13. CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
VERONICA
Good girl.
Good. Girl. Good girl.
Seven days. It has been seven whole days since the event took place in that godforsaken room.
Never have I been more thankful for someone to come down with a stomach bug than I have at this moment.
Mary has been complaining about pain in her abdomen previously, now she’s been sick for the past few days.
Everyone in the kingdom is on the edge of their seats with the thought of her being pregnant, but it hasn’t been spoken aloud, not yet.
While everyone scrambles, I am still too consumed with thoughts of the moment Sebastian and I shared while his wife laid spread eagle in front of us. He didn’t even act fazed by it as he rubbed the tip of his cock against the back of my hand.
Then he came.
My teeth chew lightly on my bottom lip; my attention locked on the window as I stare down at the garden.
More importantly than the garden, I watch a certain chestnut-haired man as he walks through the rows of flowers.
With Mary sick, his mind seems adrift, like a fleeting ship, sailing farther from the shore.
I’ve seen him daily, of course, because of my responsibilities here at Hawthorn, but his need for me has grown immensely lower.
The once back and forth of his need for a fresh espresso, or hell, even sending me to find a non-existent alarm clock, is gone.
I have whiplash, so much so, my head is foggy and my heart aches. So much that I miss getting aggravated over how much of a prick he is.
The younger version of me wants so badly to run to him, to pull the thoughts running through his mind out, help him through it. I have to remind myself he isn’t the same boy I knew ten years ago. Sebastian is a grown man with more demons than myself, especially as Victoria Pierce.
Georgina makes her way up the stoned path, and while I can’t quite make out her facial expression, I can imagine it to be of warm concern. Her hand comes up and my own skin tingles as she places her palm to his shoulder.
The action is so very motherly and tender, and I don’t need to imagine the way Sebastian’s eyebrows furrow in an attempt to keep his feelings to himself. I don’t need to imagine it, because I know.
A wail snaps me back where I know I’m supposed to be paying attention.
Mary cries, her half-lidded eyes filled with pain.
Addie’s by her side, rubbing her back in a soothing manner, but it’s not helping.
I almost feel bad for whatever is happening, but it’s a fleeting feeling, one I’m not exactly proud to admit.
“My sincerest apologies, but I’m afraid there is nothing more that can be done.” The resident doctor, Killian Moore, speaks in a soft tone that only intensifies Mary’s cries.
My stomach twists, and I can feel my face faltering.
Everyone in the room is defeated, shoulders usually held tall now fallen, and the air feels solemn to the point of suffocating grief.
I know right then, Dr. Moore has officially declared the princess of Hawthorn infertile.
That knot in my stomach tightens, and a growing urge to comfort Mary rises inside me.
I may have an obvious dislike for her, but this is news no woman should ever hear.
Then I remember the way Sebastian’s eyebrows knit, the hidden pain on his face in the garden.
How is he going to handle the news? Even in the current state of jackassery he is right now, he will be crushed over the news.
I know his dislike for Mary is rather high but being told something like this is heartbreaking. He is going to be heartbroken.
Mindlessly I take a step forward, ready to reach out and comfort the future queen of Hawthorn, but I stop short when a pair of blue eyes narrow on me. Addie.
“Don’t,” she mouths.
So I don’t. I watch. That's all I can do.
A few minutes later, the door opens and the king and queen step in.
King Deacon’s lips press together in a thin line, utter displeasure written all over his face.
The man has always been that way, showing his emotions involves displeasure whenever the situation is not favorable.
It is a big reason so many fear him. His relentless strength shows promise of actions that would make anyone tremble.
Queen Sophia is different. While her face remains neutral, her eyes give her worry away. Even if she is always on Deacon’s side, there are moments like this that prove to me she does in fact care.
Dr. Moore packs up his kit , lips pressed tightly together. From what I’ve gathered regarding Mary, this has been going on for a while now. The king wanted an heir provided to the kingdom within the first year of Sebastian and Mary’s marriage. Now, year two, it’s likely not going to happen at all.
“Your Majesty.” Dr. Moore bows his head in greeting to King Deacon who still hasn’t looked away from Mary.
The longer he silently stares, the louder Mary’s wails become.
Deacon’s jaw ticks in aggravation, and it takes everything in me not to speak up, to tell him that Mary is mourning right now. I know better, but holding back is something I’ve never been good at. My uncle used to reprimand me for it all the time.
“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day, kid.”
My lips twitch, his voice clear as day. If only he knew he was right.
“Your Majesty, I regr—”
Deacon’s hand raises, his palm facing Dr. Moore, immediately cutting the man off.
“Come to my office.” That’s all the king says before he and the queen leave the room.