Iridescent

Chapter 14

Meredith

"Every blanket you can find, bring some of the thick wool—oh," I tapped my lips, feeling as if my mind was going a million miles a second, "Heat some broth—something warm—tea, yes, get some tea as well. Ask Lyall to call for a doctor to be safe."

Irina nodded, repeating every word under her breath before she rushed in the other direction, barely letting her feet hit the ground as she rushed down the hallway. When I approached Stasia's door, it was cracked, dangling open—the edge of darkness within haunted me in a way.

The water edged down the side of her furrowed brow and I lined the cloth over her forehead, feeling my heart break at the sight of her. There was a dullness in her auburn hair and skin that scared me today. Every time the little cries of the baby startled the silence from the other end of the room, she would shift automatically, discomforted by the sound.

"Regina," I spoke, not entirely knowing what to say, but knowing I needed to say something, "Is there anything I can get you? Perhaps, you should try to eat something. You need to build your strength again."

For hours she retreated to the bed—distraught by the new emotions that strangled her mind after he left. He stood from a distance and immediately dismissed himself when he discovered it was a girl. The baby wailed for the hands of her parents—but the maids folded her in the crib in the other room while Regina mourned her decided failure.

Her eyes remained shut, but a tear slipped down her ashen face. I carefully brushed the back of hand to her cheek to chase it away, but another streamed—and another. "He doesn't want me anymore, does he?" her voice broke with every word—as if every syllable choked her.

"Regina," I shook my head at her, "Don't think such a thing."

Her eyes barely surfaced in the puddle of tears and her body shook in fatigue. The fear materialized in her words, "He doesn't want me anymore, Meredith. I can't give him what he wants."

"He's a fool to think any less of you," I said to her.

Moving myself closer to her on the bed, I found her eyes and said, "Regina, you did one of the hardest and most beautiful things in this world—you brought a life to be loved." The pain I knew too well grip my chest like an unwelcomed hand. The sound of her baby crying in the other room begged the conflicted emotions that lived within me.

Who was I to be jealous of her success in bringing a child into this world? I didn't want to her tell her of the anger that brewed within me—knowing that I was not able to do the same. She got the life that I knew to be lost.

She had to know that it could not be wasted because it was not what he wanted.

"Regina, that little girl is beautiful—she is not a regret, she is not a mistake. She is not going to be forgotten and I'll be damned if the gift of a child is ever belittled by that man," I meant the words—speaking off of the fiber of good that thrived in the bad that weighed my bones. "She needs you to get strong and to be her mother," I stated.

She swallowed, gripping her bottom lip in her teeth as she shut her eyes from the world again and more tears streamed down her cheeks, "He told me that I could never amount to being a Queen if I was only a mother to a daughter."

Every day, I get up and ask what evils decide to possess humans—and why the good in us lets them.

"The King doesn't make the Queen," I spoke.

Her eyes opened to look at me, "But—"

I refused any other words, "The King doesn't make the Queen."

"Dreams don't come true, Meredith," she cried.

I shook my head, "Dreams are what we want. We think they are necessities. We bind ourselves to them, Regina. It may seem unfair—it may seem as if the world we dream for can never be reached, but I firmly believe that life dares to give us what we need."

I pushed my foot through the doorway and silently made my way through the lounge to Stasia's bedroom. The looming shade from the clouds outside the windows deepened the shadows of the room—and it made my gut twist and turn in more worry.

Standing in the doorway, I found Prince Nikolai at Stasia's bedside, completely unaware of my presence. His handsome face gazed at her for a moment and he reached towards the end of her wet braid. I watched as he carefully removed the ribbon and slowly tended to the tangles of the braid—he reached for a cloth, carefully brushing away some of the dirt that marred her sleeping face.

I found myself watching his motions carefully—perhaps, out of distrust, but as the moment expanded, I couldn't help but read his face. Care curved lines of worry—lines of patience and intention—his lips pulled down into a helpless frown—but he tended to her in all of the ways I would.

A hand met my arm and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Now," Regina's voice was hardly above a whisper, and she looked at Prince Nikolai—almost jealous, "Do you believe me? He is pure—pure gold."