The Poisoned Throne

Chapter 46

Aurora

There were tears running from her eyes again. Underneath her heavy chest, her heart beat out of rhythm and from it, she felt a searing pain, spreading through her veins to her fingers and toes. The landscape outside faded, but she pretended to be looking out to cover her tears.

Aurora did not know why she was crying, but she was, and she had been almost every day for a week now. She felt weak and pathetic and stupid. Her body seemed unnatural and her skin crawled, and her eyes seemed always drooping and her mind always slow and tired. She had no appetite for food or laughter; not even dancing could fill her with passion. She did not know why, but she felt as if she was dying.

So the world held no interest to her. The landscape was bland, and the people she used to care for and love seemed so boring that listening to them filled her with hatred and made her want to cry all the more. Every word out of their mouths seemed to carry a sharp edge, a hint of criticism, and it made her want to shout and scream.

Most of all, though, she felt hollow. She felt as though someone had taken her body and emptied her for everything of meaning and purpose. Her stomach was a pit filled with burned-out ashes.

She had not been to Westhall since she was very little. It seemed almost golden in the light of the rising sun, and she marveled at the lightness of the structure. It was nothing compared to Lionhall, in her eyes, but it was magnificent. Rather than marveling at its beauty, though, she was reminded of how heavy and dark her own home was in comparison, and that she would soon be returning to it.

Robert does not like being away from home, she thought to herself, and he won't let me stay here without him. Even if he did want to stay, he'd probably send me home after the coronation anyway.

He greeted her shortly in the guest apartments they had been given. After asking her if there had been any trouble on the way, he bowed and left her alone. The slamming of the door made her jump and her chest was pierced by renewed pain. She fell to her knees and pushed forwards her shoulders, trying to shield herself as she rubbed her fist in circles over her heart. 

When she had calmed down, she stood up and dusted off her skirts. She had a bath readied and picked out her favorite dress. 

She remembered how self conscious she had been, the first time she wore it. It was very bold; the skirts were short enough that her ankles showed. The color was a pale, creamy yellow with large clusters red flowers embroidered onto it. They were very lifelike, and had green stalks, and red petals seemed to fly in the space between them. The sleeves were tight until her elbows, where, at the back, triangular layers that grew bigger and bigger fell to her waist. Her lower arms were naked save for a white piece of translucent fabric with a pattern of leaf-shaped holes.

Her hair was in half a Tiberan braid, with the front and lower layers of her hair hanging loose in artistic ringlets. She smiled at her own image in the mirror; for the first time in a long time, she felt beautiful.

Robert did not come to escort her to the festivities, but sent a servant to apologize and tell her that some meeting or another had stretched out far too long. She knew it to be a lie and was happy for it; at least she did not have to see him until later in the evening.

Mary, who was still only a Princess officially, but by all appearances had begun ruling as a Queen would, had called for Aurora and her husband to visit her before the feast began. Aurora was thrilled to find not only Mary there, but several of the ladies whom she had heard so much of in colorful gossip: Princess Evelyn stood with Lady Cecily, the scandal of the minute, and Lady Amalia was circled by Lady Alice Baldwin, who had been taken in as lady-in-waiting after her husband's death, Lady Bianca Padille and Mary. This was the elite of society's women, and Aurora felt at once honored and inadequate in their presence.