“You have a daughter, my lady.”
No. That’s not possible. I carried a son. The fairies must have taken him and left a girl in his place.
I turn my head. “Take it away. I don’t want it.”
Where did I fail? Why did God take away my hopes and expectations? The last queen produced two strapping sons. They practice their weapons every day under their father’s proud eye. Without a son, I’m nothing in the king’s eyes. Tears crawl down my cheeks. I had such hopes. My hands make loose fists. Breguswid pushes the swaddled infant at me again.
“Won’t you look at her?” Breguswid coaxes.
“No! Let the fairies take her.”
Every woman in my chamber gasps. “The fairies don’t want her,” they chant in unison. “She’s too ugly.”
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