The Widow’s Curse

by Lucas Flores

  THE WIDOW’S CURSE

  THE WIDOW’S CURSE

  THE UNTOLD STORY OF THE QUEENS OF WONDERLAND

  Lucas Flores and Jeff Huerta

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters and events in this book are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Gatekeeper Press

  3971 Hoover Rd. Suite 77

  Columbus, OH 43123-2839

  Copyright © 2016 by Lucas Flores and Jeff Huerta

  Cover illustration by Yaresy Janeth Salinas

  All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor any parts within it may be sold or reproduced in any form without permission.

  ISBN (hardcover): 9781619844612

  ISBN (paperback): 9781619849174

  eISBN: 9781619849167

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  “My Lady!” a voice shouted.

  “What is it?” Blackheart mumbled from under her bed covers.

  “It’s the queen, My Lady,” the voice replied.

  “What can she possibly want at this hour? Tell her I’m asleep,” she said.

  “She’s gone into labor. The doctor says it’s not long now until the baby arrives.”

  Blackheart sat up and rubbed her eyes. A dark silhouette, one of her guards, stood in the doorway.

  Faint screams echoed from down the hall.

  “All right, all right. I’m coming,” Blackheart called out. She stretched her long, slender arms and yawned before getting out of bed. She winced and took in a quick breath as her bare feet pressed against the cold floor.

  “I swear she can never do anything on her own. Now, where are those damn slippers? Ah, there they are,” she mumbled while slipping her boney feet into the white puffy pads and draping a floral patterned robe over her shoulders.

  Blackheart shuffled down the hall and into the queen’s room, “Everything will be all right, dear cousin. I’m . . .”

  The queen lay on her bed with her legs spread open. The sheets, once pristine and white, were now soiled with birthing fluids. She clawed at the pillows beside her and groaned.

  “Lady Blackheart is here, My Queen,” the doctor said.

  Breathing heavily, the queen looked up at her cousin. “Elzana,” she gasped, “there is something wrong.”

  “There’s nothing wrong,” Blackheart said, “Stop being so weak. You’ll get through this.”

  The doctor stepped in front of Blackheart. “My Queen, we are going to lay you on this cot and move you to the birthing room, okay? Are you ready?”

  The queen nodded. Her servants snapped into motion and helped her off the bed and onto the cot.

  “Guards, grab the cot and follow me,” the doctor said.

  The queen called out again, “Elzana, I feel it. Something’s not right.”

  Flashes of lightning and the clap of thunder from an approaching storm bounced off the walls. This type of weather normally excited Blackheart, but tonight all she could think about was her cousin and the coming baby.

  “In here,” the doctor said as the group rushed into the birthing room. “Quickly, lay Her Majesty on the bed.”

  Blackheart cringed at the queen’s appearance. “You look awful, just so you know. Seeing you like this makes me forget that you’re actually a queen. You look more like one of your three servants right now, thrown together and unladylike.” Blackheart raised her nose at Marie, Josephine, and Therese. They were the queen’s most trusted servants, and Blackheart’s least favorite people.

  The queen wiped fresh sweat from her face and fidgeted at the wrinkles in her gown, but stopped abruptly as she burst into another bout of screaming.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Blackheart asked.

  “Another contraction,” the doctor said.

  Blackheart knelt down beside the queen and grabbed her hand. “Try and hurry this up so I can get back to sleep.”

  “She’s ready,” the doctor said, and then shouted, "push!”

  “Ahhh!” Blackheart groaned. Her fingers pressed sharply together within her cousin’s grip.

  The queen’s shrill screams drowned out the rumbles of thunder. “What is happening to me?” she cried out. “The baby, it’s .. . . it’s pushing back!”

  Blackheart glared at the doctor. “Do something, you imbecile.”

  The queen screamed through her final push. The child was finally delivered.

  Silence shrouded the room. Thick dark blood oozed down the side of the bed, and tears as clear as crystal ran down the queen’s soft, porcelain-like cheeks. She exhaled a final breath and collapsed.

  The doctor quickly wrapped the newborn in a clean cloth. He backed away from Blackheart and the queen and handed the bundle to her most trusted servant, Marie. “Look at the baby,” he whispered. “What are we going to do?”

  Blackheart stood over her cousin’s lifeless body. “Rosaline? Rosaline, wake up!” she called out.

  The queen’s complexion faded to grey. The skin on her face, arms and legs dried and cracked. Her silvery hair, once shiny and wavy, thinned and withered like scorched paper. Her hazel eyes, still and open, darkened into pools of blackness.

  “Wake up!” Blackheart repeated.

  CHAPTER 1

  The queen thrust herself up to a sitting position, startling everyone. “What happened to me?” Her voice was flat and emotionless.

  “My Queen,” the doctor said from across the room. He stopped washing his hands and rushed back to her side.

  “I feel nothing. No pain, just stillness,” the queen continued in a monotone whisper with her hand over her chest. “Doctor? What’s wrong with me?”

