The King’s Lover

Rose dropped to the cold floor, doing her best not to cry as she held her mother's frail hand. Her hand was so thin that it made her fingers look longer.

The hand she held shivered, and Rose feared that with every movement, her mother's bones might break. It wasn't only her hand that looked frail, her entire body was frail.

There was barely any color in her face except for the strands in her hair. It was a bit ironic that she had such a full head of hair, yet her face lacked vibrancy.

Her lids fluttered as she tried to look at Rose, and it was pretty clear that it was quite straining for her to focus on her daughter.

"Mot'er," Rose cried. "I am here. I am back home."

"Rose," the voice that called her was winded, as though it took all her breath to call her name.

"Yes, Mot'er," Rose responded. She felt something fall onto her hands holding her mother's hand and that was when she realized she was crying.

Her mother was physically different from the woman she had left. This woman could barely sit on her own, she couldn't even keep her eyes open. She had also lost a lot of weight, and just one glance was enough to tell Rose she didn't have long left.

What happened while I was away? Rose screamed internally.

Her father squatted and gently patted her back with his arm. Rose lost it, and she leaned against her father as she wailed, still holding her mother's hand.

"Don't cry, Rose," a soft voice said, but the more her mother spoke, the more she broke.

"I am so sorry," Rose cried as she placed her mother's hand against her forehead while her father gently patted her back.

"Wha' are ye sorry for?" he said. "I am just glad yer 'ome in one piece, and I am sure yer mot'er is glad too."

Rose lifted her head and looked at her mother, who smiled. Rose tried her best to return it—she really did—but she didn't have it in her to smile when her mother was in such a state.

Her father had gravely understated the situation. If she had even an inkling that her mother was this much worse, she would have escaped the crown prince a long time ago.

"Fat'er," Rose called softly. "Why didn't you tell me? I-I…" Rose stopped speaking, as she knew there was truly nothing she could have done. She could not have gotten away from the crown prince—it would have been the same thing.

"Tis is not yer fault," he said. "Don't ye dare blame yerself."

"Welcome," her mother said before she could reply.

Rose nodded. She knew it took effort for her to speak, and with how breathless she sounded with every word, Rose didn't want her speaking much.

"Thank you," Rose replied.

Suddenly, a knock rang out, and Rose jerked her head towards the door.

"I will answer it," her father said and stood to his feet.

Rose nodded and watched her father go before turning to her mother. "I am fine, Mot'er. I promise," she said, gripping the older woman's hand. "The crown prince isn't evil, he is ni—not bad."

Rose couldn't bring herself to say Caius was nice, even while trying to assure her mother she was fine. "He even sent his best physician to come with—"

"Sorry," her mother started to say. Rose could see her face contort as she struggled to get out her words. "Ye would 'ave married Ander long ago. Mi fault."

Rose's eyes widened, and they swelled up with tears again. "No, Mot'er," Rose said, wiping at her tears with one hand. "Tha's not yer fault. I wanted to wait. Tha's not yer fault. Please don't blame yerself."

Rose sobbed as she spoke, slipping back into the dialect. She placed her mother's palm on her head once again. She didn't want the older woman to blame herself.

"Rose," her mother whispered. "Tis too isn't yer fault."

Rose was trying her best to hold back, but she couldn't anymore. Clutching her mother's hand, she wept, and the older woman used her other hand to lightly tap her on the back.

At that moment, her father returned and squatted next to her again. He didn't say anything, just stayed next to her while she cried and held her mother's hand. After some time, Rose eventually stopped crying loudly. Tears still flowed down her face, but at least she no longer screamed.

"Who was at the door?" she asked as she wiped at the ever-flowing tears with one hand.

"Neighbors. I told tha neighbors to come back later."

"Emma?" Rose asked, her face brightening a little.

Her father shook his head, and his face darkened a little, but it was too brief for Rose to notice again.

Rose nodded. She knew her father wouldn't chase Emma off—she was like family. She was sure Emma must have heard she was back. News around here traveled like wildfire. Any moment now, her friend would walk through the door and so would Ander. Rose couldn't think of him as her fiancé anymore—she didn't even have the heart to face him.

"Okay," Rose responded and turned away. She could have asked him about Ander too, but she couldn't open her mouth.

Rose couldn't help but notice that her mother was looking at her with a sad look in her eyes. She almost laughed; compared to her mother's situation, she was in a much better state.

Another knock rang out—this time it was slightly louder—and Rose got to her feet before her father could even react. "Let me," she said.

He nodded and held his wife's hand as Rose let go of her. Rose walked out of the room. She felt as though she needed a moment. She hoped it was Emma. She didn't want her parents to see how broken she was. She couldn't keep crying in front of her mother. The poor woman was sick, and now she had to worry about her.

Rose pulled open the door without even asking who was behind it, and she almost jumped out of her skin when she saw Thomas with the physician.