by Reza Ali
She pulled off her leather boots and threw them to the ground. Her bare feet sank beneath the wet grass and the mud squished between her toes. She looked into the low grey clouds above as the rain pelted her. She felt each drop splatter over her soft skin, like the splattering of despair that was thrust into her heart. She felt her hair drenched with water, like the melancholic rain that drenched her life. Her frustration simmered once more and she drew in a massive breath of air, filling her lungs like a submerged pail in a well of water, and let out a cathartic yelp directed at the grey sky above.
She felt the release almost instantly. Suddenly, the rain no longer felt so sad; each renewed breath she took seemed to restore lost energy. She felt a purge within, as if the rain had washed away her pain and sorrow and melancholy. She opened her arms, welcoming it, embracing it, allowing it to cleanse her, scour her clean, temper her hurt and ease her pain. As she stood, her arms raised high in reverence of this rain, she felt new and strong, much stronger than she had ever felt. At that very moment, she felt a tug inside her belly. She moved her hand over it and felt it once more.
* * *
Madame Cecelia walked to the open door and stepped onto the balcony. Princess Evangeline stood in front of her, soaked with rainwater, but with a significant change in demeanour. She scrutinised the princess, trying to make sense of her.
“Princess, are you well?” Cecelia asked.
“I felt him move inside me. It was the most incredible feeling.” Her eyes were as wide as saucers.
“There is no doubt that he grows every day. You know that it has been almost sixty days since your interlude with the soon-to-be king. It takes about one hundred and eighty days under normal circumstances for the child to be born,” Cecelia informed, with some ambivalence. She was uncertain of the princess’ fate and that disquieted her greatly.
“Time does seem to waste away. There is much to do – I want to make sure that everything will be in place for my son if I do not make it through the birth.” She seemed less bothered by the prospect of death than before.
“You will make it through this; remember Armoran’s words.”
“I will not fashion hope from the words of an old man stuck in a tree. If I make it through labour, that will be perfect, but, if I am to go, I shall accept my fate with dignity. Charlotte Grift told me that death is not the end. John’s death has taught me about the fragility of life. I am ready for my fate, Madame Cecelia, more ready than I have ever been.” She bore a look of determination that Cecelia could not help but admire.
“That you are, My Princess; that you certainly are.” She smiled a fake smile, hiding the frown that wanted to come; the princess meant more to her than any other.
* * *
Another thirty days had passed and Princess Evangeline saw her belly swell as her child grew faster than expected. She had already visited a monastery and paid a hefty donation in exchange for them to take responsibility for her child should she not survive the birth. A priest named Father Norman Tarly visited her often – he was chosen to be the man to take the child to the monastery after she gave birth. He did not know what she really was and she was determined to keep it that way. Madame Cecelia had recommended a nurse named Sister Theresa to deliver the child. The nurse was a vampire, but lived as a sister, helping humans through illness and suffering, but, more importantly, also helping her own kind. This was the only person who knew what to expect during the birth process.
The princess had written several letters, addressed to many important people in her life, explaining to them how she felt about them and saying goodbye. She had attempted to write to her unborn son, but the words just never seemed to convey the message she really wanted to give him. She had grown to love him more than anything she had ever loved before. Someone had once told her that a mother’s love is the purest and most untainted love possible. She had discovered how true this was; she felt him inside her, his little heart faintly beating in line with hers. She felt desperate to be with him. A mother must be with her child. There should be no other outcome. She hoped that Charlotte Grift would help her, would grant her time to look after her son. If he is to be someone so important, then surely he must have his mother to care for him.
* * *
After a hundred and twenty days, Princess Evangeline’s belly was large. The baby was big and growing every day. Then, one night, the reality of her dire situation became patently apparent. As she was about to retire to bed, a terrible pain coursed deep all over her body. It had no physical bearing, but it was a dreadful throbbing that literally felt like her life was being forcefully pulled away from her. She grabbed the satin cover on her bed and clutched it as tightly as she could. All she could think of was the image of her son. If she had to make this sacrifice for him, it was worth making. She gathered all her strength and fought back with all she had. Through the depths of her agony, she stood firm she accepted her fate. He was the most important thing. Then the pain receded and left her.
She felt victorious; she had fought this round and won, but she resolved to never cower in the face of such adversity again. Thirty days later, it returned. She writhed in pain, her unbidden tears flowing despite her attempts to resist them as it ripped through her. Drenched in perspiration, clutching the satin sheet with clenched hands, her hair as wet as the day she had stood in the rain, the princess stood firm. Determination veneered the blood coursing through her veins. This was for her son and she would never cower in the face of death; she would never meekly wilt away.
She was a hundred and seventy days into her pregnancy when Madame Cecelia arrived with a guest. The woman looked to be in her sixties if compared to a human, but she was well older than that. She wore a white coif over her head and a white wimple of starched linen covering her cheeks and neck. Her skin was well maintained, but showed signs of age, and her hazel eyes reflected wisdom a hundred years in the making.
