Saving the Immortal

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Let Them Wonder

Two days after Ruselon's brief, magical visit, I found myself seated at breakfast with Delia and Caspian's wife, whose name I had at last properly learned to be Rosalind, when the sickness took me entirely by surprise.

One moment I sat listening to their idle conversation, some matter of court fashion neither of them seemed to require my genuine participation in, and the next my stomach turned so violently that I barely managed to reach the small basin near the sideboard before the contents of it emptied entirely.

"Oh," Rosalind said, her earlier boredom vanishing immediately into something considerably more interested. "Oh, my dear, this is quite unexpected."

"I am simply unwell," I managed, wiping my mouth with a trembling hand, embarrassment flooding through me at having lost my composure so entirely before an audience I had never fully trusted.

"Unwell," Delia repeated, exchanging a look with Rosalind that carried far too much knowing amusement for my liking. "Princess, forgive me, but this looks considerably more particular than simple illness."

"What do you mean," I asked, though something in their expressions had already begun to unsettle me before I finished the question.

"Sickness in the morning, sudden and violent, arriving without warning," Rosalind said, ticking the observations off with the particular satisfaction of a woman who had clearly experienced such things herself. "I recognize the signs quite well, having borne two children of my own. You are with child, Princess."

I very nearly laughed aloud.

I knew, with complete certainty, that such a thing was entirely impossible. Ruselon had shown me nothing but restraint since our wedding night. There had been no consummation between us — not once, in all the quiet evenings we had shared a bed, in all the nights his arm had rested about me as we slept. Whatever ailed me, it was not that.

But I found myself, watching their faces light with delighted certainty, strangely reluctant to correct them.

"That is quite an assumption to draw from a spoiled breakfast," I said instead, careful to let just enough uncertainty linger in my voice to leave the matter properly unresolved.

"It is no mere assumption," Delia said, clearly thrilled by the prospect of such delicious information. "I have seen the very same sickness in myself, twice over. You need not be embarrassed, Princess. It is a joyous thing."

"Perhaps," I said, offering nothing further to contradict them.

I could have told them plainly, in that moment, precisely why their theory held no possible truth to it. I could have watched their faces fall into proper confusion instead of delighted speculation. But something in me — some small, private satisfaction I was not entirely proud of, though I did not regret it either — decided instead to let the mystery stand exactly as they had constructed it.

Let them believe what they wished.

I knew the truth of my own body, whatever illness currently plagued it, and their certainty, however misplaced, cost me nothing at all to leave uncorrected.

"You ought to send for a physician," Rosalind said, some genuine warmth entering her tone now, considerably kinder than I had yet witnessed from her. "To confirm it properly."

"Perhaps I shall," I said, "in my own time."

I excused myself shortly after, retreating to my chambers with a composure I had carefully maintained the entire while, and once the door closed behind me, I permitted myself, finally, a small, private laugh.

Let them wonder, I thought, settling into the chair nearest the fire, my stomach still faintly unsettled though the worst of the sickness had passed. Let them whisper amongst themselves about a child that does not exist. It costs me nothing, and it will occupy their idle gossip rather more productively than whatever cruelty they might otherwise turn toward me in my husband's absence.

When I passed them again that evening, both women watching me with poorly concealed curiosity, clearly eager for some confirmation of their earlier suspicions, I offered only a serene, unbothered smile.

"You seem recovered," Delia said, unable to resist probing further.

"Somewhat," I said, deliberately vague.

"And has the physician confirmed anything yet?" Rosalind asked, practically leaning forward with anticipation.

"I have not yet sent for him," I said simply, watching their faces shift with impatient curiosity. "There will be time enough for such matters."

I continued past them without offering another word, savoring, privately, the particular satisfaction of leaving two accomplished gossips with an entirely false mystery to occupy their idle hours — one that would, I felt certain, keep their tongues rather more pleasantly occupied than any true scandal might have.

It was, I thought, settling in for a quiet evening alone, rather a small triumph, given how little power I otherwise held within these palace walls.

I intended to enjoy it while it lasted.