Morning Glory-Francis (Reign)

Chapter Ninety-Eight

I should have stayed in Scotland. It seemed that as soon as the carriage started to roll, my stomach completely clenched up, and any moment I would vomit up the small bit of soup I had managed to drink.

Alone in the carriage, I lay curled up on the bench seat, clutching the blanket to my chest. Tremors rocked through my body, and tears pricked my eyes as waves of cramping pain and nausea swept through me.

The smell of the salt water at the harbor somewhat soothed my stomach, enough to get me aboard the ship, but the rocking motion of the boat as it pulled away from the dock, sent me below deck once more to nurse my aching gut in the darkness of the cabin.

Besides the discomfort in my belly, I broke a new sweat, that soaked through my shift underneath the hot travel gown, and chilled my skin, bringing shivers all over my body. I don't know if I slept at all on the ship as we crossed the channel towards France.

In the occasionally reprieves I got from wallowing in the wonderful nausea of pregnancy, I thought about what would happen when I returned to France. Part of me hoped I would be able to convince Francis to go to Russia with me for our child to be born. He had been King for long enough that he could spend some time sitting on the throne of the Tsar. Also, was it so bad that I hoped my first child could be born in my own homeland? Where they would one day become Tsar or Tsaritsa themselves?

It was damn near impossible for my escort to remove me from the ship and reload me with my travel blanket into the carriage, where I immediately curled back up into a ball. The fever I had developed left me near delirious, and I felt so bad for the one servant who had been sent to watch over me. She tried so hard to keep me fed and comfortable, and I regretted being so difficult, but I didn't know what to do.

About a five hours ride from Fontainebleau, my servant, whose name I learned was Amelia demanded that we stop at the only inn for miles, so that I could rest comfortably.

"Please try to sleep, Your Majesty." She whispered as she tucked the blankets of the bed tightly around me so I would toss myself off the side. I mumbled my thanks, most likely incoherently, as sleep finally swallowed me now that I was free of the constant motion of the carriage and the galleon ship.

In my sleep, Aleks visited me. He stalked up to my bedside, and slapped me clear across the face.

"You don't deserve this." He hissed, jabbing me in the gut with cold, hard fingers. "All you do is take life, take and take and take. What right do you have to give life to that little princess in your belly. You'll probably kill her too." He taunted me. "Just like you killed me. And Dmitri. Just like you let Mother and Father and Mikhail get slaughtered." Aleks, his face pale and hollow, ill, leaned down right next to my face, while I lay paralyzed on the bed. "Once you hold that little girl in your arms, you'll never be able to protect her. She'll be yanked out of your arms and all you'll be able to do is watch her bleed."

Despite my inability to speak, a sob burst through my lips, and my eyes flashed open. The room was dark, and I flailed in bed until the tightly tucked blankets came loose around my body. Scrambling up to sit, I scraped my hair off my sweat coated neck, and tried to slow my breathing.

The night was nearly silent. Some drunken conversation could be heard floating up from the common room below, and a few horses were nickering out back. Besides that, it was quiet. I assumed Amelia was asleep in another room somewhere else in the inn, along with James and the rest of my escort.

Carefully, I clambered out of bed, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, over my shift, and walked to the open window. The cold night air, chilled the sweat on my skin and sent a chill down my spine. The street below was empty. Light spilled out onto the street below me, from the candles still lit in the first floor of the inn.

The silence was broken. In the distance, I could hear horses approaching. Fast. Leaning as far out the window as I dared, I looked down the street, searching for the approachers. There were two horses, each with one rider. When they came close enough to make out their features, I gasped.

The candlelight shining out of the inn flashed over Francis's golden hair. Stumbling in my haste, I pulled the blanket tighter around me and flew out the door of my room. I didn't clearly remember arriving at the inn, so it took me a moment to find the stairwell, but once I did, I tore down the stairs, and through the common room, and out into the street.

I reached Francis just as he dismounted his horse and threw myself into his arms.

"Morning Glory," he breathed out, leaning back slightly to bear my weight before crushing me to his chest. "What are you doing awake? James said you were ill, he came to Fontainebleau to get me. Are you alright, my darling?" He traced his hands over my face, and looked me up and down, searching for harm.

"Francis," I mumbled, clutching myself to his chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see James herding the two of us back into the inn, and up the stairs, inconspicuously drawing eyes away from us. I barely registered what was happening until the feeling of the soft mattress returned underneath me. My eyes snapped up to Francis, watching as he gently pushed me down onto the mattress.

With only a slight hesitation, he laid down next to me, wrapping an arm over my waist.

"I can't tell you how worried I was." Francis whispered in my ear. "I was about to turn in for the night, when Lord Moray burst in saying you fell ill on the road, only a few hours from home. My mother may have my head when we return for leaving without a proper guard." I remained silent, just gently inhaling his familiar scent. "Are you feeling better now?" He asked, swiping a hand over my forehead, checking for a fever.

"A little bit." I nudged his chin with my nose.