In Favour |Clara Walseworth|

The cowardly prince ~ Chapter 14

T.W Abuse

Germany, 1818.

The drawing room was quiet save for the gentle tick of the longcase clock, Summer had settled over that palace in bright skies, and though the flames danced warmly, Clara could not summon a shred of comfort from them.

She sat very straight in the chair opposite the Queen, her hands folded carefully in her lap. Her gown, a pale plum velvet lined with white ermine, was heavier than she would have liked. The tiara atop her head, modest but gleaming, was the one Agatha had selected for her. Appropriate for day audiences, she'd said once.

Queen Agatha sipped her tea slowly, her movements graceful, exact. Her face was unreadable, as always—elegant and severe in equal measure, her hair drawn back in soft coils, her lips barely tinted with rose.

When she finally set the cup down, the sound of porcelain against saucer rang sharper than it should have. She studied Clara in silence for a long moment before speaking.

"You have now been married nearly a year," she said, her tone calm but unmistakably firm. "It is time we speak frankly without the audience of others." Clara nodded, folding her hands in her lap. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"You were chosen to marry into this family not only for your name, but for your temperament—and your potential. You have done well thus far," Agatha continued, her gaze steady. "You are poised. Dignified. You have not shamed the crown." Clara inclined her head in acknowledgment, but her heart was beginning to race.

"However," the Queen went on, her tone tightening just slightly, "the matter of succession cannot be delayed forever." Clara's eyes remained on her hands. "I understand, ma'am."
"Do you?" Agatha asked. "The crown is not sentimental. We are bound to it, not it to us. And if it sees fit to choose someone else a diffrent line of succession." Clara raised her eyes, meeting the Queen's.

"I assure you, I have not been idle," she said, softly but clearly. "I have followed every instruction. I have spoken with physicians, I have prayed and I have waited." Agatha's expression remained composed—but something in her gaze shifted and the sharpness receded, just slightly.

There was a pause. Then, she reached for her tea but didn't drink. Her voice, when she spoke again, was lower. More thoughtful.

"I remember what it was like," she said. "To feel as though all of one's worth hung on something beyond one's control." Clara blinked, surprised by the turn in tone. "I was nineteen when I married Albert," Agatha continued. "And the first thing anyone asked me—before my name, before my thoughts—was when the heir would come."

She glanced at Clara now, something quieter in her eyes. "It is not an easy thing, to be seen only as a vessel. It steals things from you. Your privacy. Your peace. Sometimes your sense of self." Clara felt her throat tighten. She had not expected... kindness.

"I do not doubt your effort, Clara," Agatha said, her voice almost gentle now. "But I would be remiss if I did not remind you of the stakes. Not because I wish to frighten you—but because I remember what it is to be you and I know what it costs when one does not succeed."

Clara's voice was quiet when she spoke. "And if one does not?" Agatha's lips pressed into a thin line, but there was no cruelty there. "Then one endures. Because that is what queens do." The silence hung heavy again, but not cold.

Agatha stood, and Clara rose with her. The Queens hands clasped lightly in front of her. The severity she had entered with had softened, the lines around her mouth no longer set in steel but in something more contemplative. She studied Clara in silence for a moment, and then:

"I nearly forgot," she said, her voice gentler now. "Your birthday falls soon, does it not? The twenty-eighth of June? That is in a mere four days" Clara looked up, slightly taken aback that the Queen had remembered the date.