Isabel held on, surprisingly, and Mary rejoiced. On Mary’s eighth birthday, Isabel was well enough to go outside, and they rode horses all day long. Even King George was willing to allow a brief reprieve of the girl’s lessons. He did love Isabel, no matter how odd he was at showing it.
The day after Mary’s eighth birthday, the entire castle rejoiced in a small celebration, for yesterday had been Isabel’s first day out of bed, and she had done surprisingly well.
Mary snuck Nicholas and Cecilia bits of cake and pastries when her father wasn’t looking. Cecilia scolded her lightly when she brought them down, but Mary gave her wide, puppy dog eyes, and Cecilia relented.
The day after the celebration, Isabel returned to bed to rest on doctor’s orders, so she wouldn’t tire herself out. Mary returned to her lessons grudgingly, and the servants and maids returned to their duties. Mary was rather disappointed. She had liked the party. It was much more fun than this every day routine.
The next day, Isabel and Mary had lunch with the King and a few guests. Isabel coughed slightly during the meal, and Mary glanced up at her mother worriedly.
“I’m all right,” Isabel said reassuringly with a smile when she saw Mary’s eyes on her.
Mary glanced down at her food again, and resumed with the lunch. Isabel coughed three more times during that lunch, and Mary was the only one who noticed. She worried silently.
Afterward, she ran down to the servant’s quarters, and found Cecilia with Nicholas.
“She coughed again,” Mary said, her jaw trembling. She was close to tears, and Cecilia stood up and wrapped a strong arm around her. “Four times at lunch.”
“She’s getting over a sickness, Mary,” Cecilia said softly. “She’s not going to be perfect for a while. But I’ll go check on her, all right? Make sure she gets some rest.”
Mary nodded, and then sat down on her bed next to Nicholas as Cecilia left.
“You think she’ll be okay?” Mary asked quietly.
Nicholas shrugged wordlessly, not looking at her. He didn’t know why she liked him so much. She was the princess, and he was the maid’s son, soon to be a guard or servant himself, if he ever grew out of his scrawny, eight-year-old build. But she did like him, and he did his best to please her without giving too much, like his mother had told him to. He didn’t want Mary to kick him out, but they couldn’t ever be real friends. The king would never allow it.
So they sat side by side until Cecilia came back. “She’s resting, honey,” she said to Mary, who nodded sullenly. “It’ll be all right. Now, you go off to your lessons.”
Mary got up mechanically, and walked out of the room. Nicholas watched her walk out, and felt a spark of actual concern. This was the first time he had seen her walk without some sort of hyper, peppy energy. But he dismissed it with the fact that as soon as Queen Isabel got better, Mary would, too.
The next day, Isabel got worse, not better. The doctors were called and said her sickness was slowly coming back. Mary ran out of the room in tears, convinced she was the one responsible, though the doctors later told Cecilia that Isabel never really overcame the sickness. She just got temporarily much better, and that over the years, she would have periods of wellness and periods of immense sickness until she passed away. Cecilia’s large brown eyes filled with tears, but she nodded, sniffing loudly, and ushered the doctors out of the room.
