A beating heart

Chapter 35

While cold winds and dark clouds surrounded the caste, the mood within its walls perfectly matched the harsh first days of early winter. The nights reached longer into the days and the little sunshine that did remain, felt cloaked by darkness once the sun started its decent beyond the gloomy and somber lake. The birds had already forsaken their usual spots between the flowering gardens and stone paths, leaving the morning hours empty of their warm songs.

Midwinter was still months away but the heavy clouds, draining the sun's last rays, threatened snow. Abrasive winds would swoop under dresses and send hair flying in all direction of those, who dared brave the cold. Mary had confined her daily routines to the insides of the castle's walls, having given up her usual morning walks days ago.

She found it hard to concentrate on anything really these days. Her worries accompanied her at every step and the fear of her uncertain future seemed omnipresent. Sometimes she would wake in the middle of the nights to find her sheet slick with sweat. The heavy blankets would cling to every inch of her body and the sensation of being a captive in her own bed, her own rooms, would overtake her. Not once had she actually screamed out in terror, causing one of her maids to force her from her night mares.

The faces she saw were contoured and all wrong. Missing eyes or expressions she had never seen before, tormented her. It was mostly be Bash, who visited her in her dreams, his beard unshaved and the insanity in his eyes made them shine bright green. She would thrash in her her bed, struggling to cover her dreaming eyes and no matter how hard she tried to push the images away, they wouldn't relent. When at last, she did wake in her cold and empty bed, her mind would reel and suddenly Bash was at her side. His arms would press her body into the mattress with an inescapable force and things she had never thought to find in her husband would appear in her dreams. He taunted her, cursing her existence, their marriage and the child he envied for its mother's love.

It wasn't real, of course it wasn't. But the fear always won over the rational parts of her mind, poisoning her heart with resentment. The thought of Bash incited fear and she hated herself for it. This was not his fault and in truth he might be the actual victim in this blurred war. It disgusted her, knowing that at some point his abdication would be inevitable. She would nod and assure Francis of her support but her stomach recoiled whenever she heard him and Cathrine plot their coup.

It might not be just, having a legitimized bastard sit the French throne. But she questioned the rightness of their own planned actions. Surely god wouldn't sanctify this act of treason between brothers. After all, Bash was still that, Francis' brother and her husband and dear friend. He didn't deserve any of this and the guild felt heavy in her heart. The memories of them together in the gardens, chasing after her dog and his bright laughter as they tumbled in the soft grass still rang in her head, but the darkness and her own regrets obscured the images and sounds her heart tried so eagerly to cling to.

Could she really rectify betraying her friend? Her conscience constantly reminded her of all the people she had already forsaken. Lola and Aylee, girls she had known since her very first days at French court. Even Henry's death burdened her, the fact that she had been partly responsible for Cathrine'e imprisonment. How much more could her mortal soul really take?

Kenna did her very best to occupy her friend's mind with brighter, less frightening thoughts. She would read her Ovid's poems and present her with the newest silks from Venice. But after few minutes, the dark thoughts would inevitably return and her strength crumbled under the pressure of not letting their impact show.

It was almost midday and the light outside the clouded glass of her windows lingered between the dark sky and pitch black water of the nearby lake. Kenna was busy braiding the loose ends of her hair and rolling them into a not at the back of her neck. The pins and needles she used to secure the pieces of hair in place, tucked on her scalp more than normal. She already lusted for the moment to let her hair fall loose in the evening, releasing the building pressure. The headaches she had alway been prone to, only seemed to intensive with her tight updos.