Chapter Text
Sometimes Anneliese wondered if she should have married King Dominick instead. She loved Julian with her whole heart, but she wondered if it would have been better to have a husband without emotion attached, someone who was simply another obligation.
Emotion wasn’t her strong suit, and it wasn’t his either. They were factual, logical, scientific. They knew each other inside and out, but couldn’t read body language and social cues. They only knew of the other’s feelings when they were said outright. But they understood obligation.
It wasn’t always like that, of course. They were utterly in love and had several blissful years together at first. She became with child almost immediately after their wedding, and nine months later Rosella was born, named after Anneliese’s favourite flower.
Rosella was perfect. She looked so much like Anneliese but acted completely different. Anneliese had been quiet, well behaved, and preferred to sit in the library, whereas Rosy was a bundle of laughter and mischief.
Her favourite pastime was playing with Julian in his garden, but while he tended to his flowers, she dug up worms in the dirt. But she was so charming that not even the strictest governesses had the heart to reprimand her for not being ladylike.
She was doted on by her parents, her grandmother, and all of the servants in the castle, and whenever “Auntie Erika” and “Uncle Dominick” came from Dulcemia she was wrapped up in hugs and kisses and songs, and showered with gifts. Even though Erika had been a world-renowned soprano, Rosy had loved her mother’s voice best as she sang her to sleep every night with their lullaby.
There had been more children after, of course. Julian and Anneliese were young and in love. Her mother had been one of twelve girls, and Anneliese likely would have had more siblings had her father not died just after she was born. Julian was the fourth of seven, with more cousins than he could count. For the first five years of their marriage, there was a new baby in the nursery every year.
There was Derek, born just a year after Rosella, named after Anneliese’s father, and his twin sister Genevieve after her mother.
Then Pierre came two years after, named for Julian’s father, and another year later Dominique was born (Erika and Dominick had named their daughter Anneliese just a few months before, so they were returning the favour. They had originally considered naming her Erika, but Anneliese’s ever-realistic friend declared: “Anneliese is a name that can be shortened a million different ways. If you name your daughter Erika it will be dreadfully confusing.”). Then Henri came, the last of their babies that got to be held by his big sister Rosy.
The last of their babies born before that dreadful trip.
Julian and six-year-old Rosella had boarded a ship to Apollonia, where the king had written Anneliese asking to arrange a marriage between his son and Rosella.
She had been sceptical of course. She didn’t believe in arranged marriage, even though she understood it from a political perspective. But she was so protective of her little Rosebud; as she nicknamed her as soon as she held her for the first time, all she wanted was for her to be happy.
She agreed to arrange a meeting between the two children to see if they got along in the first place. If ten-year-old Antonio was anything like his father, it was likely that he and Rosella would butt heads.
Anneliese hadn’t come with them, her belly swollen with her final pregnancy. She kissed them both goodbye on the front steps of the palace, promising Rosy,
“I’ll remember darling, I promise if it’s a girl, she will have the name Isabella.”
“And Erik if it’s a boy! Auntie Erika doesn’t have one of us named for her yet, it’s only fair Maman!”
“I promise sweetheart, I won’t forget.”
“If you do, I told Derek and Geny to remind you.”
Anneliese glanced at Julian over their daughter’s head, and they shared the smile that only exists between two adults laughing at their fondness for a child.
“Say goodbye to your brothers and sisters Rosebud,” Anneliese said, shoving her gently towards where her siblings stood next to their governess.
“Are you and Papa going to kiss?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
“Oh hush,” replied Julian, ruffling her hair fondly, “let me bid your mother farewell.”
He shook his head as he watched her hug the twins, and then coo over baby Henri, and then he wrapped an arm around Anneliese’s waist, kissing her soundly- and ignoring the gagging noises coming from Rosella’s direction.
“I love you.”
“I love you too. I’ll miss you, I can’t believe you won’t be here when the baby’s born.”
“Unfortunately, Peter doesn’t understand what it is to love one’s wife. Wanting to see each other after the first two sons are born is a foreign concept to him.”
“Don’t say that where he can hear you.”
“I love you so much.”
She kissed him again, then once more, chastely as Rosella dragged him by the hand towards their carriage.
