as she pushed herself further onto her elbows. She wanted to hold her, the little girl she'd carried inside of her for months on end.
The midwives must've understood without hearing a word, because as soon as the babe was wrapped in swaddling, they laid it into her arms. The child was a small, dainty thing with a red squalling face and tightly pinched eyes. She was barely cleaned off, splotches of blood still matting the little hair she had flat onto her head, but even through the wet redness, Elisabeth could tell her daughter had the same flaxen hair she did.
"She is beautiful, Wasza Wysokość," one of the highborn ladies attending her cooed as she leaned over the bed, smiling down at the child. Yes, Elisabeth agreed mutely. She was the most wondrous thing.
❦ ════ •⊰❂⊱• ════ ❦
At two and a half years old, her little Marysia was a splendid sight. Elisabeth's little girl ran around the gardens with her governess and maids without a care in the world, golden braids flying in the wind. Her giggles filled the air with a sense of joy, and Elisabeth found herself smiling despite the unease circulating her veins.
