"Ough."
That was her royal, imperial proclamation.
Directly stated to the bed.
Face down.
She felt.
She was.
Sick!
HOW COULD SHE BE SICK?
SHE HAD A WEDDING TO PLAN!
Actually. She really wasn't doing any of the planning. That was all...the nobles and Archibald and stuff.
But.
STILL.
SHE DIDN'T WANT TO BE SICK!
She kicked her legs on the bed in silent protest.
This only made her feel sicker, as the mattress betrayed her and violently shook her in response. As if punishing her for having done it in the first place.
Her stomach twisted and lurched and she had a feeling she was about to ruin this fine quilt forever, but it didn't come to pass.
After a moment, it settled again.
Her breathing was still ragged, and her forehead slicked with sweat.
Worse than all of that, however, was the terrible nausea that refused to abate.
