The Queen and I

By Beka Gremikova

“You’ve been gone so long, milady. We thought you might never come back.” Agnes smooths out my blankets, rumpled from my restless sleep. “How was your stay in the country?” She sounds nonchalant, but shoots me a covert glance.

Does she know?

Beeswax sweetens the air, and I lurch from my chair to throw open the windows. “It was… freeing.” Soft, cleansing rain sweeps into the chamber, pattering against the smooth stones under my bare feet. Crisp air tingles in my nostrils. “Have any letters arrived for me?”

“Welcome cards from your parents, and a few admirers—”

“I still have admirers?” My parents have hidden the scandal well if my suitors don’t know what happened.

“Of course! You’re one of the most beautiful women in court. It doesn’t matter—” Agnes bites her lip.

“So you do know. About my… condition.” I pull out my scented kerchief, pressing it against my nose.  Lavender. My mother’s favorite scent. Now mine. The smell that calmed me during bouts of agonizing terror as a child. Its thick, heavy perfume floods through me, soothing my suddenly thundering heart. “That’s a relief.”

Agnes’s eyes widen. “A relief?”

I blink back tears. “I don’t have to explain to you why I cry”—the tears stream down my cheeks—“so much.” I sob and pull out my kerchief again. But it’s not lavender that I really want to smell right now. I crave an entirely different scent…

Baby powder covers the blankets and dusts the air. I cough, almost choking on that tangy sweetness. The baby gurgles up at me, her dark eyes shining as I finish changing her first soiled cloths. Beeswax candles flicker along the walls, perfuming the cozy chamber. Outside, dusk falls across the hills, illuminating the few tiny cottages that act as neighbors to the nunnery.

A calloused hand strokes my hair. “You did it, Miss Luce,” Sister Cara murmurs. “You did so well.”

Here, I’m not a lady of the court—just “miss” like every other girl who slips quietly in and out of the doors.

“Thank you. Make sure she finds a family who will…” My throat closes. I’m not sure if I’m going to miss this baby, or if I feel like I’ve failed her somehow. All I know is that my nose is clogged with the scent of baby powder.

“Queen Claudia has adopted a baby, you know,” Agnes breaks into my thoughts. “The orphanage was getting crowded again, so Sister Cara sent her one of the youngest babies.” She stares into the distance. “A little girl.”

The words sweep through me like a cold breeze. Could it be? I was one of the last the nuns helped before they were forced to turn people away…

Hope overwhelms any hesitation. I pull on a dress and tear out of the room.

I stop at the door to the royal nursery, my stomach flopping at the sight of the guard posted there.

“Luce.” Jem bows, glancing up at me with soft, concerned dark eyes. “Are you here as a nursemaid?”

I swallow. “I’m not sure. The baby… Is she…” My gaze drops.

“Ours?” he finishes. “I don’t know, I haven’t seen her yet. I hope so.”

“Me too,” I murmur. His cologne’s familiar spice drifts after me as I hurry into the chamber to the crib nestled into the corner.

There she is, staring up at me with the same dark eyes. I pick her up, wincing at the pungent scent of freshly-soiled cloths. The baby cuddles into me, her head turning instinctively towards the patch of milk soaking through my dress.

She smells so awful. I sniffle.

Someone clears their throat. I whirl to face the queen herself, nearly dropping the baby in my shock, remembering that this is not my role.

Jem’s words come back to me. Are you here as a nursemaid?

Maybe I don’t have to give her up completely.

“I hear you need a nursemaid?” I blurt. Heat crawls over my face as I realize I’ve made my indiscretion obvious.

But the queen merely pads over to me, resting a gentle hand on my arm. “I do.” She guides me to one of two rocking chairs in the nursery, fluffing the cushion. After taking the baby from me, she changes her soiled cloths, wraps her in fresh ones, and hands her back to me. Then she sits across from me in the other chair, leans back, and closes her eyes. The soft tang of baby powder and the crisp freshness of the breeze sliding through the cracked window swirl around us as the baby nurses.

The queen watches me through one eye. “What should I name her?”

I freeze mid-rock. “You want my opinion?”

The queen clasps her hands together. “I have all boys.” She shakes her head, sighing. “I’ve no clue what to name a girl.”

My lips tremble. “But it’s tradition that only mothers can name the child…”

“Yes.” She meets my gaze squarely. “I do realize that.”

Tears sting my eyes. I bury my face in my kerchief, the lavender scent no longer meant to soothe my heaviness but celebrate my joy.  The queen’s offered a gift I cannot repay: the chance to be my child’s mother.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “I’d like to name her Miranda.”

“Miranda she shall be.” Claudia stands, gliding across the room to kneel by my chair. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” She grips my hand in hers. “That society could be a place you feel safe. But she will be raised to know that she has two mothers—and both love her fiercely.”

A sudden reek, worse than the convent’s latrines, fills the air. I glance down at Miranda, who gurgles up at me with a grin. I wrinkle my nose, yet I can’t keep from smiling through my tears when Claudia whispers, “It’s your turn to change her. And don’t forget the baby powder.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Beka Gremikova lives and dreams from the Ottawa Valley, Ontario, Canada. Her passions include wolves, travelling, folklore and myth, and nerding out over anime, manga, and The Legend of Zelda. She has multiple flash fiction stories published with Havok, including in the Bingeworthy anthology. She’s also published in A Kind of Death from Uncommon Universes Press and the upcoming Faces to the Sun collection edited by S.J. Blasko.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter