ONYX

Prologue

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                P R O L O G U E
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~ When life hands you lemons, make grape juice. Then sit back and watch the world wonder how you did it. ~

                          -Unknown
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Twenty Years Ago

"One more push, Your Majesty." The midwife, Mary, spoke with a calm demeanor as she watched her Queen struggle with delivery.

It had been over twelve hours of constant pain and blood loss and still the child wouldn't come. Mary was able to see the head crowning as the Queen grasped the bedpost and cried.

Silence.

Those that were present watched as their Queen wailed for relief. She’d been unfortunate to experience the troubling hours of labor, but at last, they could do nothing as they bear witness. They’d been more preoccupied with the result of the child’s gender than the pain evident on the Queen’s face, the blood loss showing in her now sickly pale complexion.

As Mary slid her fingers against the crown of the infant’s head she knew it would be time. “It’s time.”

Midwives posted in the chamber moved to position; ready to tend to the royal baby. He or she would need to be cleaned and thoroughly examined by a physician to make sure it had good health, but if it didn’t, Mary refused to think about the scary prospect that this child wouldn’t be well when it was born.

This was to be the first child born to King James and Queen Elizabeth and they’d hoped deeply for a boy to continue the royal bloodline. The thought had been on Elizabeth’s mind throughout and yet she secretly longed for a girl so that she could show her the love she wouldn't be able to show a boy.

The prospect of having a girl seemed farfetched and unwelcomed. King James had been adamant that the delivering would grant him the boy he’d longed for. Queen Elizabeth hoped it would be a boy so that she could please her King.

With a final push she gave life to a small child. Blood covered the pale baby, curled into a ball, silent and unmoving and it unnerved the Queen because she’d immediately thought the child was stillborn. Dread sunk into Queen Elizabeth’s chest as she beheld the quick movements of Mary, who’d snipped the umbilical cord and reached for a blanket. She moved with a purpose to see to it that the child wouldn’t die. The midwives cleared a way for Mary as she places her hand on the infant’s chest and applied a little pressure. The infant heaved and then cried, the sound so joyous that everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Sir Thomas stepped forward because with the birth came the next task: the gender. Everyone was anxious, but Mary disbanded the crowd that’d begun to gather around her. There was a more pressing issue to take care of, like the life of their beloved Queen.

She lied motionless as blood continue to spew from her bowels, and yet she was still gasping, trying to hold on to what little air filled her lungs so that she could know the fate of her child. She was dying. 

“I want to see my child.” Elizabeth commanded, reaching weakly for the bundle wrapped in Mary’s arms.  

Mary obliged, but before she could hand her to Elizabeth, the nurse declined. “No, I must examine the child’s wellbeing.”

“Is my baby all right?” Elizabeth asked, her voice barely audible.

“She is very weak, Your Majesty. She may not survive the night.” Mary admitted sorrowfully. It’d been unfortunately true what with the way the child barely moved or made a sound, but the only true sign that it’d been alive was from the soft uneven breaths that’d come out here and there. She was so light in her arms; she had to carefully pass her to the appointed nurse.