“Here we are then”, Cindra’s friendly voice was very close to her ear, one warm hand kindly resting on her hip to steady her. It was so difficult to walk. If only the floor would stop moving about like this it would be a whole lot easier.

“Please have a seat ladies”, she heard a scraping to her left as the King’s steward dragged over a chair for her. She sank into it in relief, clinging to firm wooden structure even as the room bucked around her. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting back a wave of nausea. A drop of sweat trickled down her flushing face and into the high neck of her gown. She did not want to let go of the chair to wipe it away for fear she would lose her grasp and tumble to the floor.

“I trust you are feeling better my lady”, the King asked kindly, his mouth curving to the side in a pleasant smile.

She nodded carefully not wanting to renew the pounding in her head. Even small movements like this caused her pain, to sneeze would be the ultimate agony.

“I suppose you know why I have summoned you here”, he continued politely, his eyebrows tilting upwards and sliding sideways in concern.

She blinked trying to focus on his face. She would have simply asked him to stop rocking from side to side but it would not have been polite. She stared blankly at him unable to understand his meaning.

“She is still quite ill Your Majesty”, Cindra murmured apologetically, “I don’t think she understands why you have brought her here”.

Cindra turned to her, speaking slowly and softly, “Valeriya dear. The King and the court have asked you to come to visit them in the throne room to speak with you about your baby”.

She paused uncomprehending for a moment, trying to unravel these strange concepts.

Then she smiled in excitement, the baby! Of course they wanted to ask her about the dear little baby. Her heart swelled with pride and she smiled in modest joy.

“Yes, yes. I will have a baby”, she nodded to add further weight, not caring whether her head hurt. Her dear friends wanted to hear about her sweet baby.

She felt a tiny shuffle inside her belly as the baby changed positions. She rubbed carefully with one hand, keeping a firm hold of the chair with the other. The baby stopped moving around at her gentle stroking and quietly settled.

“But Valeriya dear”, the Queen’s voice was congenial too as her face wavered into view, “Your husband, Radomir. Is he the father?”

She thought for a moment and then answered carefully, finding it difficult to form the ideas she wanted to speak with her misbehaving mouth.

“No. He is not a father of it”.

“Valeriya”, Lochan cut in impatiently, “Who is the father of your baby then?”

Valeriya opened her mouth to answer, thinking carefully what to say and then she froze.

“Oh…”, her breath rushed out in surprise. She didn’t know.

She turned to Cindra in dismay, hot tears welling up in her eyes, her pulse pounding at her temple.

“Oh… Cindra…”, she was full of grief, her heart was crying too, “Cindra. I do not know. Who is a father of it?”

Perhaps Cindra could tell her. She thought it was something she ought to know and by the cross looks on everyone’s face she could see she had made a terrible mistake.

“Don’t worry honey. You have done nothing wrong”, Cindra murmured, patting her soothingly on the arm as she gripped the chair beneath her more tightly.

“Well done Lochan”, Cindra hissed, Now you’ve upset her. You bring her in here to brand her an adulteress when perhaps the blame lies entirely with one of you men. Perhaps there is something much worse than adultery lurking in our midst. Had you considered that?”

Valeriya wished that Cindra would not talk so loudly. Her voice was echoing in her aching ears and reverberating inside her skull. She longed to rest her head in her hands, covering her ears and pretend she was somewhere else. Somewhere quiet and cool.

If she closed her eyes then everything stopped, the nearby voices became nothing but whispers, drowned out by the rushing wind in her ears. When her eyes were closed there was darkness, not the stabbing pain of light and the constant rocking to and fro of the ground beneath her very feet. Everything was still. She longed to lay her head on the soft pillow once more and return to the darkness. In the darkness there was no pain, and the tainted creatures that lurked on the edges, just outside the circle of dimmed light she dwelled in never came to close.

“My Lady, Valeriya”, the King was addressing her and so she reluctantly opened her eyes as one must do when the King speaks their name.

His face was twisted and mournful, his eyes dark with sorrow as he gazed at her. In his penitent brow, his noble curved nose she saw the face of a saint, woven into the tapestry that hung in the small chapel of her childhood home. Into his arms and feet sharp nails had been plunged, pinning him to the cross like a fragile piece of lace secured on her pincushion. His face had been pitiful, racked with pain as his eyes were cast heavenward begging for release. Valeriya had always thought it was no way to go into the arms of God, to be sacrificed and weep for it. If it had been her choice his face would have been beautiful, eyes upturned sparkling with tears of joy as he waited for the loving arms of God to carry him to eternal peace.

“I am truly sorry if we doubted you. I for one am humbled by the words of my cousin. We will do everything in a power to find out who did this to you”.

She did not know why he should be so sorry, but she smiled softly at his twisted face, longing to sooth his worried brow.

Behind her there was a heavy knock at the door and it swung open. She turned carefully to see the hulking body of her husband weaving through the door, swaying like a cobra with its cruel eyes fixed on a mouse.

Elmvarn, Moraghdu, Murchadh, Tadhgar, The Royal Family