Chapter Eighteen - Insomnia
The Unnamed Cinderella Project
Jack tossed and turned in his cold bed. The fire was barely moving, and he knew what that meant. He moaned. He just wanted to sleep.
Since George’s death and the ongoing war, the servants were always engaged elsewhere. This chore of tending the fire had fallen on him, often waking him during the colder nights. During the first winter when he had realized that no one was coming to his aid, the shock on his feet at crossing the cold stone floor caused him to wear his boots to bed. He had initially wondered what his father would think if he found him asleep in his bed wearing boots. After a year of sleeping alone, he abandoned this fear.
Wrapping himself in his thick blanket, Jack jumped from the bed and hurried to the wood pile for a few smaller logs to add to his fire. He sat carefully on the floor, tending the fire.
He should be tired. It had been a long, difficult day. His father had met with several nobles and small farmers, none of whom were happy with the progress of the war. They wanted vengeance for the damage that Blaekhurst inflicted daily. Jack had listened to their voices grow louder throughout the day. Insistent. Desperate. Angry. He had also witnessed his father’s calm.
Calm was the only emotion he had seen on his father since George had been lost and war declared. He had not heard a laugh or seen a smile in the year since his return. More worrisome was that Phillip had also not cried or been sad since his return. Once he had gathered his courage, Jack had asked Margaret if his father had ever been anything but calm in her presence. They compared notes when Jack was available, and she continued to confirm that there had been nothing but the eerie calm.
Jack wasn’t tired, but he realized that the fire had grown enough to ensure warmth until morning. In one long move, he stood, stretched, and turned around to make the move towards his bed.
But he stopped when he noticed the pale green light above the forest shining through his window.
Margaret did not want to fall asleep.
She burrowed under the blankets that she had placed in front of the roaring fire in her room. It had taken quite a while to build this comfortable bed on the stone floor, but she loved the heat and the smell of the fire up close. She wondered what the servants might have thought with her continued requests for blankets and pillows and privacy.
Because, of course, she hoped a visit from Phillip would happen. Six nights had passed without a call to her bed, which was unusual considering the frequency of the visits over the last year of their marriage.
But the war had dragged them into nights of brief visits and days of hurried meals and little conversation. Even Jack had been absent from her life as he followed his father’s lead, investing his time listening to nobles and soldiers and farmers. She was lonelier than at any time in her life and wished for more human contact than curtsies from servants.
She prayed he would arrive soon. She planned to coax conversation from him somehow. They had much to discuss, but she had never been brave enough to ask questions or talk to him about Derbyshire or George or Jack. They had been married over a year. It was time she became a wife outside of her bedroom.
Margaret stared at the door, wishing it would open. She had been so tired lately and felt sleep approaching fast.
Sleep had eluded Phillip for weeks, so he did the only thing that had helped. He poured another glass of wine.
He needed help but had nowhere to turn. Margaret and Jack were too young to offer valuable council. Arthur was hours away and not interested in contributing to the war effort. Phillip’s war council wanted increased action but lacked a willingness to participate in battles. And George only haunted his thoughts. Laughing for the most part.
Everything in his life had spiraled into failure after George’s death. His late nights caused him to sleep alone in the hope that Jack would get the rest he needed to remain healthy. He missed those moments with his son.
The time spent on the war effort had kept him from getting to know Margaret. They needed time together to build a partnership. Instead, they only had a few moments together late at night. And even this had been unsuccessful because there was no child on the way. Phillip drank his wine in secret, and on particularly difficult days resulting in heavy wine nights, he had decided to forego visits to his young bride. While the wine provided only a few hours of sleep, it was better than having no sleep at all. For now, sleep for the king of Derbyshire took precedence over another heir.
Ah, George. Why is it that your face always comes to me when I think about Margaret?
Phillip shook his head and sipped his wine.
Or Catherine?
Catherine’s memory was an unwelcome intrusion in his desire to defeat Blaekhurst. He imagined her beautiful and happy. If she had children, would she raise them to hate the children of Derbyshire? Her father would certainly encourage that. It angered him to think that their short friendship had been destroyed by one greedy man.
Phillip drained his wine glass. He looked at his bed and shivered. The cold linens would be miserable, and he had no interest in resurrecting the fire in his room. But morning would arrive soon, and he needed to rest. He sighed.
Margaret’s bed might be warm.
Notes:
Part of me thinks that I should have brought in some minor characters for Phillip’s war council and written a chapter with anger and fear. It might have been good to do this and further develop Jack’s character. But I wanted to show how the war was affecting the main characters.
My feet are freezing right now. Somehow I blame Derbyshire.
As always, thanks for reading and commenting.
I appreciate reading how the war is affecting the king’s marriage and his relationship with his son.