THE CHILDREN

[Axelu 4333]

THE CHILDREN

 

There was silence looming over the Royal Nursery. With its proximity to the shores of the Silver Sea, the three babes housed in separate cradles were lullabied by the faint murmurs of the thrashing currents below. Moonlight permeated the room, and caressed the countenance of the three eldest royal children: Godwin Leopold, and the twin princesses, Cecily Amelia and Helen Theodosia. From the great heights of the pinnacle of House Alstion’s seat, the Hand of Horen, the moon and sun were not altogether so distant. Every time the curious princelings reached out their little palms, they babbled in wonder as they covered the great stars above with their fingers. Little did they know that they could if they played the cards of their fortunes right. 

 

Against the bay window of the chamber loomed a middle-aged wet nurse, rocking back and forth upon a ligneous chair. Her hands deftly embroidered the draconic sigil of the Johannian Dynasty upon the second of three kerchiefs for the children. Each flick of her wrist sired another fragment of the emblem being finished, and over the hours, the routine settled into a humdrum. The machinations of the act, coupled with the nocturne hour, made the nurse’s sewing ever languid. 

 

Plnng. 

 

“God be good,” the Nurse yelped, having pricked her finger on the needle after yet another brusque movement. Her ichor tainted the purple drake that denoted the crest of the secondborn, Cecily, and stared in mild horror as the needle had punctured through its eye. It was a strange coincidence. The infant royal bore a clouded eye, not unlike that of her grandmother, the Dowager Queen and her eldest aunt, Josephine. Courtiers had whispered about the condition for decades, known furtively as the Curse of Middelan, that only seemed to impact the eldest female descendants of each of Queen Amelya’s sons. 

 

The Wet nurse completed the third handkerchief with more alertness, the rawness of her fingers urging her to do so. One by one, the embroidered fabrics were laid in the cradles of the children. Godwin’s was gilded, and bore at its rightmost corner the illustrious seal of Alba. The twin princesses’ were lined with frills and courtly perfection. 

 

As she retreated, the children stirred, but no angst befell them amidst their isolation and solitude. Their satin shrouds kept them warm against the breeze. What else could they wish for? 

 

Spoiler

just a creative writing exercise. more of many to come, hopefully, as Cecily grows up!

 

[ibiou 2397]

A mother, taken to private life since the ascension of her husband on the Paradisian throne, lurked. Hushed dismissals in the dark, of a Queen slipping in and wet nurse bowing out. Her royal babes lay asleep, basked in moonlight as she entered. A regular occurance it had become for Hedwig to spend her evenings in the nursery during time away from her duties, observing their slumber from the corner of the room. Before she sat herself tonight did she wander with piqued interest towards the countertops, with leftover miscelllous items the wet nurse and her handmaidens sported now after the births. Wooden toys and blankets, ceramic dolls and bottles of oil. Nothing was new, until the tabletop ended at the window.

Three handkercheifs.

Her hand went to graze the cloth gently, to not frey the fabric. When she was expecting Godwin, Hedwig had commissioned her talented palace staff to weave an illustrious tapestry to hang over the wall of one of the parlours in the Hand. Of birds, parading in the foilage, free and wild from the castle upon the hill behind. It was not finished yet, for the artisans' talents could dare not be rushed, but as her fingers smoothed over the workings of the needle upon the cloths could she only marvel at their craftsmanship. The dragonic sigils, like the one she bore on her wedding ring. She smiled. The one she held was clearly for the upcoming Lord of Alba, and so she put it down to inspect the other two. Helen's, an image of a Johannian princess. Yet as the last one was visible to Hedwig's naked eye did she, then, inhale deeply. 

That eye, the blasted eye. Her prayers had not been answered this time to the Lord, for he still cursed Charles and her's line with the blood of the unruly kingslayers. Over the years she had grown to detest ts very existence, brought up in the courts of gossipmongers who spun tales from straw into gold. It had been known that her Cecily was born with its wretched nature, yet in the moment did the Queen-consort wish it hadn't. A sick joke to them, was it? To mock her daughter? To continue the spin of lies, of tainted bloodlines. She balled the handkercheif into a fist, the one-eyed dragon scrunched in on itself.

That night did she not disturb her children any longer, for Hedwig of Warsovia spent the hours dwelling on the past, and dreading the future.
 

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