♦YOU MUST HAVE READ THE PREQUEL, THE GOLDEN DUCHESS, TO READ THIS BOOK!♦
BEWARE--spoilers in this blurb, for those who have not read previous books! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
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The world is upside down, and those you thought you knew... you no longer...
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Sarah's paces at the foot of Prudence's bed worsened the Princesses nausea.
"I knew our heavy breakfasts would break you."
Prudence moaned. "Would you please stop doing that? The pacing?"
The lady ceased, and gripped the edge of the bed-frame. "As you wish, Highness. Is there anything I can fetch for you? Water? Tea? Maybe a light lunch to erase the taste of the sickness?"
Prudence's eyebrows bunched. There was no way any meal would settle in her abdomen right now, perturbed as she was. Cornelius' words had rendered her too sick to have an appetite.
"Definitely not food." She'd changed into her nightgown minutes before, yet it already clung to her sweaty skin. Recalling her second accident the moment they entered her chambers, she clutched her covers and motioned at the window. "I should sleep it off. Would you mind...?"
Sarah hurried to the curtains and closed them, blocking the early afternoon sun from hitting Prudence in the face. "Better?"
"Much." Prudence waved her off. "Thank you."
Sarah curtsied and left the room.
Prudence fell asleep.
***
Prudence gasped for air as she woke, heart thumping faster than a racehorse,. Her dry throat ached and her limbs were still coated with perspiration.
Had Cornelius caused all this?
Half sitting up, she found a glass of water on the nightstand, and drained it immediately. Her dizziness had dissipated, it seemed, but not her thirst.
She peered at the clock, convinced it was late into the night; yet only an hour had passed.
"So this is what feeling sick is like." She'd been so grateful to never catch the influenza Cordelia had once had or the colds Sébastien and Antoine had often suffered through.
Was her immunity a Giromian trait? Sarah had mentioned, during their flight to her room, that Giromians rarely caught common illnesses. She insisted Prudence's weakness was due to fatigue, considerable stress, and the rich foods served for breakfasts and lunches and dinners.
I must be wary of Giromian delicacies from now on.
As she threw the covers off, she sat up completely and let her toes reach the cool wooden floor. For a moment, her tense muscles eased up; but when she put her weight on her feet, her belly gurgled.
"Oh, no," she muttered, placing a hand on her belly. She fell back onto the bed. "What is wrong with me? I must need more rest."
She missed Johanna in such times. She would have silently stood watch, feeding Prudence soup and forcing water down her throat while dabbing her forehead with a dampened cloth. And Céleste would have helped, too, would have kept her company and rocked her to sleep or read passages from that stupid Golden Girl book of hers. She'd divert Prudence's thoughts from her aches and shoo the sickness away.
