Chapter Text
Christine is eight years old the first time she visits the court, at that moment the King is a cold young man with golden eyes. She looks at him for afar and counts the number of times the king’s eyes are looking for her. Her fear grows.
Christine is nine years old the first time the young king visits her family’s state and her parents entertain him with food and drink. They organize dances and plays, but she isn't fooled, she keeps her distance no matter what her mother says. She does not like the way he looks at her.
Christine is twelve years old when the king sends an invitation to her parents asking for her presence in the palace; it isn’t the first one, but now her parents don’t have an excuse to give. Her mother cries that night and Christine comforts her. It will be the last time with them.
Years pass and when Christine finds out that she is pregnant, she leaves. She doesn’t ask permission from the king, whom she no longer sees as regularly as before, nor does she notify the ministers. She doesn’t leave in secret, nor flee in terror. When Christine finds out that she is pregnant, she takes a breath, gathers the strength that has accumulated throughout all those years, and begins to pack. She chooses her maids and guards and then goes to the king.
“I’m pregnant,” she says knowing that the king doesn’t bear weeping babies. “I’m going to move to the northern zone, I’ll live in the mountains, I don’t want guards, I have mine, I don’t want maids, I have mine.”
"My son will be safer here”
“My child will be safe with me, besides another child could bring tension to the relationship you have with your wife”
“Do you do it for my own good?”
“For mine and my child’s”
Silence, and then:
“Do as you please, but remember that child is mine”
Christine doesn’t answer, busy as she is leaving, but even then she thinks ‘I’ll never let you have it’
In the Mountains, Christine is almost happy and when her son is five days old she receives the king’s letter congratulating her and urging her to return as soon as possible. That day Christine cries, not for the first time, but swearing to herself that it will be the last. Each day is a fight, each letter a reminder of the threat hanging over their heads, each message is a rock that undermines her security, but Christine looks at her son’s smile to gather strength. She writes long letters with excuses, she asks for favors that allow them to live far away.
She doesn’t give up.
Even as the flames lick the ceiling Christine doesn’t give up. Death is welcome if that means being away from that man.