Rachel Caustello | Clubs

It's not that she doesn't understand. She absolutely does. The panic that had existed following the death of the king with no clear had been strong. She knows that both her and the king's youth is seen as a sign of virility and fertility-- that they expect, half a year after their marriage, for the Queen to be showing the fruits of it.

It's just that it drives her near to madness, to have so many people prodding in the most polite and subtle manner they can manage. It's just that her ladies and the midwife have taken to inquiring everything from whether or not she and the king's time in the bedroom is satisfactory and that did she know such-and-such herb taken a certain way twice a day encouraged pregnancy.

It's just that she and Edgar have been working so carefully up to the more passionate touches they're starting to exchange now. It's just that the thought of them actually consummating the marriage what feels like this early on gets her heart fluttering in a way that is only uncomfortable.

It's just that it twists her faith in her king's gentle assurances that he'll give her all the time she needs before then into a question mark. It's just that she can't help but wonder if he isn't secretly disappointed in her for the time she's taking.

Most of the time, at least, those latter questions don't ring quite so loud in heart as the frustration towards others that has her flopping with a heavy sigh into her chair in their chambers and pulling a hairbrush out to tug with a touch of visciousness in her hair.

Somehow, her father's visit had gone remarkably well. She'd fretted about it, prior to his arrival, but he'd managed to be civil, and she hadn't felt the same sort of inadequacy she usually struggled with in his presence.

It helped to know that she was loved as completely as she was by her husband and her dearest knight. Helped to have an excuse to slip away to spend time with the children, every so often.

It had gone remarkably well, until just before her father had departed and he'd come to bid her goodbye privately and everything he'd been waiting to say had finally slipped out.

People were talking, he'd said, though he hadn't said who exactly was. They were talking about how much time the Queen and the King's right-hand man spent together when the King was away. About how the Queen's second and newest child looked remarkably like the knight. Surely she understood how concerning this was to him, yes? Adultery was, after all, a treasonable offense, and even though Edgar looked on her with love now, surely at some point he'd question, and then where would she be? Better for her to deal with it now, her father had advised. Before things got messy.

They're mostly worries that have lingered in the back of her mind since the moment it became clear that her son looked like the other half of her heart. They're worries that have her hiding away in the children's room once her father leaves, her head bent over the young boy as she sits deep in fretful thought.