Chapter 6
“How can this be…” Edmund gasped, coughing dark blood, his body swaying
Lady Eleanor stood pale beside him, muttering. “It should not be thus… Were not the tales of his barrenness and frailty mere falsehoods?”
She cried out, “Find Margaret Eldwood! By any means, bring her towed the prince!”
“Would the queen claim a knight’s wife for her son?” a deep voice called from the door. “She might first aski my
All eyes widened, turning in shock and fear.
*Sir Roland!” a servant gasped. “Has the light been spared by God’s grace?”
Murmurs and cries filled the hall.
consent.”
Sir Roland, but he refused my aid, frail yet resolute, drawing me close as a shield. I felt his trembling, a mix of mirth and vexation stirring
I supported Sir
within me.
Barely roused from his fever, he insisted on facing the crown to defend my honor–foolish, yet endearingly so.
The queen, mastering her astonishment, spoke with fervent hope. “Sir Roland, I would not sunder a lawful union save to preserve my son,” she said. “Edmund lies at death’s door. If your lady could save him, I would offer my prayers in atonement once he is restored.”
Every gaze fell upon me, expectant, unyielding.
I remained calm.
This moment had played in my mind countless times.
Without my betrothal to Edmund, his death was certain.
Even wed to Roland, should Edmund falter, the queen would compel me to his side.
Such is the royal will. Thus, I had planned…
I spoke softly. “If I could save the prince, I would, yet
“Yet what?” the queen demanded, eyes tierce. “Name your price, and it is yours!”
She glanced at Eleanor. “Save my son, and I’ll name you sole princess. Even her child shall be yours to raise, known only as your own.
Eleanor paled, clutching Edmund’s hand, sobbing “My love, if I had such power, I’d offer my life for yours. But I cannot. I’ll pray in the chapel, begging
God’s mercy.
Edmund ignored her, his eyes fixed on me, dazed and pleading
I curved my lips, feigning sorrow. “Alas, the gift of blessed fertility is spent but once. I have restored Sir Roland and likely bear his child. I am now as any woman, unable to bestow such grace again.”
The hall fell silent, the queen collapsing into her seat. “Then… summon another from ber village,” she stammered.
I smiled inwardly, replying calmly, “Blessed fertility is rare, not shared by all. My kin are fruitful, but none can heal as I did.”
I paused. “Yet an old tome speaks of a remedy–my blood, mixed with rosemary, may ease his ailment. Let the prince try it.”
I pricked my wrist, letting a bowl fill with crimson, and handed it to the physicians.
Under the queen’s hungry gaze, I added softly, “But this may be done only once. Further blood would turn the cure to poison.”
The queen’s face blanched, her resolve faltering.
With Edmund’s life at stake, they dared not doubt ne, clinging to my words as their only hope.
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