The air outside was cool but she awoke in a sweat, body dripping, lips quivering, unable to shake the dull ache that had taken her body for over a week. The dreams were haunting her. It was bad enough that Francis overtook her every waking thought, but he was also there when she slept. His voice pleading her name, calling for her to return to him.
Her hands shook. No matter what she did she couldn't get the image from her mind. Blue eyes pleading, mouth begging her name, her breath being taken away as she watched Francis' heart break right in front of her as she left with Bash. She shook harder with the memory, trying to stifle the sob that threatened to choke her. It had been over a month and yet the pain and indecision Mary felt still stung as though it was yesterday.
Because I love you.
His words were a hollow echo of a memory, a haunting reminder of what she had to give up, resounding inside her head. A thin hope she clung to of his love, the only reminder she had of him.
A thin and hesitant knock pulled her from her thoughts, followed by a shy face peering from behind it.
"You're awake."
Mary tried a smile for Bash but it came across as a grimace.
"You look like hell."
She wanted to be insulted but she knew it was true. The endless dreams of Francis had allowed little rest while she slept and dark circles had hugged her eyes, showing the world of her discontent.
"Still not feeling well?" Bash asked.
A wave of nausea swept over her. Mary didn't dare open her mouth for fear of what might come out other than words.
"The servants have prepared breakfast, if you're feeling up to it."
She shook her head, her stomach turning with the thought of food.
"You need to eat, Mary. You're withering away."
"Later," she managed with a thick swallow. "Not now."
Bash sighed. Grief had taken a heavy toll on her. He had never seen such a loss written so plainly across someone's face. Crossing the room with long strides, Bash unlatched the window across from Mary's bed and pulled the pane inwards. A soft breeze of ocean air swept across the room and Mary gasped it in, letting the salty air quell the nausea.
"You need out of this bed, Mary. You seemed fine the first few weeks. Now I can hardly get you to eat or leave this room." At first Bash thought it was a delayed manifestation of grief, but now he was beginning to suspect something else. "I'm worried."
Mary wanted to smile in what she hoped was a reassuring way but the effort was monumental. "I'm just not hungry, Bash. That's all."
He shook his head, not believing her. "You're an awful liar."
Mary pushed herself out of bed and stood on shaky legs as a show of defiance. She stood tall and resolute for only a moment before the nausea overtook her and she doubled over, one hand wrapped around her slender waist, the other clamped over her mouth. It had been just over a month since she and Bash had ridden south to Bordeaux and taken refuge in one of the royal summer homes. For the first while Mary had felt heartbroken, but still like herself. Until the sickness settled in that she couldn't shake.
"Mary," Bash reasoned, walking to her and guiding her back to bed.
"I'm fine," she brushed him off, breathing in the ocean air as the wave of nausea passed. "Really, I'm fine. Would you actually mind asking one of the servants to bring food up?"
His eyes puckered in confusion at her quick turnabout. "Sure," he conceded with a sigh, turning on his heel to leave her.
When Bash had closed the door behind him, Mary took a deep breath, her mind wandering back to that last morning they had spent together, safe and warm in Francis' bed.
"I hope you're pregnant."
The joking hope of two foolish young lovers, wrapped in a moment of passion. Mary's stomach turned over. She wasn't. She couldn't be. Denial wrapped her in a warm cocoon of safety from reality. She refused to consider the alternative.
Pushing herself off the bed again she felt more sturdy, more sure footed. The fresh air brought her mind a degree of clarity, though she still ached for Francis. She crossed to the ledge of the window, folding her arms over the sill and resting her chin against the silk arm of her dressing gown, eyes falling across the vast body of water before her. She wanted to be selfish, wanted to run back to Francis' arms and pretend she never left. But the knowledge of the guilt she would inevitably feel if anything happened to Francis consumed her.
A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts as Bash returned, tray of food in his hands.
"You could have sent it up with the servants," she chided, albeit gratefully.
"Nonsense. Who will make sure you actually eat this if not for me," he said with a cheeky smile, setting the tray down on the table.
Mary smiled gratefully in return. "Thank you, Bash. I know I haven't been the easiest to be with this past month."
He shook his head but Mary didn't quite believe him. "Mary…" he started. Bash's suspicions tugged at him but he wasn't quite ready to voice them. "Are you sure you're well?"
Her cheeks heated at his brash comment. She knew he was asking more than he was letting on. "I'm perfectly well, Bash. I think I'm just fighting a bit of the flu."
He nodded, wishing he could believe her but letting her live in a world of denial for a little bit longer. "Alright."
"No news still of anyone at the castle?"
Bash knew that this was Mary's indirect way of asking about Francis. "None."
Unable to hide the look of disappointment from her face, Mary turned away.
"I'm going hunting for awhile so I won't be around today, just to let you know."
Mary turned back to face him, searching for the answers to her problems in the depths of his eyes. "Did you want company?"
Bash smiled sadly, eyes filled with daring at the comment he was about to make. "I think it might be unwise, inviting a pregnant young queen to accompany me."
He dipped his head as a sign of respect with a small, comforting smile, then turned from the room and left Mary alone to deal with the failure of denial.