Page 71 of A Queen's Match
She held the lace up to the light, studying its delicate pattern. Were those petals or leaves? It was hard to make out, her vision blurry—from tears? No, it was a haziness that seemed to have invaded her vision, making the world fade into black at the edges.
Not again.
It had been so long since one of Alix’s episodes, but the old familiar panic settled over her now, like a heavy blanket of smoke, suffocating her. She set down the veil and fumbled to close the trunk, but her hands had frozen into claws, her fingers stiff and useless.
All her worries—about Ernie, about doors closing, about being lonely or foolish or not good enough, aboutNicholas—they all seemed to turn into blades, slicing wildly at her chest. Alix looked down, expecting to see blood seeping through the bodice of her gown, but there was nothing there.
“Alix?” She heard Maximilian’s voice as if from a great distance. “Alix, are you all right?”
“I get like this sometimes.” She tried to say more, but her throat felt like it was closing. She struggled valiantly to swallow. “Maximilian, when did you…?”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you that I was coming. I left Potsdam early. Missy and Ferdinand…” Maximilian trailed off at the look on Alix’s face. “You are unwell. I’ll fetch Ernie or your father—”
“Please, don’t. I can’t let them worry….”
Maximilian didn’t hesitate. He scooped Alix up in his arms, the way one would carry a child, and held her against his chest as he started upstairs. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, too, but her hands were still frozen, immobile.
Alix didn’t question how he knew which room was hers, though there were no brass plaques on the doors here, as there were at Balmoral and Osborne. Of course Maximilian knew. In her overheated mind, it felt natural that he would have been paying attention to her movements.
He set her on the rug before the hearth, then grabbedthe bedcovers from her bed—a bit scandalous, Alix thought faintly, though she didn’t mind—and wrapped them tight around her, tucking them under her chin. Once he’d stoked the fire, coaxing it to a pleasant crackle, he sat on the rug next to Alix and tugged her hands free.
“I’m here,” he kept saying over and over, like a mantra, as he massaged her hands. His thumbs felt scratchy with calluses, the hands of a man who rode without gloves, who was too impatient for the proprieties. “I’m here, you’re not alone, you are safe, it’s okay.” His words repeated on a loop, soothing and soft.
Eventually, Alix felt her frozen hands unclench. Her chest loosened; her breathing steadied. She looked down at the coverlet wrapped around her, playing with its stitching to avoid meeting Maximilian’s gaze.
“I’m sorry,” she forced herself to say. “You weren’t supposed to see that. Those episodes…I suppose you could say they are my cross to bear. My dark secret.”
“Dark secret?” Maximilian repeated, frowning.
Alix flushed from shame. “This has happened to me ever since my brother Frittie died. Not very often, but once it begins, I cannot stop it. My body goes into a state of shock, or perhaps it is panic. I don’t know what causes it,” she added miserably.
“Your suprarenal glands.” Maximilian’s tone was so reasonable, so conversational, that she looked up.
“My what?”
“Your suprarenal glands. The ones that control your fear,” Maximilian explained. “They can malfunction when your body or mind is under stress. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he added gently.
Alix stared at him. “How do you know all this? Have you seen these episodes before?”
“No, I’ve only read about them. I like to keep up with the latest medical journals.” Maximilian blew out a breath. “I keep hoping that someone, somewhere, will find a cure for my uncle.”
Once again, his thoughtfulness—his unbearable goodness—struck her to the core.
“Let me know if you encounter a cure formein one of those journals,” she said darkly.
“You don’t need a cure; you need treatment. There’s a difference.” Maximilian looked steadily at Alix. “These attacks are a symptom of your anxiety. When your life is calmer, when you feel steady and safe, they will start coming less and less frequently. And perhaps someday you’ll look up and realize that you don’t have them anymore at all.”
“You’re quite the doctor,” she observed.
Maximilian smiled shyly. “Not a doctor. Just a man armed with logic and observation.”
Alix shrugged tighter into the coverlet. The warmth of it felt so good around her, as if it were anchoring her in place. “Please, don’t tell Ernie. He’ll think it was his fault,” she murmured. At Maximilian’s confused look, she added, “This usually happens when I’m worried, or upset, and Ernie…he knows I have concerns about him and Ducky.” She shouldn’t have said that, she realized. It was just soeasyto talk to Maximilian.
“You don’t approve of her?”
“They don’t love each other!” Alix exclaimed. “And I’m upset for my own reasons, too, because of—because I—”
She broke off and met Maximilian’s gaze. He did notinterrupt or ask questions; he just waited patiently, giving her the space to elaborate if she wanted.