“This is Sister Theresa, a devoted servant of our people. She will be staying with you until birth.” Cecelia cast a forlorn image as she held the princess’ hand.
“It is my pleasure to meet you, Sister Theresa. I have been waiting for you with great anticipation. I do not know how to thank you for what you will do for me.” Her words were warm and inviting.
“Thank you, Princess Evangeline. You are very beautiful; you have so much to live for. It is not too late for you; if you want me to put an end to this pregnancy, just say the word.” Sister Theresa had a candidness that sometimes offended.
“The princess will make it through this; we have it on good authority that she will survive. Please, Sister Theresa, such questions will do no good here,” Cecelia said.
“Sister Theresa, there are some things that are more important than our ordinary lives. I must birth my child; there is simply no other option. I am prepared for whatever comes after; if it is indeed death, I shall greet her with no resistance.” The princess smiled.
“You are a courageous woman, Princess Evangeline. I have done this for a few women; many were shivering wrecks who were forced into doing this. A few were brave, but all of them were filled with fear. You are the first woman who stands so firm in the face of a fate so daunting. You have won my admiration already.” Sister Theresa smiled and moved her hand to touch the princess’ shoulder.
Sister Theresa was soon at home in the cabin. She prepared a soup for the princess that was perfect in every way. It had an earthiness to it, full of barley and herbs and sliced turnips, but also some very special ingredients that one could only find in a place like the Spiritual Forest.
“I have never tasted something as delicious as this soup. It is delightful in every way possible,” said Princess Eve.
“I used some special ingredients, but, most importantly, it was made with love,” Theresa replied warmly.
In a very short time, Sister Theresa grew to love the princess. She was awed by the princess’ description of the sanctuary and all of her wonderful qualities. It became apparent to her that
she was in the company of someone very special. Sister Theresa had never quite encountered a soul as great as the one the princess possessed. Although the princess never revealed that the child she carried would be the Dark Prince, or her visit from Charlotte Grift. She knew the Valkrays would have spread their spies across the city, knowing that she was here, and that if they came to find out about her son they would infest the city with their henchman to hunt him down and murder him.
The time was almost upon them and Madame Cecelia visited the princess for the last time before the birth. They sat together on first of the two wooden steps where the balcony met the forest.
“There are some things that I would like you to attend to in my absence. I want you to check that Mr Vandal is doing well with the Harker child. I know she will be important to my son; I can feel something when I mention her name. I swear to you, Madame Cecelia, it is something that I can find no words to describe,” Princess Eve said, smiling as she spoke.
“I know how you feel about her, but you cannot force that; it will be their choice if they want to love each other as you so desperately desire,” Cecelia replied firmly.
“It may be difficult for you to accept, but I know something about them; I am certain of this. Please just do as I ask and you will see it happen. I will be proved right; of that, I have no doubt.” Her voice was as sure as daylight.
“Princess Eve, you are going to see them yourself. I have faith in you and I believe that we will be laughing about this very soon.” Cecelia placed her hand on Princess Eve’s shoulder.
“That does not matter much now. What really matters is that we are prepared if I do not make it through the birth. I have left gold coins for you; please ensure that my son is always cared for. I want you to take the keys for both my cabins in this forest to Mr Vandal. I want him to look after them and keep them for the Harker child; tell him this, please. I have left a note for my son in your cabin; find it and hand it to him when he finds his way to you. Do not ask me how, but trust me, it will happen. I have already made all the arrangements with the monastery; they will keep and raise him. He will be safe there as long as nobody knows who he is.”
“Have you decided on his name?”
“Yes, I thought of John, in honour of our John, but I wanted him to be unique. So I picked Jamie.” The pride showed in her smile as she said the name.
“Jamie Brooking; it does sound regal.”
“No, we cannot call him by my maiden name. There must not be a way to connect him to me. I thought of Jamie Lawrence. That sounds special to my ear.”
“Jamie Lawrence; it does sound special. It is fitting for the son of such a wonderful mother. I am hoping that you will make it through. I cannot contemplate the alternative. Please tell me something that will leave me with some hope,” Cecelia begged.
“You will find all the hope you need in my son. Madame Cecelia, you have been more than a sister to me. Always remember that I love you dearly and, if there is a way to still love wherever I shall be, you will always have that place in my heart.” She took Cecelia into her arms and they held each other tightly.
When their embrace ended, Cecelia walked to her carriage, wiping away her tears as she stepped inside. The carriage door closed and they began moving away. She looked at the opening in the carriage beside her and caught sight of the princess standing on the balcony, watching them leave. Something within her finally gave in to the possibility that this may be the last time she saw Princess Eve. An overwhelming grief gripped her and her tears flowed without restraint.
* * *
Princess Evangeline woke that morning with considerable discomfort. She felt moistness below her waist and, when she pulled her hand up to her face, it was red. The princess called out to Sister Theresa, who had brought a pewter vase of fresh red roses in water and left them on the princess’ side table. She had ordered the two handmaidens who always helped the princess to leave the cabin for the day. She brooded over the princess’ bed, planning her actions carefully in her mind. It had begun. She cleaned the linen and helped the princess up. She had a pail of water next to the bed and a cloth, which she used to dab the princess’ face.
