War of Hearts || Reign || REWRITE

Chapter 20

September 9th, 1562, Chateau de blois

I wake up drenched in sweat.

The sheets cling to my skin, my breath uneven. At first, I slept deeply. But before the sun rose too high, I was torn from sleep by a stabbing, cramping pain that drowned out everything else. A pain worse than any I've ever known—even sharper than the worst of my monthlies.

I missed breakfast. Claudine sent one of the younger maidservants to tell Mary I was unwell.

It's already past midday now, and I'm still curled up in my bed. My knees are drawn to my chest, one arm wrapped around them, the other gripping the edge of the blanket. My jaw is clenched shut.

Claudine sits beside me, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead.

"My lady," she murmurs, "you look pale, and you feel warm to the touch." She frowns. "Are you sure I shouldn't fetch the physician?"

I nod faintly, not trusting my voice.

She opens her mouth to insist, but there's a knock at the door. She stiffens and rises quickly.

"Your Highness," she gasps.

"I heard Lady Bianca was unwell. Is she awake?" Francis's voice.

"Yes, Your Highness. She's been ill since this morning," Claudine answers.

Thank you, Claudine. For your discretion.

"May I come in?" he asks.

"Claudine," I whisper, my voice hoarse, "let the prince in... and leave us, please."

She nods and opens the door wider. Francis strides in at once. His eyes sweep over me—my pale face, the sweat on my skin, the way I'm trembling.

"Bianca," he breathes, kneeling beside me, "has a doctor seen you?"

"My lady refuses to let a physician come," Claudine replies from the door.

"Then bring one. She doesn't look well."

I try to sit up, but the pain cuts through me like a blade. "Don't..." I gasp, my breath catching in my throat. "Don't, Claudine."

She looks between the two of us, torn. But my gaze pins her in place. I don't have the strength to speak again, but she understands. She sighs, curtsies, and quietly leaves the room.

I collapse back into the pillows. Francis sits beside me and takes the cloth Claudine had soaked in cold water, pressing it gently to my forehead.

"Why won't you let a doctor come?" he asks.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting the cold soothe my burning skin. "Because there's no point," I whisper. "Not when this is something I did to myself."

His brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

I open my eyes again and meet his confused gaze.

"I went to your mother last night," I murmur. "She gave me something... to prevent a pregnancy."

His expression changes in an instant. From worry to rage.

"She did this to you?" he snaps. "You told her about us?"

I nod. "Yes. But I asked for it, Francis. She didn't force me."

"Why would you do that?!"

"Because I can't risk bringing a child into this world like this," I say, my voice breaking. "A child born in shame... unwanted. Hated. A bastard like me."

He recoils, hurt. "Do you truly think I would treat a child of ours that way?"

"No," I whisper, "but even you couldn't stop what others would say. Not now. Not with everything so uncertain."