At first, it's easy to hide. The dizzy spells start to fade away until only her upset stomach remains. And that has been a constant these last months.
“It's just stress,” she assures her father whenever he asks about her strange food cravings or her lack of appetite. “I'm sure things will be fine once we return home.”
“I'm sure you're right,” he says. “I'm just sorry to see my little princess feel so blue.”
“Sorry enough to give me my own room?”
“That's not my say. I'm sorry, Victoria, but what you did simply wasn't acceptable. To have you run off like that…anything could have happened! What if someone recognized you?”
“They didn't,” assures Victoria. “I'm certain.”
“But they could have,” says Daniel. “And there's just no way that your mother is going to trust you. I'm sorry. We just have to ease on like we have been until we get home.”
They're standing in the hall, ready to turn in after a night of speeches and well-wishes. Victoria's dress has a lace back. It makes her skin itch in all of the worst ways. “I cannot stay in the same room as her any longer, Father. I cannot!”
“One more week,” promises Daniel. “Just one more week, and I'll try talking to her.”
# # #
Unfortunately, that last week proves to be the worst thing that could happen to Victoria. During that week, the morning sickness kicks in. On Tuesday morning, she lurches up onto her feet and races towards the bathroom.
Startled, Gabriella sits up. “Darling, what's wrong?”
Victoria cannot answer. Bile burns at her throat. She hits the floor of the bathroom. Her knees sting from the impact. Her throat becomes raw when she curls over the so-called porcelain throne and dry-heaves.
“Victoria?” Gabriella gets up, padding into the bathroom after her. “Are you all right?”
Victoria vomits again. She didn't have anything to eat the night before, in an effort to curb this. It's the third time this week Gabriella's caught her throwing up.
And the Queen, while being older and a little self-involved, is still a mother. She stands there in the doorway of the bathroom and watches her daughter vomit, sweat making her nightgown cling to the small of her back and her hair lay flat and errant, and she knows.
“How could you?” breathes the Queen. “How could you?”
“It's not what you think,” tries Victoria when she's finally able to talk through the retching and gagging. Saliva clings to her lips. “Mother, it's not what you think.”
“You're pregnant.”
“You don't know that!”
“Victoria, I have been with child before. I know what I'm looking at. Stand up. Now.”
Victoria listens to her mother’s demands. Her legs are trembling. She still feels like she's going to start puking at any moment. “Mother, I know what you're going to say—”
“No,” says Gabriella softly, “you don't. And that's all right. You've never been a mother. You've never been a ruler. Perhaps, even, this is my own fault. I've spoiled you. I let you have whatever you wanted as a child. Now, look at you.”
“I'm fine, Mother. We're in a new century! Having a child out of wedlock—”
“Is not acceptable when you're royalty. No, we cannot let anyone know. Is that understood?”
“I haven't told anyone.”
“Is that understood?”
Victoria sighs. “Yes, Mother, that's understood. So... what now, then? Am I to give up the child?”
“No,” says Gabriella. “You are simply going to find a husband. We will announce it tomorrow, as soon as I speak with your father.”
Victoria takes step forward, too quickly. She nearly falls over. “No! I won't do it! I've already told you—”
“Perhaps you shouldn't have been so quick to spread your legs for any man,” says Gabriella bitterly. “Self-control would have kept you from this mess. No, I simply won't have a husband-less whore for a daughter.”
The words sting more than she could have imagined.