The princess felt that consuming pain once more – she knew the time had arrived. She panicked; was she ready? Had she done all that was needed? Was her son going to be well cared for? All the questions rang inside her. She felt an overbearing need to do something to make sure all was right, but she was weak and in severe pain. She took a breath and summoned her strength. I shall not cower in the face of adversity. I will deliver my son! Whatever follows will never deter me! She felt her strength return; her determination was restored. The day turned to noon, then noon to evening. Her condition remained unchanged until the sun slowly crept away.
The moon cast its light over the cabin, shimmering in the drops of water left by the rain earlier in the day. The princess lay on her bed, waiting patiently, knowing of the possible grim fate awaiting her. It mattered little when she thought of the coming of her son. Suddenly, she felt a strong aching in her lower abdomen; something within her felt like it was pushing out. She could feel a widening inside her and movement through it. Then she felt moistness below as blood gushed from her and soaked the bed and the linen Sister Theresa had lain around her. Sister Theresa was between her legs, her hands gently pushing inside her. She felt very weak; she blinked slowly. There was no pain; just a feeling of something passing through her. She heard Sister Theresa shouting something, but she could not understand the words. The sounds around her lowered in volume as her world slowly turned black and she felt herself slowly fading… fading into darkness.
“Hello again, Princess Evangeline!” a voice called out in the darkness.
The princess could see nothing at first, but then a figure emerged, looking over her. The image became clear and it was a woman; she had silver-white hair and ocean-blue eyes and wore a plain white silk dress. The princess blinked furiously, narrowing her eyes as she recognised who this was.
“Charlotte Grift,” she said softly.
“Yes, my child, it is me. I told you I would come back to you.” Her voice was cheerful.
She suddenly spoke with ease. “I am in labour; my baby is coming.”
“It is true you are in labour and your child has almost arrived. Do you recall I told you that I would inform you of your fate the next time we saw each other?” Charlotte leant forward and lifted a slender eyebrow as she spoke.
“You did promise to inform me; I do recall. Please, Charlotte, my child will need his mother. He will have nobody without me.” It was a desperate plea.
“It was not up to me, my dear child. Please come with me. I always told you that you have nothing to fear. You will never be alone; I will be with you.” She smiled sorrowfully.
“No! I need my child. I want to be with him,” she said, almost defiantly.
She once more summoned her strength and pushed herself up. She blinked rapidly and again she found the room appearing around her. She could hear Sister Theresa shouting at her.
“Push harder! Harder!” The words were clear to her.
Then she heard the cry! A beautiful cry that bellowed across the room. She knew exactly what that was. The cry grew louder and more intense. She felt relief in her heart; it seemed a healthy birth. Her fear that the child may be stillborn was allayed. Her abdomen felt feather light, almost like there was nothing left inside. She cast her eyes towards the lower half of the bed – it had turned completely red. Sister Theresa appeared and handed her a little bundle, wrapped in a blanket she had bought especially for her son. Her arms were so weak she could barely lift them, but she found her inner strength and cradled him tightly. She looked at the bundle and saw a beautiful pair of eyes looking at her as her son smiled gloriously.
“My Jamie!” Her voice was barely audible. She kissed him on the forehead. “I love you more than anything.”
She felt herself fading once more. She saw Sister Theresa screaming into her face.
She heard her voice faintly. She flicked her gaze back to Jamie, then everything faded once more to black.
“Princess Evangeline, you must come with me now.” Charlotte Grift was once more looking over her in the darkness.
“No! I have to return to my baby. He needs me; he needs his mother,” she pleaded. In the darkness, her voice bellowed with might.
“He will be taken care of. You have seen to that and that is what makes me so proud of you. Princess, we must go; we cannot linger here much longer. There are things that lurk in the valley between life and death and your soul could be seized forever. Come with me; you have nothing to fear, my dear. Take my hand.” She gave the princess her open palm.
Suddenly, the princess was back in her room, baby Jamie still cradled in her arms. Sister Theresa’s face was drenched in tears as she looked despairingly at the princess.
“Do not leave us; he needs you. Fight it, Princess, fight it.” Theresa reached out and touched her face.
The princess wanted to stay there so badly. She wanted to be with Jamie. Her love for him overwhelmed her – she knew that this was a different kind of love. A love beyond anything she knew; a mother’s love. The purest form of love in the whole world. Sister Theresa clutched her hand tightly.
“Fight, Princess, fight for him.”
Theresa’s words rang in her head.
Then she was in the darkness once more. Charlotte Grift was standing over her looking down desperately. “Princess Evangeline, I know this is difficult. I know you love him more than anything, but you must come with me at once. Please place your trust in me. Everything will be well; this, I promise you.”
She was back in the room, Jamie still in her arms. She looked at him once more and felt a surge of happiness pulse through her. Sister Theresa still clutched her hand tightly.