  The doctor’s mouth opened but no words came out. He examined the queen. His nose crinkled. He tried to speak again, but instead just sighed.

  “Where is my child?” the queen asked. Marie, handed her the baby, bowed, and stepped back. The queen removed the cloth that concealed the newborn.

  The baby was not screaming or crying. Her lips and cheeks were crimson and her head was adorned with wisps of red hair. Bright red blotches, birthmarks, were splattered like paint across her body. Many resembled the perfect shape of a heart, like those on a printed playing card, while others resembled deflated caricatures of such.

  “What’s wrong with her?” the queen asked. “What’re these markings all over her body?”

  “That’s no baby,” Blackheart said. “That’s a monster!”

  The queen trembled.

  The old man continued to examine the queen’s body. He then paused for a moment and fidgeted with his tools.

  “Doctor,” the queen said. “Answer me.”

  The methodical doctor shifted his gaze back and forth before finally responding. His eyes constricted and his brow beaded with sweat. In a quiet, trembling voice he said, “My Queen, I can’t find your heartbeat. It’s as if it’s not there.”

  “What do you mean?” the queen asked. “How is that possible?”

  “And what of this hideous baby?” Blackheart added.

  Marie gasped. She stepped forward and cautiously replied, “My Lady, she is your niece.”

  Blackheart laughed. “This i
s not my niece. Have you seen the illegitimate bastard? She’s no better than a leper. This monster is a disgusting poor excuse for life. Besides, she looks nothing like the queen. She looks like the man who fathered her.”

  Leper. The queen hated that term. That was what Blackheart called any walking and talking animal, as if they were diseased or impure. While the term itself was relatively new, such animals had been around for generations, or longer. As far as anyone knew, they had been in existence since the beginning of time. Humans and these unique creatures always lived together, peacefully. It was only recently that the two were pitted against one another by Blackheart’s manipulation and abuse of power.

  Blackheart reached down and snatched the baby away from the queen’s arms. “Do something with this. Take it to the river and drown the devil.”

  “Nooo!” the queen shouted.

  “Get this out of my sight,” Blackheart said. She dropped the infant as if it were a stack of books. Gasps and screams erupted from the servants as the baby thudded onto the floor and finally cried out. Undaunted, Blackheart looked away.

  The queen jumped out of bed and onto her feet. She lunged for her child but Blackheart pushed her back onto the bed.

  Marie quickly knelt down and picked up the crying newborn. She inched away from the squabbling cousins.

  “It’s for your own good, My Queen,” Blackheart said.

  “Yes,” the doctor agreed. “You should lie down. Don’t over-exert yourself.”

  “Give me my baby,” the queen demanded.

  “No,” Blackheart said.

  “Give me my baby,” the queen repeated in a softer tone.

  “That .. . . that thing was not meant to be,” Blackheart said. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you share your bed with that man. How would you explain this child to the governors? Think about what people will say.”

  “Other people. That’s all you care about,” the queen said.

  “I care about you,” Blackheart replied. “And yes, I also care about the stability of our kingdom.” She draped one of her lanky arms over the queen’s shoulder. “Let us take you back to your room, clean you up, and get you ready for bed. I’ll take care of all this.”

  “But, that’s my baby,” the queen whimpered.

  Blackheart grabbed the queen’s chin and stared into her eyes. “That is not your baby. I told you I will handle this.”

  The queen sat on the side of the bed, slumped forward. She didn’t know what to do. Arguing with Elzana always proved futile. Even while growing up, she always possessed the stronger personality. She was stubborn and only saw things her way, so it was always easiest to let her do what she wanted. Years of giving a spoiled child what she wanted had ruined both of them.

  Blackheart called out to one of the servants. “You there, girl, take Her Majesty to her room and prepare a bath.”

  The young servant stepped forward and bowed. “Yes, My Lady.”

  The queen stared at Blackheart. There was nothing she could do. She was far too deep in her cousin’s web to stand up to her now. “I can walk myself,” she said. As she rose slowly, the servants stepped aside to let the queen pass.

  Exposed, wearing nothing but bloody sheer garments, the queen left the room and her baby. With the young servant following, she dragged herself down the hallways and across the large and ornate foyers. Her stone black eyes stared straight into nothing. Torches mounted on the walls flickered and extinguished as she walked by.

  The queen looked over her shoulder, past the servant. “That’s odd,” she said. The corridor behind them was shrouded in darkness and smoke. She took a few steps forward, toward a lit torch, and reached for it. Air whirled past her fingers. The flame danced vigorously for a second before disappearing. This can’t be, she thought.

  The young servant softly gasped from behind. “What is it?” the queen asked.

  “Nothing, Your Majesty,” the servant replied between heavy breaths.

  “If you don’t want to be here, you can leave. I don’t need an escort,” the queen said.

  “Oh, no I couldn’t do that. Lady Blackheart asked that I . . .”

  “Do not speak that name to me. No one has the willpower to stand up to Lady Blackheart. Fine. Do as you were told, but stay quiet.” The queen walked to her bedroom. The servant followed close behind her.

