It was only a few months later that Cordelia would find herself confronted with the very fears that she had been battling since little John had appeared. The letter she presently held with a trembling hand, bore the bittersweet news that her father would soon be returning home. The war was over.
Cordelia did not know whether she should laugh or cry as both relief and fresh anxiety washed over her, but she knew that she needed to be prepared for the new battle that would come, one which she had no confidence in winning as her enemies had far too much proof to the contrary. How would she convince her severe and sometimes unreasonable father that she had not actually given birth to John when the child looked so much like her? How would she plead her innocence when her entire country had determined that she was guilty? Cordelia stood suddenly and paced before her desk. Her mind seemed to shoot out thoughts in every direction, alternately glancing and springing off of ideas before they had fully materialized in her head. Her breathing accelerated as she paced, and she soon found herself clutching desperately at the corner of the desk while she tried to steady both her racing heart and shallow breathing. This would not do. She needed a steady rational mind to help her sort through the tangled mess of her own if she even had a chance of convincing her father to even hear her explanation. The odds were that he would take one look at her child and banish her to the farthest reaches of the kingdom.
"What am I going to do?" She asked aloud, vainly hoping for a moment of clarity. The silence was deafening, offering nothing more than anxiety and fear. She closed her eyes tightly and swallowed down the bile that was beginning to rise. If only she could think! Think! What can I do? I am innocent! Nothing would come to her; if possible, her thoughts were more disjointed, more scattered, and thoroughly frustrated, Cordelia began pulling books off the shelf beside her and throwing them across the library. After the third book landed in the middle of the room with a thunk and slid to rest against the other two, Hans poked his head out from his corner of the library.
"My lady?" His voice held a note of question, politely asking if the princess was losing her grip on reality.
Cordelia's face flamed at the realization that Hans was a witness to what looked like a tantrum and quickly apologized for disturbing him. She turned on her heal with every intention of escaping the room as quickly as possible, but in her haste, she collided with the desk, letting out a cry of pain. If possible, her face grew even redder, and she could feel the heat radiating from her cheeks. Cordelia gave up and sank to the floor in frustration and pain. If she could just lay down a be swallowed by the earth, she would welcome it. Unfortunately, the earth did not seem to be hungry.
Meanwhile, Hans was staring with a dull, shocked expression at the usually dignified princess who was sitting ungracefully on the floor of the library. Hans felt caught between to equally unappealing choices. He could express his concern for the princess' well-being and heighten her sense of embarrassment, or he could slink away and pretend that he hadn't actually seen anything. As he hated both choices, Hans simply stood just out of his corner, feeling both useless and uncomfortable. After several moments of awkward silence, Hans finally approached the princess.
"My lady," he queried, "are you injured?"
Cordelia did not look up as she answered, "No."
He paused at the terse reply but didn't feel as though he should abandon her either. He took a deep breath, "What happened, my lady?"
Cordelia felt unwelcomed tears pricking at the back of her eyes but forced them away. How could crying possibly help in this situation? She drew a deep breath and sighed loudly before replying, "I have wonderful news," the last word almost not making it out of her throat due to the rising emotions. She feebly tried to smile, but the result was hardly convincing.
"Oh really," sarcasm invaded the question so that it sounded more like a statement.
"No, you don't understand," she tried again. "It really is good news. You see, the war is over, and father is returning home." Her sentence dragged out with the hint of a contradiction. "So you see, it is good news." She trailed off again, her mind once again dancing wildly around the problem without settling long enough for her to really think through her options.
"But," Hans began slowly, waiting to see if the princess would continue the unspoken thought. She merely looked at him without expression, however, so he continued, "but when your father returns, you'll have to explain John." Hans pondered the problem for a moment. "My lady, is your father so unreasonable that he wouldn't at least—"
"My father will immediately think what the rest of the nation thinks," Cordelia interrupted curtly.
"What will you do?" He asked feeling the anxiety and panic that was emanating from her.
Her eyes snapped up to his, desperation hinted at the corners, "What would you do if you were in my position?"
Hans was silent for several moments until he finally shook his head. "I don't know what I would do my lady. It seems hopeless."
"Indeed," she said with a hint of sarcasm. "I haven't much time to think about this," she suddenly smiled bitterly at the irony of her words. "But then again, I've had four years to ponder this dilemma. Would that I had really thought of it before now." 'I'm sure to lose sleep over this', she thought bleakly, 'but maybe I can think of some way to safe my life and John's when Father returns.' She was clever, certainly given time she could think of some way to convince her father that she was innocent and that John would make a good heir regardless of his bizarre appearance.