The doctors were quite right. A day after Mary’s twelfth birthday, Isabel passed away. Mary was by her bedside, and Isabel was going through a particularly bad bout of coughs. According to the doctors who had come two days ago, Isabel had maybe a few days left.
Mary, no longer caring about her father or being a princess or anything at all really, had spent the last few days by Isabel’s bed, getting anything her mother needed and trying to gain a few extra moments with her before she died. As Isabel was in a fitful sleep most of the time, Mary refused to go to her lessons, in case her mother woke up.
Cecilia was there the whole time, too and she would lie Mary down in bed next to Isabel whenever she fell asleep by her bed. She would also wake the girl up any time Isabel’s eyes fluttered open.
When Cecilia needed sleep, Nicholas took over these duties for her. He was now, if possible, even more reserved, and a tall, lanky twelve year old, with black hair that was always too long. Mary wanted to cut it for him, but he shook his head adamantly whenever she brought it up.
When Isabel stopped breathing, Mary was awake and Nicholas was in the room instead of Cecilia. Mary was holding one of her mother’s hands, and as her breath slowly petered out, her hand clenched more and more tightly on her mother’s.
Mary collapsed in a heap of soiled blue skirts, still without letting go of Isabel’s limp, bloodless hand.
Nicholas walked forward, his eyes wide in his head, and looked first at Isabel, and then down at Mary, who looked like she was holding back tears.
For maybe the first time in a year, Nicholas spoke to her, saying, “Mary-”
But she shook her head abruptly, and let go of Isabel’s hand, standing up and brushing herself off. Not that it did much good. She hadn’t changed in four days.
Mary looked up very suddenly, and met Nicholas’ eyes. Hers were no longer full of tears, but of anger, a fierce, burning anger, and Nicholas jerked back, but she simply walked over to the nightstand and picked up the vase of roses. Very carefully, she pulled out the roses and laid them on the bed next to her mother. Then she looked at the vase and before Nicholas could stop her, she threw it against the wall, screaming. Nicholas winced again, and then she collapsed in a shower of tears and sobs.
Nicholas, slowly, as if approaching something dangerous, walked up to Mary and sat next to her. He hesitantly put an arm around her, and she threw herself at him, sobbing relentlessly into his shoulder, her arms latched around his neck. He patted her back somewhat awkwardly, but she didn’t care.
Cecilia was flying through the door in minutes, apparently having heard or been told about the screaming. She took in the scene with wide eyes that soon filled to the brim with tears. She was on the floor with her arms around both children in a matter of seconds. But Mary refused to let go of Nicholas, and he didn’t understand why she was clinging to him. He let her though, partly because he was also clinging to her and didn’t really want to let go and partly because he had to let her because she was the princess.
King George only bothered to come in two hours later, and Mary’s head snapped up when he entered.
“She’s dead!” Mary shrieked at him, pulling suddenly and unexpectedly away from Cecilia and Nicholas. “Or do you even care? She’s been dead for hours now, in case you were interested! And I was here, but you weren’t! You’re never here, ever! And she died without you!”
Mary flew out of the room in a fresh bout of tears, and the king stared after her, a forlorn expression on his face.
Cecilia made sure she and Nicholas were standing by the time he turned back around to face them.
“You may go,” he said, and they left, Cecilia having to tug Nicholas along because he was glaring at the king, who, luckily, was too preoccupied to notice.
♦︎ ♦︎ ♦︎
The funeral was in a week, and Mary didn’t shed one tear. Lots of people she had never, ever met came and said they were sorry, just because Isabel was queen. Almost none of them knew her.
She had to stay next to her father the whole time, and while she didn’t express any outward signs of anger, she refused to look at him.
After the funeral was over, their carriage took them home, and Mary was just wishing that Cecilia and Nicholas had been allowed to sit with her. They had had their own separate section, a section for servants, which made Mary positively furious. She wasn’t used to being furious. She kind of liked it. She wasn’t sure that was such a good thing, but she liked it anyway.
