43. . .44. . .45. . .45?

That can't be right, Anneliese thought as she pored over her calendar, I must have counted a week twice.

She began counting again, carefully marking each day she'd already counted with a small stroke of her quill, just to be sure she wouldn't count any day twice. 45.

She'd always been regular, her time coming every 30 days on the dot, and nearly always during the early afternoon. She had been feeling nauseous as of late, and assumed it was because of her monthly courses nearing, hence the counting at the calendar.

It must be stress. I've just lost Rosella, just had a baby, that must be it.

But Anneliese's logical brain knew that wasn't it. It had been seven months since Rosy died, eight since Erik was born, and in those months, it had still come every thirty days, like clockwork. She ran every other possible explanation through her head quickly, before coming to a final, terrible conclusion.

"Oh God."

"Your Majesty?" her head lady's maid, Henriette, asked.

"Fetch the chamber pot, Henriette. I think I'm going to be sick."

She emptied her stomach into the pot while Henriette held her hair back.

"Would you like to go to bed?"

She shouldn't go to bed, she'd never had to with any of the others. Her mother often joked about how Anneliese would've held Parliament in the birthing chamber if it was allowed. No, she wouldn't go to bed. She was just about to say so before her body betrayed her and she nodded mutely.

"All right then, I'm going to help you stand up. On three then."

They undressed her and put her in her nightgown as though she were a doll, like they did the day she found out Rosella died. She vomited a few more times before she finally crawled into bed, curling into herself like a child. This wasn't like her, none of her pregnancies had left her so exhausted, especially not so early. And furthermore, it wasn't right to bear a child amidst so much sorrow. She wouldn't replace Rosella, and so she wouldn't be pregnant.

She would will this pregnancy away, she would go to sleep, and when she woke up, her monthly courses would come.

She let out a strangled sob, hating herself for not wanting this baby.

"Can we fetch you anything else madam?" she didn't know who asked.

Yes, please send for my husband, the proper, queenly response was on the tip of her tongue, but all that came out was his name, muffled by another sob. She vaguely heard Henriette order another maid to find Julian, before she closed her eyes and cried herself to sleep.

Julian felt good today. The past month had been as close to normal as it had been since Rosella had died. He'd thought he and Anneliese had hidden their separation well from the children, but the first breakfast with the children after their reunion, he saw the twins exchange a look of relief.

Things weren't the way they had been. Before- that's how his life was categorised now, no days or years, just before and after- any palace they occupied was loud and chaotic. Powdered wigs were hidden, frogs were placed on chairs, and Rosella laughed. But after, they still played and laughed. He was even starting to remember her with a fond little smile, rather than feeling as if the world was ending. The world was a little darker without Rosy's light, but it was still brighter than it had been before she came.

And today he felt good. He pulled Geny out of her dancing lesson (without protest, though if it had been Latin or French it would have been different) and took her to the library.

She immediately gravitated towards the Greek Mythology section, begging him to switch her dance tutor for a Greek tutor.

"Of course, so you can apologise to an ambassador for stepping on his toes during a waltz in six languages, not just five."

"I only speak four now, Papá."

"Only four? Your mother and I speak that many between the two of us."

"But half the Greek Mythology texts here are in Greek, I have to be able to read them."

"We'll talk about learning Greek, but you must keep learning dance."

"Yes, Papá."

He looked at her, half surprised at her lack of protest, before chastising himself for forgetting that it was her older sister who aggravated him so, who couldn't compromise to save her life. He reached his hand out to ruffle her hair as he'd done so many times with Rosella, but decided against it and put his arm around her shoulders instead. He was about to show her another book before a maid burst in, out of breath.

"Your Royal Highness? The queen sent for you, she is . . ." she paused, noticing Genevieve, ". . . ah, ill, and would like to see you."

"Of course, I'll be right there."

"Is Maman alright?"

"I'm sure she is, darling."

"Must I go back to dance lessons?"

"You may stay here if you like, Gen."

Genevieve gave him a smile and a small curtsy, and then moved quietly over to find a different book. As soon as he was sure she was reassured, he hurried after the maid.

"Is she alright?"

"She'll be fine, sir, she just wants you near her."

"Do you know what's wrong with her?"

"Henriette thinks it's just . . . ah," she blushed a little before continuing, "morning sickness."

"Oh." Relief, then: "Oh."

He passed the maid, hurrying to her chambers and opening the door without waiting to be announced. He crossed to her bed and took her hand, kissing it gently. He would sit with her while she slept, and then they'd talk through everything and make a plan together.

She didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but she awoke to Julian's warm and gentle hand pushing her hair from her face. He smiled at her and she melted a little, before remembering why she'd gone to bed at all, and she began to cry.

"Anneliese? Anne? What is it, love?"

"I can't have another one."

"Why not? Did the doctor advise against it?"

"No, I just- it's not right. We can't have a baby that Rosella never got to hold."

"She never met Erik." he reminded her gently

"But she named him, and she felt him kick, and she would talk to my stomach before she went to bed every night. And I like to think they were on Earth at the same time, even for just a few days."

"I'm sure they were."

"But this one. . ."

"If it's a girl, we'll name her Isabella, just like Rosy wanted."

"And if it's a boy?"

"Isabello," he replied, earning a laugh.

"God I hope it's a girl, for the baby's sake."

"Why would you say that? I happen to love the name Isabello."

Anneliese laughed again, kissing him gently.

Luckily for all parties involved, Isabella Rosamund Du Châtillon, Duchess of Abollard was born a girl. (Genevieve had suggested Rosella for a middle name, before Derek quickly wrinkled his nose, declaring the name had "too many ellas")

Later, as Anneliese recovered from the birth, cradling the newborn to her chest, Julian leaning over her shoulder, she remarked,

"I didn't expect this one to look so much like her."

Julian didn't have to ask which her she was talking about. And she was right. Most of their children had inherited his sandy hair and angular build, only Rosella and Pierre had the platinum blonde, cherub cheeked look of the Du Châtillon royal family.

Isabella looked nearly identical to how Rosella had as a baby, the only difference between them was that Rosella's eyes had been Anneliese's dark blue eyes ("like the sea at twilight" Julian had once said), Isabella's were Julian's icy blue.

"You did wonderfully darling," Julian said, still gazing at the baby in his wife's arms, "she's absolutely perfect."

So was Rosella she thought before reminding herself that this child deserves a good mother just as Rosy did. So she said instead,

"She really is."