She waved goodbye, blowing kisses with one hand as she rested the other on her stomach.
No, she never regretted marrying Julian. But putting Rosy on that ship was something she regretted every day.
It was her fault Rosella was dead.
The trip to Apollonia was smooth, and the children got along famously as soon as they met; Julian even wrote to her that they reminded him of their interactions as children.
King Peter warned them that there were many sea storms during the month they planned to sail back to Palladia, and that they should delay their trip for a few weeks.
But they had already been gone a month, and Anneliese missed her husband and her daughter. She wanted them to meet Baby Erik (yes she had remembered), and the other children asked nearly every day when Papa and Rosy would be coming home. So she begged them to come home as planned when Julian wrote to her about the possible change in plans.
And just as King Peter had said, there was a horrible storm that wrecked the ship carrying her love and her baby. And she drowned.
The day Julian finally returned, Anneliese had rushed out to greet him, balancing little Henri on one hip, and holding Pierre’s chubby hand on her other side. She expected him to run up and kiss her over and over, only letting go so that she could see her daughter.
She stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw his face. His eyes were red and puffy from crying and lack of sleep, his suit was rumpled as though he hadn’t changed it in days. Most notably, there was an absence of Rosella’s loud laughter as she ran to see her mother and younger siblings.
Anneliese looked at her husband, praying that the worst wasn’t what happened.
“My love?”
“There was a storm,” he said, voice breaking.
Five-year-old Geny tugged on her skirts.
“Maman, where’s Rosy?”
She glanced at her daughter’s wide blue eyes, barely registering her question, then back to Julian, whose face was twisted, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“No. . .no. She cannot be. . .she isn’t. . .”
“It’s my fault, Anneliese. I couldn’t save her, I couldn’t. . .”
But she knew whose fault it really was. And she would never forgive herself.
She let out a wail and fell to her knees in grief, gripping the toddler in her arms even tighter as she sobbed. Julian didn’t go to comfort her, he didn’t even look at her as he ushered the others inside to explain why their sister wasn’t there. She knew it was her fault Rosella was dead, and he was rightfully angry with her. Henri’s little hands wrapped around her neck as he cried with her.
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“I’m not a king. I can’t give you what he can.”
Dominick would have been able to save Rosella.
Dominick wouldn’t have let the servants drag him out of the water.
“Hold on, Rosella!”
He threw his jacket aside and dove into the freezing water, searching in vain for her blonde hair and purple frock that she loved so much.
Two pairs of hands pulled him out of the water.
“Your Majesty, stay here."
"There’s no hope for her, sir.”
He barely heard them, struggling to get back into the ocean.
“She’s not even a son, the kingdom cannot go without the Prince Consort.”
“We’ve already lost her, we can’t lose you too.”
“You’re thinking too much like a father, sir. You must think like a ruler.”
So he gave up, knowing it would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Julian took Pierre and Genevieve’s hands and led them inside the palace. He couldn’t bear to look at Anneliese, he knew it was his fault their daughter was dead. All he could do was break it to the others gently.
When Derek saw him as they entered the palace, his face lit up, beckoning Dominique to follow him, and then darkened again as he saw the way everyone else looked. The nursemaid holding Erik had a similar reaction, but she left after Julian motioned for her to hand him his son, holding tightly to the children he still had.
“Papa? What is it? Is Rosy outside?”
Genevieve shook her head, holding Pierre’s hand as Derek looked to his father, confused.
“Rosella and I were in a shipwreck. And, I couldn’t save her. She drowned. I’m so sorry, children.”
Derek’s lip trembled. “You’re lying!” he cried, “She’s alive! She can’t be dead! Maman!”
He ran to Anneliese, who was still holding Henri, and pulled on her hand.
“Tell Papa he’s lying! Rosy’s alive! Please Maman!”
Wordlessly, she knelt down and pulled him to her chest. The other children followed until Anneliese had five children in her arms, with Julian holding Erik and watching them.
Anneliese looked up at him. An understanding passed between them. He knew she blamed him for Rosella’s death, but they both needed to be there for the other children. So he knelt down with his wife and children and held them.
That was the beginning of the end for them.