Chapter 93 Extra 2

On the morning of the second day after returning home, the Queen of England fell seriously ill due to the long journey and exhaustion.

On the first day of her illness, the nobles inside and outside the palace did not take it seriously, and the doctors simply treated Her Majesty the Queen according to the usual treatment methods.

The Queen of England has always been in excellent health, able to dance at balls for hours on end with boundless energy, and to ride horses at breakneck speed or go hunting all day long. She has endured the hardships and toil of war several times, persevering like a true man without uttering a single complaint like other delicate noble ladies.

Her Majesty has been on the throne for many years, and the few times she has fallen ill were minor illnesses such as colds and flu, which she recovered from in just three to five days.

No one expected that this illness would come on so suddenly. The Queen of England had a high fever for several days and was unconscious. Even state affairs had to be temporarily entrusted to the Minister of State, Cecil.

Everyone was alarmed. Not only did the court doctors gather outside the Queen's room, discussing what treatment would be appropriate for her illness, but renowned doctors from London and across England were also urgently summoned by the court and rushed to Whitehall to examine the Queen.

However, none of the doctors could do anything about the Queen's sudden serious illness. After the gentle conventional treatments failed, someone suggested using traditional methods of bloodletting and vomiting to help the Queen recover her health. However, before they could finish speaking, they were driven out by Miss Mary Seton, the Queen's most trusted confidante.

Compared to the doctors who were overwhelmed with worry, the nobles were considering far more complex issues. The most important one was: what would happen if the Queen were to unfortunately pass away? And who would become the next King of England?

To prevent the worst-case scenario, Cecil had secretly ordered the Archbishop to reside in Whitehall Palace, lest Her Majesty the Queen die without attending her last Mass, thus preventing her soul from ascending to heaven.

Lord Darnley and his mother, Countess Lennox, were overjoyed. Under the pretext that the Queen needed relatives to take care of her, they also forced themselves to stay at Whitehall Palace, and secretly prayed to God every day that the Queen would be freed from this world full of suffering as soon as possible.

According to the order of succession, Lord Darnley succeeded Mary Stuart as king after her unfortunate death, and for this reason, many nobles have been secretly trying to curry favor with him in recent days.

Those around the Queen weren't fools either. Although Emma Wilson and Seton couldn't say anything to Lennox and his mother due to the strict etiquette and status within the court, they strictly controlled the Queen's food, clothing, and medicine to prevent the mother and son from doing anything rash in a moment of desperation...

...

Mary had no idea how many people were secretly anxious or overjoyed because of their illness.

She felt as if she was constantly walking between beautiful dreams and nightmares.

Sometimes, she felt as if she were immersed in a light, dreamlike state, as if she were being lifted up on clouds, without any heavy burden, so light that she was almost about to fly away. Everything around her was bizarre and wonderful, yet illusory and beautiful. She saw her long-deceased mother, Queen Mother Guise, laughing and playing the harpsichord in the sunlight; the healthy François riding a horse and laughing heartily; and Albert by the fireplace flipping through a Latin Bible, frowning at the obscure ancient words.

Among them were even the Earl of Morrie and Elizabeth I, one laughing and dancing with a girl in his arms, and the other gazing proudly at a map of England on the wall.

Sometimes, she walks in an endless abyss.

François's ear was bleeding profusely, and he closed his eyes on his sickbed, his face pale.

Châteauroux—the young, romantic poet—was beheaded, his bleeding head rolling at her feet.

The explosion and bright flames erupted together, and Lord Darnley died with his eyes wide open in terror.

Boswell closed her eyes in exile and imprisonment, and she herself followed in her footsteps, feeling the excruciating pain of a blade severing her head in mid-air...

John Knox's dying curse was filled with resentment...

In his panic, Count Maurice rode his horse off a cliff...

After drinking the poison, Queen Elizabeth I collapsed to the ground in agony...

Last but not least, it's Albert.

The blond youth was covered in wounds and blood, his pupils dilated and lifeless. He fell backward into the cold river water and was slowly submerged...

No, this is not the abyss.

It is reality.

...

The Queen of England, who had been in a coma for several days, has opened her eyes again.

...

The Queen's awakening alarmed half the court. Maids and doctors rushed to and fro, and the candlesticks were lit in an instant, making the room almost as bright as day.

After carefully examining the Queen's body, the most experienced old gentleman among the royal physicians adjusted his glasses and congratulated her on being out of danger. The Queen's secretaries took turns reporting to her what had happened in the past few days. Those who depended on the Queen for their livelihood in the palace, such as Emma or the Maitland couple, pointed out the wolfish ambitions of Countess Lennox and Lord Darnley, who hoped to exile or imprison the mother and son after she recovered her health.

The Queen of England, whose health had just improved, leaned back in her large chair, her face pale and her lips bloodless, as she ate a bowl of fruit oatmeal porridge. After hearing this, she let out a cold laugh.

“Ignore the mother and child. Just have them leave Whitehall tomorrow,” Mary said calmly.

As long as she lives, the dreams of that mother and son are destined to be nothing but wishful thinking; no matter how much they struggle, they are nothing more than clowns in a circus.

Everyone bowed their heads in agreement.

By the time the noisy crowd finally dispersed, it was nearly dawn.

White light peeked through the edge of the deep night sky, and thick, leaden clouds piled up one after another, pressing down on the heavens. A cold north wind blew in through the window, bringing a chill.

Seton knew perfectly well what was troubling the Queen this time, and after hesitating for a moment, he whispered, "Your Majesty, the Duke of Somerset's funeral is being held today at Westminster Abbey."

In fact, the Duke of Somerset had been dead for a long time, and his funeral should have been held long ago.

However, the British side had been negotiating with France to exchange for the Duke of Somerset's body, which is why the matter had been delayed.

Not long ago, seeing that there was still no news from France, Lord Cecil decided not to wait any longer and to simply hold a symbolic funeral and mass in England.

"...Help me prepare the carriage for my trip. Keep it low-key and don't tell anyone else," the Queen of England said after a while.

Seton assumed the Queen would attend the funeral, but to his surprise, after leaving Whitehall, the Queen ordered her grooms to detour into the city of London.

The Queen first had the coachman stop the carriage at the guillotine in front of the London market, and looked at the guillotine blade, still stained with blood, for a while in the cold weather.

Immediately afterwards, the Queen sent the coachman to the banks of the Thames.

A thin layer of ice had formed on the Thames River as winter approached, and beyond that, the river was calm, with nothing but a few small boats.

The Queen of England, who was in poor health, wrapped herself in thick furs, then jumped off the carriage and gazed at the Thames River without saying a word.

"...Your Majesty?" Seton asked worriedly.

Mary suddenly raised her hand and caught a snowflake.

It's snowing.

This is probably the first snowfall of early winter this year.

“…because the past is the past, and tomorrow is a new day,” Ma said.

Mary turned to look at Seton, pulled up the corners of her lips, and tried to put on a smile.