smiled, thinking of the two new lives that started in the palace today. Would they be best friends, maybe? And grow up telling everyone the story about how they were born so close to each other?
“Speaking of babies, I wanted to discuss some of the results of your physical.”
All humor left my face, left my whole body. I sat up straighter, bracing myself. I could read in his expression that I was about to be sentenced to something.
“Your tests show several different toxins in your bloodstream. If they’re showing up this heavily after weeks of being out of your home province, my guess is that the levels were much higher when you were there. Now, for some people this wouldn’t be an issue. The body responds, adjusts, and can live without any side effects whatsoever. Based on what you told me about your family, I would say two of your siblings are doing just that.
“But one of your sisters gets nosebleeds, correct?”
I nodded.
“And you get constant headaches?”
I nodded again.
“I suspect your body is not taking these toxins in stride. Between the tests and some of the more personal things you’ve told me, I think these bouts of tiredness, nausea, and pain will continue, probably for the rest of your life.”
I sighed. Well, that wasn’t worse than what I was experiencing now. And at least Clarkson didn’t seem bothered by my condition.
“I also have reasons to be concerned about your reproductive health.”
I stared at him, wide-eyed. In my periphery, I noticed Clarkson shift in his seat.
“But … but why? My mother had four children. And she and my father both came from large families. I just get tired, that’s all.”
Dr. Mission remained composed, clinical, as if he wasn’t discussing the most personal parts of my life. “Yes, and while genetics help, based on the tests, it seems that your body would be … an unfavorable habitat for a fetus. And any child you might conceive”—he paused, flitted his eyes toward the prince before looking back at me—“might be unfit for … certain tasks.”
Certain tasks. As in not smart enough, healthy enough, or good enough to be a prince.
My stomach rolled.
“Are you sure?” I asked weakly.
Clarkson’s eyes watched the doctor for confirmation. I supposed this was vital information for him.
“That would be the best case. If you manage to conceive at all.”
“Excuse me.” I leaped from the bed and ran down to the bathroom near the entrance of the hospital wing, flung myself into a stall, and finally heaved up every last thing in my body.
A WEEK WENT BY. CLARKSON didn’t so much as look at me. I was heartbroken. I had foolishly let myself believe it was possible. After we’d moved past the awkwardness of our first conversation, it seemed as if he’d gone out of his way to see me, to look after me.
Clearly that had passed.
I was sure that one day soon Clarkson would send me home. Sometime after that my heart would mend. If I was lucky, I’d meet someone new, and what would I say to him? Not being able to create a worthy heir to the throne was something theoretical, a far-off maybe. But not being able to create any sort of healthy child? It was too much to bear.
I ate only when I thought people were watching. I slept only when I was too exhausted not to. My body didn’t care for me, so what did I care for it?
The queen returned from her holiday, the Reports continued, the days of endlessly sitting like dolls rolled blindly into one another. It was nothing to me.
I was in the Women’s Room, sitting by the window. The sun reminded me of Honduragua, though it was drier here. I sat praying, begging God to have Clarkson send me home. I was too ashamed to write my family and tell them the bad news, but being around all these girls and their aspirations to climb castes made it worse. I had limits. I couldn’t hope for that. At least at home I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.
Madeline came up behind me and rubbed her hand on my back. “You all right?”
I mustered a weak smile. “Just tired. Nothing new.”
“You sure?” She smoothed her dress beneath her as she sat. “You seem … different.”
“What are your goals in life, Madeline?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean just that. What are your dreams? If you could get the most out of life, what would you ask for?”
She smiled wistfully. “I’d be the new princess, of course. With tons of admirers and parties every weekend and Clarkson on a string. Wouldn’t you?”
“That’s a lovely dream. Now, if you were to ask the least out of life, what would you ask for?”
“The least? Why would anyone go for the least they could have?” She grinned, joking even though she didn’t understand.
“But shouldn’t there be a least? Shouldn’t there be a bare minimum that life should give you? Is it too much to ask for a job you don’t hate, or for someone to truly have and hold? Is it too much to ask for one child? Even one some would call flawed? Couldn’t I at least have that?” My voice broke, and I put my fingers over my mouth, as if my tiny bones would be enough to stop the hurt.
“Amberly?” Madeline whispered. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “Really, I just need rest.”
“You shouldn’t be here now. Let me walk you to your room.”
“The queen will get upset.”
She chuckled once. “When isn’t she upset?”
I sighed. “When she’s drunk.”
Madeline’s laughter this time was lighter and more real, and she covered her mouth, hoping to avoid drawing attention. Seeing her like that helped my mood, and when she stood, it was easier to follow.
She didn’t ask more questions, but I thought I might tell her before I left. It would be nice to have someone know.
When we got to my room, I turned and embraced her. I took my time letting go, and she didn’t rush me. For that moment I got the least I needed out of life.
I walked to my bed, but before I crawled in, I dropped to my knees and folded my hands in prayer.
“Am I asking for too much?”
Another week passed. Clarkson
