Moon Drunk: Origins

Yuletide News

"Lady Mother," Felicite says, chewing anxiously on her lip. "I must speak with you."

"What is it?" Anjolique asks, glancing up from her embroidery. The face of Felicite's mother is a mask, as always, filled with serenity and calm. She offers her daughter a patient smile, encouraging her to proceed. 

"I have not bled."

"Oh. Oh!" Anjolique says, standing so quickly the embroidery falls to the floor. "Are you not happy, child?"

Felicite shakes her head. "It is not as though this child is born from love, Mother," she says bleakly.

Anjolique places her hand on Felicite's belly, still flat, her waist still slim. "This child is a blessing. A boy, for certain. A prince. His conception does not matter, Felicite. What matters is that we raise him to be strong, and proud, and we raise him to be an Agincourt, an Agincourt prince to become an Agincourt king."

Felicite knows that her mother is right. She loves this child already, if that is possible, despite his parentage, despite the lack of love that led to his conception. 

"Well, shall we send a messenger? Or shall I tell him myself?"

"You tell him," Anjolique says. "The news should come from you. It will help endear you to him."

As Felicite turns to leave, her mother calls for her attention once more. "This is our triumph, Felicite. You will join me every morning at dawn to pray that you have a boy."

That evening, Gabriel opens the door to the chamber and permits Julien entry. But when he approaches Felicite, she raises her hand to stop him. 

"I carry your child."

There is joy in Julien's face, once understanding settles in, and for that, she is grateful, for he is far more handsome with a happy face than an angry or mocking one. He takes her hands in his - more carefully this time than ever before, and draws her closer to him, as if he has the intention to hold her tenderly. 

"I am glad to hear it," Julien says. "Thank you for telling me. This is...this is wonderful news." He is speechless for a moment, gazing at her with something akin to tenderness before releasing her. 

Felicite nods, her face serious. She cannot force a smile despite his sudden tenderness. 

"You are so beautiful," he says softly.

"And I have proven myself fertile," she replies dryly.

He nods. "Yes, of course. Of course you have. And will it be a boy?"

"I've no way to know," Felicite replies, looking at him as though he is an idiot. "How could I know?" 

His hand drifts to her belly, a tender touch between loving parents, and yet it makes her feel nauseous. She is confused, her warring emotions wearing on her. 

"I hope it is a boy," he says. "A Fleming boy. This...this means so much, Felicite. Have you told anyone else?"

"No, Your Grace," she lies, and a thrill of pleasure runs through her at the lie. "I wanted you to know the happy news first."

"Felicite...I know that I have been selfish, that I have been cruel to you. But my mind has not only been on my own security, you must know that. If the child you carry is a boy...your son will be the king. The wars between the houses will be ended forever with this child. This is the only way for there to be peace. And you have brought that for us."

He draws her against him, but she turns away, remembering the king she loved, the king whose son should now grow in her womb, a royal heir not conceived in hatred and jealousy but with love between parents destined for one another.