My little girl

The queen knew something was special about her baby from the moment she discovered she was carrying.

She could never explain the feeling that soon surrounded her after she’d been with the doctor to her husband or her maids. She simply felt it, and knew it had to deal with the child she was soon going to have.

The sense only grew as the months went by. Strange occurrences enveloped her pregnancy in such that morning sickness she’d been told about never came, fatigue was only minor relative to her daily activities, and strange cravings hardly swung her away from the diet the doctor had set. Where this worried those around her-fear that the child would be weak or sick when born-the queen carried on with only a feeling that everything was truly alright.

Her feeling appeared to be true on the surface; her bump grew month by month, her ankles swelled and her back ached, and slowly her maids convinced her to stay in the gates and in her quarters as her final term began to come to an end. She obeyed, as soon her husband too wished for her safety inside, and kept to roaming the halls, planning and watching over preparations for the nursery being built only a few doors away from her own room.

Soon even this proved to worry the maids however, for the fatigue was becoming more evident in how slowly the queen walked, how breathless she’d become in the halls. Her swollen abdomen made her small frame look even smaller, and she found herself being lead back to her bed consistently.

But by this time the queen didn’t mind, taking the forced rest in stride by using the time to knit and sew dresses for her daughter-soon-to-be. And when asked why she guessed that she’d have a daughter, she would simply reply with,

“I simply feel it.”

*

Her feeling had been right all through the long nine months of her pregnancy; how everything had been calm, easy, safe. The last few days had been free of any pains at all, for the child had not even kicked. It seemed that the feeling the queen spoke of would not, and could not, be proven wrong.

At least, it couldn’t until the birth.

The pains had begun late at night, just before midnight only days away from the predicted date. The pain had been so sudden that the queen cried out as she woke abruptly, waking her husband who lay beside her. Activity sprung to life through the castle then as the king called for the maids and servants quickly. Whispers quickly turned to shouts as the news spread throughout the castle, and candle lights shining through windows stood as the only notification to the town just outside the gates that their heir was about to be born.

The queen could only lay in her bed while people rushed around her, unable to move unless she was shuddering under the force of a contraction. The pain wasn’t like anything she’d ever experienced before, something she could barely describe when her midwife asked her to. She barely took notice of anything as maids propped her up, putting pillows behind her as the midwife instructed them.

Soon the activity quietly ceased in her room, everything gathered that was needed, Whispers could be heard as echoes from servants outside the door, waiting anxiously for any news of any sort. The king too had been pushed out during the preparations, and stood facing the door, rigid and ears trained for any noise that came.

The only thing that could be heard was the queen’s heavy breathing and cries as her pain continued, and the gentle hush that was the midwife’s calm instructions and the queen’s maids comforting words.

And it would be the only thing heard until the morning light had started to light up the room and the halls, when a last, single scream from the mother covered up the gasps of those surrounding her.

*

Silence was the first thing the queen became aware of after the intense pain stopped. She opened her eyes slowly, surprised by the light that now filled her room, and looked tiredly around at the tired, sadly smiling faces of her maids before letting her gaze come to rest on the midwife who kneeled at the foot of her bed. Panic rose in her chest as she saw the bundle of damp, red-stained towels held in her arms. She choked back a gasp and instead reached her arms out with open hands.

“Hand her to me.”

“You’re majesty-”

“Please. Let me hold my baby.”

Hesitantly, the midwife stood and placed the bundle in the queen’s arms before taking a step back and lowering her eyes. The queen took a deep breath as she pulled the child close, and her eyes became heavy as the silence continued.

She wasn’t crying.

The child wasn’t crying; she wasn’t moving. Her eyes were closed, and her skin was pale. The queen held her tighter, lowering her head until she could rest her forehead against her daughter’s light, blond hair. She choked back another sob and closed her eyes to keep her tears from falling. She would not believe it, not yet-

A hand. A tiny, cool hand. The queen’s eyes flew open at the touch, and her mouth parted in a silent shout at the sight of the little arm extending out from the bundle of towels. Her baby’s eyes were closed, but her eyelids fluttered, light little eyelashes dancing over her skin.

“Oh, my lord. She’s alright.”

The queen smiled and closed her eyes once again as she brought her daughter’s face close to her own. She ignored the happy sighs and the conversations that started up around her and rested back against the pillow behind her.

“My little Elsa is alright.”