Routine

Tobin's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"It's time to leave. The midday meal will be served soon." The young man grunted with effort as he heaved himself up from the pew.

Watching him struggle to haul himself to his feet, Celia wondered if Tobin truly believed the flattery poured in his ear about him being the most sought after young man in his kingdom.

Surely the illusion was shattered every time he struggled to do something as ordinary as rising to his feet? He couldn't be completely unaware of his body's limitations, could he?

She'd never ask the question. She merely followed him towards the chapel exit, disappointed her quiet thoughts had been interrupted so soon.

They headed in silence towards one of the smaller halls in the north wing, where lunch was served to them every day. As usual, Her Majesty was already seated and waiting for them.

Tobin was a creature of routine, Celia had learned. One of those routines was dining with his mother every midday.

That meant his wife had to be present too, like it or not.

Celia liked it not.

She bowed to Queen Maura, holding her bow until the older woman finally gestured she could sit down.

Tobin bowed his head and his mother greeted him far more warmly, kissing his fleshy cheeks and placing her hand on his head in maternal blessing. Sat himself in his usual seat, the timbers of the heavy carved chair groaning under his weight.

Celia had an uneasy relationship with her mother-in-marriage. She supposed it wasn't that unusual. She knew her own mother, Violet, didn't get along especially well with Celia's grandmother and namesake. She wasn't sure why the women only tolerated each other.

She felt like Tobin's mother had been determined to dislike her from the moment the two of them met.

At first, Queen Maura had been kind enough. Almost too kind really, in the false and syrupy way of someone who was trying to deceive. Celia had sensed the brittleness behind her smiles.

Eventually, the queen had dropped her act. As the months passed without any sign of pregnancy between the young couple, Maura turned more and more sour.

A couple of months ago, she'd bluntly Celia that a woman would always be looked at with suspicion as a foreign spy, until she proved her worth as the mother of sons for her adopted country.

"We feed you, we house you, we clothe you. And what do you do for us? Nothing. Until you bear sons, you have no value in our kingdom. You're a leech under our roof, nothing more."

Sitting at the table now, Celia listened as the queen and her son talked animatedly, the servants arranging food and wine on the table before them. Tobin crowed with delight when one of the dishes turned out to be his favourite - veal sausages in a dark plum sauce.

His mother smiled indulgently. "I know how much you like it. You deserve to enjoy your meal, given how hard you work for your people."

Celia almost snorted. Tobin was lazy. Not just physically but mentally as well. He hated lessons with his tutors and would do the bare minimum. He didn't like reading and said that studying figures and and trade records was beneath him. "I'm not a humble clerk!" is what he'd always snap when she tried to encourage him to take more interest in his kingdom's finances.

It certainly wasn't hard work that was driving Tobin's appetite now as he piled sausages on his golden plate, along with stewed lamb and a wedge of carp pie.

Only once the queen and prince had been well served, did the servants dare attend to Celia. Portions of different dishes were placed carefully on her plate, wine was poured into her cup. The servants then stepped back and stood at the edges of the hall, like silent statues.

And silent witnesses to whatever was said during the meal.

Every single word the queen said to Celia, became easy fodder for gossip. The servants had no loyalty to her and would happily talk amongst themselves, their chatter eventually fanning out throughout the palace.

Only once had Celia mustered the nerve to ask Tobin if the servants could be sent away while they ate. "They tend to repeat amongst themselves, whatever conversation the three of us have. I'd like to not have the entire court know about our matters."

Tobin had shrugged like he didn't understand, and didn't want to understand. Raising one sandy brow, he'd replied, "Why do you care? Besides, if you'd done your duty and conceived by now, the servants wouldn't gossip about you. So you can't really blame them."

Celia poked at her food, taking small bites. Though it was her first meal of the day, her belly ached and felt like it wanted to protest the food. The sound of Tobin at her side and talking with his mouth full, always managed to ruin her appetite.

"What's with barely touching your food?" the queen's voice suddenly rang out. "You're too thin as it is, to be picking at your meals. Is our food not good enough for your refined Islian tastes?"

Celia forced herself to smile and then take a big bite of stew, though the taste was greasy on her tongue. "Everything is delicious, Your Majesty."

Queen Maura hummed disapprovingly. "Don't you think she's too thin, my boy? She must eat to remain healthy and strong for-"

"Don't bother this month, Mother." Tobin huffed through a mouthful of buttered bread. "She has her course. Another month of my efforts gone to waste."

Celia felt the blood rushing to her face. She could also feel the servants' eyes all boring into her back. The whole court will know I'm not with child by dinner time, she thought bitterly.

"Oh, Tobin!" the queen sighed. "How many more disappointments can you take?" She then turned her accusing eyes to Celia. "What is wrong with you? Are you doing this on purpose?"

Celia nearly choked on her wine. "What? I mean, of course not, Your Majesty! I know what my duty is." Did that woman really think she had control over her own fertility?

"Then why is it taking so long for you to conceive?" Maura asked coldly.

"We haven't even been wed a year yet, Your Majesty! We're both still young…" Celia let her voice trail off. What was the point trying to defend herself? They were never going to see it her way. Her gaze dropped to her plate again.

Celia continued pushing her food around as mother and son continued talking about her, as if she wasn't even there. She could feel her anger slowly burning to a roar.

Goddamnit, she was sick of everyone's blame. Why was she considered the only one at fault? Did no one ever stop to ask, however briefly, if perhaps the problem lay with Tobin?

Surely it wasn't a stretch to think that such an unwell youth might have trouble siring healthy children?

And how dare the queen, of all women, dare criticise her? It's not like Her Majesty had borne a quiver of sons, had she? She'd only had one living boy.

And for that boy to be Tobin…well, that didn't seem like anything worth boasting about.

Celia clamped her lips into a tight line. But she couldnt stop the words from tumbling out, despite knowing the consequences would be dire.