Page 87 of Last of His Blood
“Good. Shall we say tomorrow?” She forced a smile as prickling heat blazed up the back of her neck to her ears. “I will have s-something brought up from the kitchens. Please don’t be troubled. I am only curious.”
Turning away, she blew out a silent breath. Her heart was hammering. Even she had no idea where that had come from, and oh, stars, please don’t let them all stare at once like that tomorrow. There was an anxious, tugging ache in her stomach at the thought that she might have made a very embarrassing mistake.
“My lady, I am not sure His Grace will approve,” Leonin warned as she ascended the stairs.
“Then he can say so,” she replied. It would be embarrassing if he did, but she did not think she had done anythingthatbad. And though she knew Leonin was only trying to protect her, she was a little annoyed as she climbed the stairs, until a sudden, half-remembered sensation made her pause midstride. Frowning, she tried to place it. She hadn’t felt it in quite some time.
“Lady?” Davi asked behind her.
“I’m fine.” Ophele sped up the steps, her eyes averted. Oh, no.
Even before she arrived in the Andelin Valley, this was not something she had experienced often. She had always been too anxious and ill-fed for any regularity. But as she hastened to the privy, she felt that twisting pain inside and could only hope she had noticed quickly enough, and that Emi and Peri had stocked things with their customary thoroughness.
Pulling up her skirt, she found red spots on her chemise.
Filthy girl.
Her shoulders cringed. She had been fourteen at her first bleeding, a deeply humiliating experience. She had come into the house crying that she was sick, and Leise and Nenot had shoved her into a tub and scrubbed her so vengefully, it was as if they thought she had made a mess on purpose. Lady Hurrell and Lisabe had taunted her for days, asking whether she needed to go and change her dress.
Twisting, Ophele reached futilely for the laces of her gown. She couldn’t even undress herself, the knot was midway up her back, and there was no bellpull in this room. Was there anything on the back of her skirt? Oh, stars, what if there was, and Davi or Leonin had seen? Her face felt as if it were on fire.
“Davi?” She cracked open the door. “Would you call Emi, please?”
He would certainly guess. Both he and Leonin would guess, and Emi and Peri would know, they had to change her clothing and restock her things, and Mionet would know too, and so would the laundresses. And while everyone in the manor would understand that Ophele was an adult woman and would do what every other woman did, she hated that so many people knew such intimate things about her.
“My lady?” Emi’s voice came a few minutes later, and Ophele opened the door just wide enough to admit her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes fleeting away from the maid’s. “I’m sorry. Could you…help me get my gown off?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Emi replied in her cheery way, moving behind Ophele to untie her laces. It wasn’t hard to guess what was needed, between the open cupboards and the disarranged skirts. “Oh. I see. Well, it happens to the best of us, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” Ophele looked anxiously over her shoulder. “It didn’t hurt my gown, did it?”
“I don’t think so…” Emi lifted the skirt, examining, and then pulled the gown over Ophele’s head. “No, it looks fine. Would’ve been a shame, wouldn’t it? I like this one.”
“Yes,” Ophele said again, dumbly grateful. She had to look down to hide the tears in her eyes as Emi went briskly back and forth, producing the necessary undergarments and sanitary linen, then fetching a new chemise. “I am sorry.”
“Please don’t mind, Your Grace. It’s no trouble. Well, itis,”Emi said, angling her head in a friendly way to meet Ophele’s gaze. “Being a woman is a pack of trouble.”
The gray sky lowering outside the windows suited her mood when Ophele emerged, to find Justenin waiting with a stack of papers and a cup of tea. A blizzard had been threatening all morning, but it did not seem an unpleasant prospect. It would be nice to curl up by the fire and sleep.
Unfortunately, that was not an option. Her brain felt infuriatingly foggy as she sat down for her interrogation, and the previous day’s lessons felt very long ago and far away. The third time she couldn’t remember something, Justenin frowned.
“Is there anything wrong, my lady?” he asked. Ophele did not forget things.
“No. Well, I have a little headache,” she admitted, which was true. “I’m all right.”
Justenin eyed her, as if he was reading her mind, and Ophele hastily looked down at her book.
Embarrassing. Embarrassing, uncomfortable, at times very painful, and though she would have liked to conceal it from Remin, even if she thought she could, she wouldn’t. Over the course of the afternoon, it dawned on her that this was more than just an embarrassing inconvenience.
“Are you well, wife?” he asked as they retired to their bedchamber for the night. He lifted a hand, brushing gently at the pain line between her eyebrows with his thumb.
“Yes. Well. Yes.” She stopped, drawing a breath. “I…it…it started, today.” Her hands went to her abdomen, willing him not to make her say it. “So…it means I’m not pregnant now, but now I can…”
“What—it did? Today?” Remin stopped in his tracks, his eyes lighting up. “So you’re well now? Really well.”
“Well, it hurts,” she said, a little sulkily, and then gave a shriek and burst into giggles as he snatched her off her feet and all but crushed her against him. “Remin!”