  When the two arrived at the bedroom door, the young girl gasped for air. “What’s wrong with you? Are you okay?” the queen asked. She turned and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  The servant stumbled and collapsed at the queen’s feet.

  The queen’s gaze lowered and fixed onto the girl’s body. A long moment passed. The room started spinning. The queen put her hands over her face and sighed. Unwilling to acknowledge everything that was happening, she entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

  * * *

  In the birthing room, Marie clenched her teeth and bit at her lower lip, trying to stifle the urge to slap Blackheart across the face. Blackheart ordered her and the other two servants to clean the room and dispose of the baby before it ruined her and the queen.

  As soon as Blackheart left, Marie adjusted her grasp of the newborn and cradled the child against her chest. The baby stopped crying. She could feel the girl’s heartbeat. It didn’t feel normal. Marie tilted her head slightly and squinted in concentration. Was it beating twice as fast?

  Josephine and Therese looked up as Marie studied the baby. “Stop that, Marie. Pay no attention to the child,” Josephine whispered as she scrubbed the blood off the floor.

  “Josephine is right,” Therese added. “For once be reasonable. We have to finish here and find a way to get rid of that child.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Marie said.

  “Who’s to stop Blackheart from drowning us along with the baby if we don’t do what she says?” Josephine asked.

  “Yeah .. . . you’re probably right,” Marie replied. “Lady Blackheart has always had the queen wrapped around her finger. It’s too bad your brother’s not here. It’s only gotten worse since his mission to explore the open sea. You know that better than any of us,” Marie said, knowing how much the subject of her brother, the king, bothered Josephine.

  “I’m lucky to even still be alive,” Josephine whispered.

  “Alive, but with not much of a life, trapped in here all the time,” Marie said.

  “Don’t listen to her, Josephine, your poor brother probably just ran away and never looked back,” Therese joked.

  Josephine dropped her brush and scowled. “Don’t say that!”

  “It’s been years, and who could blame him?” Therese continued. She burst into laughter. “I would run away too if I were married to a Blackheart. You marry one, you marry both of them.”

  Marie slowly detached herself from the others. She gently cradled the baby. Staring kindly at the infant, she asked in a soft and uncertain voice, “What would you do if I took this girl as my own?”

  Josephine and Therese stopped arguing.

  “Old habits die hard, don’t they?” Therese asked.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I know neither of you share in Elzana Blackheart’s cold hatred. You are both good-hearted people. Don’t let her bully and intimidate you into doing something you’ll regret for the rest of your lives. It’s bad enough she does it to the queen.”

  “My brother would have never allowed her to do the things she has done,” Josephine said.

  “She’s asking too much from us this time,” Marie said. “I know I can make this work.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Therese asked. “It will never work. How would you feed her?”

  “The doctor already prepared feeding bottles with milk,” Marie said. She pointed to a shelf at the far end of the room. On it stood several small bottles, wide at the base and narrow at the top, with a bit of cloth packed into the small opening.

  “Where would you keep her?” Josephine asked.

  “I’ll figure that out,”
Marie said. “But I can’t do this on my own. If you won’t help, at least keep this to yourselves.” She wrapped the infant in fresh cloth. “The queen is easily pushed around by her cousin and cares more for her reputation than her own child. I’m doing this because it is the right thing to do. And if I get caught, at least I will die with a clear conscience.”

  Marie rushed out of the birthing room and to her room in the West Wing, concealing the ill-fated baby girl beneath her frock. Nothing in comparison to the rest of the palace, the West Wing was a labyrinth of narrow, dark, and damp hallways lined with old stone gargoyles, relics of the past. Hardly any windows existed in this area of the palace and the ceiling often dripped dirty, briny water.

  Once in her room, Marie laid the newborn on her bed. Never taking her gaze off the child, she filled a bowl with water and washed herself with an old, tattered towel. When finished, she dried her round and tired face and stared into the broken mirror on the wall. Am I ready for this?

  Marie changed into her night gown and fed the baby some of the milk. As the girl suckled on the cloth that protruded from the top of the bottle, Marie held her and reclined against the wall until she and the baby drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Later that morning, before the ringing of the morning bells, Blackheart woke to another voice.

  “My Lady,” the voice said.

  “What?” Blackheart moaned.

  “My Lady, there is something you should see.”

  “What, what is it this time?” she asked.

  “There is a body lying outside the queen’s bedroom,” the voice said.

  Blackheart sat up. Predawn light trickled through the undraped bedroom windows. She admired the purple twilight while the guard stood patiently. “A body, you say?”

  “Yes,” the guard replied. “It appears to be a servant. She’s dead.”

  “I’m up, I’m up.” Blackheart got out of bed, stepped into a pair of slippers, and draped a silk robe over her shoulders.

  “This way, My Lady,” the guard said.

  “I am fully aware of where my cousin sleeps.” She rushed past him to the corridor just outside the queen’s bedroom. A young woman lay by the doorway. Her eyes and mouth gaped open, fixed in a silent scream.