Chapter 90 An Empty Feeling
Maureen Laskovic:
“My lady… I will be serving you today.”
The cool, measured voice made me pause mid-stroke. I lifted my gaze to the vanity mirror, and her reflection appeared behind mine.
Celeste.
Her posture was perfect, hands folded neatly in front of her apron, chin slightly lowered. Too composed for this early in the morning.
“Celeste?” I turned slightly on my stool. “What happened to Livia?”
“She’s… unwell, my lady. It came on quite suddenly.” Her tone remained even, but there was the faintest hesitation before she continued. “I volunteered to take over her duties today. I hope that does not offend you.”
I studied her through the mirror for a moment longer than necessary. Livia had never missed a day. Not once.
“There’s no need for you to serve me personally,” I said at last, returning my attention to the small pot of powder in my hand. “You may fetch another maid. Or return to your quarters. I won’t have you overworking yourself.”
“As you wish…” she murmured.
Silence stretched between us. I could feel her still standing there.
Watching.
The air felt oddly heavy.
I dipped my brush again, pretending not to notice. “Is there something else?”
She bit her lower lip, as though wrestling with a thought. Then, suddenly—
“Oh!”
The soft gasp made me flinch.
“What is it now?” I asked, slightly irritated.
She stepped closer without waiting for permission. I caught the faint scent of something sweet—too sweet. Not her usual lavender soap.
Her fingers reached for my wrist.
“What are you doing?” I snapped, instinctively pulling back.
Her touch was cool. Colder than it should have been.
“Oh… forgive me.” Her thumb brushed lightly against the bracelet circling my wrist. “I simply thought this looked… familiar.”
My heart skipped.
“It’s just a bracelet,” I said quickly, slipping my hand away and lowering it into my lap. “You’re mistaken.”
“Am I?” she murmured softly.
I didn’t like the way she said that.
“Enough. You may leave now.”
Instead of moving immediately, she tilted her head slightly, studying my face.
“You seem pale, my lady. Are you feeling unwell?”
“I’m perfectly fi—”
The room shifted.
Just slightly.
The mirror’s reflection blurred at the edges. The golden frames of the paintings along the wall seemed… farther away.
I blinked hard.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, though the words sounded distant to my own ears.
A strange warmth crept up my spine, spreading to the back of my neck. My thoughts began to feel thick. Slow.
Too slow.
Celeste stepped closer again. I hadn’t heard her move.
“My lady?” Her voice was softer now. Almost coaxing. “You don’t look well at all.”
The sweet scent in the air grew stronger.
My fingers twitched against my gown.
This was wrong.
Something was wrong.
The vanity table felt unsteady beneath my palms. I tried to stand, but the room tilted sharply, forcing me back onto the stool.
Celeste’s reflection loomed behind mine in the mirror.
Smiling.
“My lady…” she whispered. “Are you quite certain you’re perfectly fine?”
Darkness flickered at the corners of my vision.
Sudden.
Too sudden.
Celeste guided me toward the bed with careful hands.
“My lady should rest,” she said softly. Too softly.
“I said I’m fine,” I muttered, though the room still felt strangely thick. Heavy.
“Of course.” Her tone was smooth. Agreeable. “Just close your eyes for a moment. Let your body settle.”
I sat on the edge of the mattress instead of lying down.
“I don’t need settling.”
Her fox eyes watched me carefully. Not blinking. Not moving.
“Close them,” she repeated.
I did.
Then opened them immediately.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” she said gently. “You’re tense.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
Her fingers slid around mine before I could pull away. Cool. Too cool. Her thumb pressed lightly against the inside of my wrist.
My pulse jumped beneath her touch.
“Celeste.” I tried to tug my hand free. “You’re holding too tight.”
“Am I?” she murmured.
Her grip didn’t loosen.
“Close your eyes again.”
I hesitated this time.
Then I shut them.
The darkness felt… wrong.
I opened them again.
Her face was closer.
“When did you start staring at people like that?” I asked sharply.
A flicker passed through her expression. Gone in an instant.
“My lady’s heartbeat is irregular.”
“It is not.”
“It is.”
Her thumb shifted slightly. Pressed harder.
A strange warmth spread from where she touched me. Not painful. Not comforting.
Intrusive.
I tried to pull back again, but my limbs felt heavier than they should.
“Stop,” I whispered.
She didn’t.
Her gaze changed.
Not softer.
Sharpened.
Her pupils narrowed into something almost vertical. Predatory. Listening.
Her breathing slowed.
Then—
Her fingers stiffened.
Just slightly.
Her head tilted, as if she had heard something distant.
“No…” she breathed, barely audible.
My stomach tightened.
“No what?”
She didn’t answer.
Her grip tightened abruptly, enough to hurt.
“Celeste.”
Her eyes dropped.
Not to my face.
Lower.
To my abdomen.
The air in the room shifted.
