The Heir and the Spared

Chapter Nineteen

Author's Note: Mary and Sarah might have blurred the lines a bit more lately in their power dynamics - but lest you forget that she's still the queen, here's Chapter Nineteen!  Thanks, as always, for continuing to read!

The February air was brutally cold, the sort of cold that seemed to seep into one's bones. Sarah found it quite useful to keep her cloak around her now, and no one looked at her strangely anymore for it, since she saw almost no one but the queen and the servant who brought her meals. It was a lonely time, however, and cold at night, alone in her bed in an empty guest-room of the queen's apartments.

She missed being with Bess, and not only for the body-heat that sharing a bed had provided. Most nights, they had been too tired to stay up any later to talk. Yet on some nights, they had indulged in giggling about something that day - at least until Catherine had scolded them to be quiet.

It was painful to be so isolated. Not for the first time, she wondered if the decision to help Queen Mary had been a mistake. There could be no going back from it now, however. And truly, it might not have been possible to refuse; Her Majesty was the queen, after all.

Her growing belly, while an additional reminder of the sad future that might lay ahead, was also a welcome source of warmth. It was also a promise of hope. To her relief, just as the queen had promised, she had started to recognize the flutters of the unborn child within her. She must have been nearly six months along by that point, according to her count.

She was half-asleep when she heard a light knock on the door. Her initial irritation - for it was not easy these days to find a comfortable position in which to sleep - abated by the time she made her way to the door. Opening it, she beheld Philip.

"Shh," he whispered, swiftly closing the door behind him. Once he had done so, he bent to kiss her softly.

Instead of speaking, she wrapped her arms around him - as tightly as she could, with her protruding middle in the way - and buried her face against his chest.

They could not speak much, since the queen was asleep just next door, and they could not be overheard. It would be dangerous to disturb her. These nocturnal visits were no longer sanctioned by the queen, as Philip had already done his job in helping Sarah conceive what might become the queen's male heir. Instead, his coming here was a risk, for there was no way to explain his presence here, or Sarah's. It was one of Sarah's few solaces, however, so she just had to trust that he was doing his best to take precautions.

"I've missed you," she dared to whisper, stretching up for another kiss.

Philip pressed his lips to hers lightly. "And I you," he replied.

He led her to the bed then, and they both slipped under the covers. Sarah's eyes closed in bliss as his arm wrapped around her. It was easiest these days for her to lie on her left side, then for him to press against her from behind, an arm draped over her side. He usually did not stay the whole night, on account of the risk of being found here in the morning. Besides, it would not be easy for him to sleep, as Sarah often had to shift in an effort to get comfortable. Yet an hour or two with Philip, dozing lightly, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric of their night-clothes... it could keep Sarah's spirits up for a week or two until he could slip away to see her once more.

Hesitantly, his fingertips brushed over her belly. She laced her fingers through his, and guided his hand to the high point of her belly. A smile touched her lips. With the rolling, fluid sort of motions to which she had lately become accustomed, their baby was moving.

"Can you feel?" she asked in a whisper. "Our baby is glad you're here."

For a time Philip said nothing, but his palm went flat against her, seeking the feeling. An exhale escaped him, perhaps of wonder or admiration. His lips found the sensitive skin of her neck and his fingers stroked her belly.