Page 47 of Their Blood Queen

My mother is about to go on with her typical argument that death is normal. Immortality is the oddity that was never meant for humans.

I know there’s merit to her words. Most families in the Immortality Sector are rumored to be vicious, soulless beings. Immortality has made everything less precious to them, and when nothing is precious, nothing is sacred, either.

Does it really have to be that way?

My usual arguments rest on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them back down and instead let her talk.

Because it feels so good to hear my mother talk.

When one of her maidservants comes in with soup for lunch, her eyes widen to see my mother awake. “Duchess Nightingale!” she exclaims, then immediately goes into a curtsy. “I’ll get something more robust for lunch right away.”

My mother keeps her from running off with a wave of her hand. “Wait, Eliza. Please get something for Scarlett, too.” She turns to me with a bright smile. “What would you like, dear?”

I laugh and gesture to my corset. “I don’t think I can eat with this torture device, Mother. But watching you eat is fulfillment in and of itself.”

My mother pinches my cheek. “Nonsense. When was the last time you ate?” She doesn’t wait for me to respond, likely because she knows she won’t like the answer. “You’re too thin, sweetheart. Eliza?”

“Yes, Duchess?” the handmaiden asks, perking up.

“Can you please grab Rosie on your way back and have her bring something suitable for Scarlett to change into?”

“That’s really not nec—” I begin, but Eliza is already gone.

When a Duchess makes an order, it is immediately obeyed.

But in my mother’s case, it’s not necessarily because she’s feared.

It’s because she’s loved.

By the time the handmaiden returns, Rosie is with her. And she’s brought a loose-fitting day dress for me to replace the corset. I give my mother a look, and she only smiles in response.

Sometimes the women in this household are insufferably supportive.

While Rosie helps me change behind the privacy screen, Eliza gives my mother a tray for her bed that’s laden with a hearty meal and a frosted dessert.

Without saying a word, Rosie and Eliza ferry over a small table and chair for me to dine next to my mother.

Maybe it’s becoming a bad habit now, but I find myself praying once more before I delve into the first real meal I’ve had in days.

“Thank you, Cain.”

I look for those shadows that seem to follow prayers, but this time there aren’t any.

I can swear I hear a rumble of thunder outside again, though.

My mother brightly smiles. “Since when do you pray to our Lord, Scarlett?” She’s a devout believer, and despite her many lectures, I never followed her lead when it came to worship or prayer.

I shrug and stuff a garlic potato wedge into my mouth, moaning at the delicious oily taste. “I’m just trying something new.”

She hums in thought before tasting another bite. She seems to be enjoying her food as much as I am, and with a pang of sadness, I realize she probably hasn’t eaten in days.

Because she was in a coma.

“Promise me you’ll take the drops,” I suddenly say.

Rosie and Eliza have left us alone for our meal. Normally, they are included, but I’m not surprised they felt this occasion was a private matter.

“I will,” my mother says. “But only if you promise me something, too, dear daughter.”

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