Her expression flickered — confusion, disbelief, then something like hunger.
Her thumb pressed deeper against my pulse, as if she were searching beneath skin and bone.
I felt it then.
A pull.
Not outward.
Inward.
Like something inside me recoiling.
She inhaled sharply.
“That’s impossible,” she whispered.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
“What is?”
Silence.
Her eyes were no longer just looking at me.
They were seeing through me.
Her jaw tightened.
For a moment — only a moment — I saw it.
Recognition.
And something darker.
Understanding.
“You carried—”
She stopped herself.
Her fingers went still.
The warmth vanished.
The pressure on my wrist eased.
Her expression smoothed instantly, like a curtain falling over a stage.
“You’re exhausted, my lady,” she said calmly.
I yanked my hand away.
“What did you mean?”
She stood slowly.
“I meant nothing.”
Her gaze lingered on my stomach once more before rising to meet my eyes.
But the way she looked at me now…
It was different.
Measured.
Calculating.
As if I had become something she hadn’t expected.
“Sleep,” she said softly.
And this time, it sounded less like concern.
And more like a command.
A strange heaviness pressed against my eyelids.
“I’m not—” I started.
The rest dissolved.
The room blurred at the edges, her figure stretching into shadow and light. My fingers twitched against the sheets, but my limbs no longer obeyed me.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Warmth.
Soft. Golden warmth.
I was standing in a field bathed in silver light. The sky above shimmered like liquid moonlight, vast and endless.
A breeze brushed against my face.
Instinctively, my hands moved downward.
My breath caught.
My belly.
Round.
Full.
Heavy beneath my palms.
I could feel them.
Not just weight — movement.
A flutter.
A shift.
A tiny press from within.
A laugh escaped me, breathless and trembling. Tears burned my eyes as I cradled the curve of my stomach.
“I know,” I whispered. I didn’t know who I was speaking to. Them. Myself. The night.
I felt whole.
Complete.
Like something inside me had finally found its place.
The silver light shimmered brighter.
Then—
The warmth flickered.
I frowned.
Another movement.
But this one felt… wrong.
My fingers tightened over my belly.
“No…”
The fullness beneath my palms shifted unnaturally. Not the gentle roll of life.
A pulling.
From inside.
Like threads being drawn out.
The roundness softened.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
“No,” I breathed, panic rising.
My stomach flattened beneath my hands.
The movement stopped.
The warmth drained away as if someone had opened a door and let winter pour in.
I pressed harder, desperate.
“Come back.”
Nothing.
My belly was flat.
Empty.
Cold.
A scream tore out of me.
I jerked upright in bed, gasping.
My hands flew to my stomach.
Flat.
Breathing hard, I pushed the blankets aside and pressed both palms against my abdomen, as if I expected it to change under my touch.
Nothing.
Just skin. Bone. Silence.
“This stupid dream again…” I whispered hoarsely.
My heart pounded violently against my ribs.
It felt so real.
Too real.
I could still remember the weight. The movement.
The loss.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to breathe.
It was just a dream.
Just a dream.
But why did it always feel like something was being taken from me?
My fingers trembled as I slid off the bed and crossed to my drawer. I hesitated only a second before pulling it open.
The small box sat at the back.
Unopened.
Unused.
My throat tightened.
I don’t know why I kept them.
Maybe hope is harder to kill than pride.
I grabbed one, my pulse hammering.
This is ridiculous.
I wasn’t sick. I hadn’t missed anything. There were no signs.
And yet—
What if the dream was a warning?
What if I was pregnant… and about to lose it?
The thought alone made my chest ache.
In the washroom, my hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the strip.
Minutes stretched endlessly.
I stared at it.
Waiting.
Begging silently.
Please.
Please.
The result appeared.
Negative.
The word felt louder than it should have.
For a moment, I simply stood there, staring.
As if it might change.
As if I could will a second line into existence.
My vision blurred.
I swallowed hard, my jaw tightening.
“Of course,” I muttered.
Anger flared — sharp and sudden.
I snapped the strip in half before I could stop myself and tossed it into the bin.
It was just a dream.
Nothing more.
I washed my hands slowly, gripping the edge of the sink until my knuckles whitened.
When I stepped back into the bedroom, sunlight flooded the floor.
Bright.
Blinding.
I frowned.
The sun was high.
Too high.
I turned toward the clock.
Midday
.
My stomach dropped.
“How long did I sleep…?”
I couldn’t remember lying down properly.
Couldn’t remember—
I paused.
A faint pressure pulsed at the back of my head.
Like something just out of reach.
The air felt… wrong.
Still.
Unnaturally still.
I pushed the thought away.
You’re imagining things.
It was just a dream.
But as I stepped toward the door, one hand drifted unconsciously back to my abdomen.
And for a fleeting second—
I could have sworn—
It felt empty in a way I couldn’t explain.