Chapter 14 Trouble
TROUBLE
Since I was fourteen, my monthly bleeding had come as regular as the moon. When I realized I was nearly two weeks late, I knew the reason without doubt. With no small measure of trepidation, I walked through the village that day to find Caius.
I approached the guarded gate set into the stone wall surrounding the boyar's castle and asked the sentry—a young man named Peter—to tell Caius I needed to see him. His gruff expression softened as he unlatched the gate, abandoning formality.
“He's in the courtyard,” he said, then added, almost casually, “with your friend Dani.”
My stomach dropped. I had hoped—foolishly—that Caius would be alone. I still hadn't found the courage to speak to Dani since the day at the lake, since the look on his face had burned itself into my memory.
I thanked Peter with what I hoped passed for a steady smile and slipped through the gate. To my left, the courtyard opened wide, bordered by the main house, a small chapel, the servants' quarters, and the stables.
I saw them at once. Caius and Dani sat together on the low stone wall, sweat-slick and dust-streaked after sparring with swords laid at their feet.
They were talking. There was tension there—I could feel it even from a distance—but it hadn't yet shattered the years of friendship between them.
The sight filled me with a fragile, guilty relief…
and a selfish hope that if Caius had been forgiven, perhaps I might be too.
Dani noticed me first. For an instant, pain flickered across his face before he tried to mask it with a smile.
Behind him, Caius's expression changed—pleasant surprise tightening into something more guarded. He knew me too well to believe I'd come without reason. I straightened my shoulders, but with every step toward them, doubt pressed heavier against my ribs.
“Hi, Dani,” I said, my voice thinner than I meant it to be.
“Uh—I think I need to talk to Magda. I'll catch up with you later,” Caius said, giving an awkward slap to Dani's shoulder.
Dani's face said everything—resentment at being dismissed, hurt at being left out. That he was now the odd man out in our triangle of friendship. He gave a single nod and went to retrieve his weapon from where it lay in the courtyard dirt. As he passed, his hurt gaze didn’t linger on Caius—it lingered on me.
When Dani disappeared through the gate, I drew Caius into the shadow of the stable door, glancing around to be sure no one could hear. I swallowed hard, forcing down my nerves, and met his blue eyes.
“I am with child.” The words left me on a shallow breath—the message delivered, heavy and irrevocable. I waited for his reaction.
His face was still at first, then slowly, a smile began to form. He took my hands in his, and at his touch, my tears came—sudden, unstoppable.
“Don't cry,” he murmured, brushing the wetness from my cheeks. “I'll tell my father—and, and…” He faltered, searching for the courage to say it plainly. “And we will be married.”
My smile broke through the tears, relief rushing in so quickly it left me lightheaded.
In that moment, every fear that had shadowed me seemed to dissolve.
All the darkness Buna had foreseen—her smoke-laced warnings and whispered prophecies—burned away like morning mist. She had been wrong, and I had never been so grateful to see her proven so.
“Go home,” he said. “I will talk to my father tonight, and we will speak again in the morning.” He pressed a tender kiss to my lips and pulled me close. “I love you, Magda.”
I clung to him, and for the first time spoke the words I had carried in my heart for so long, afraid to give them voice until now.
“I love you too, Caius.” I pulled free, lightness blooming in my chest, a smile still warming my lips as I turned toward the path that led back to my cottage.
Soon I would leave this small life behind, and all the whispered doubts along with it.
The next morning, I was working in the garden when a woman approached—the boyar's cook. She lingered by the gate, her eyes darting as though someone might be watching. Beneath her nervousness was something else—pity.
“Caius wants to see you,” she said quietly. “I'm to bring you to the castle.”
I brushed the dirt from my hands onto my skirt and followed her. She said nothing as we walked, and the guard—an older man whose name I did not know—moved aside without a word when we passed through the gate.
She led me through the servants' entrance into the main house, a place I had never seen from within. The corridor stretched long and dim before us. At its end, she stopped before a heavy wooden door, resting her hand on the handle.
For a moment she didn't move. Then, without looking at me, she whispered just two words. “I'm sorry.”
The words struck harder than a slap. My first instinct was to laugh, to tell her there was nothing to be sorry for.
Caius had sent for me. But the sound stuck in my throat.
I stepped inside, the door closing behind me with a heavy thud that made me jump.
The room was a library with high ceilings and shelves crowded with books—the same one from which Dani had smuggled me volumes over the years.
Against the window stood Caius, his head bent.
“You sent for me?” I asked, hope lifting my voice.
Papers rustled behind me. I turned, startled to find someone else in the room. Caius's father, Drago Burián, stood at the desk, as though only just noticing my presence—casually surprised.
I looked back to Caius. His face held an expression I had never seen before—not anger or fear, but something emptied out, hollow.
“Magda…” he said, his voice flat with defeat.
“Why have you brought me here?” I asked. “Why did the cook apologize to me just now?” I forced my voice steady, though my heart hammered and sweat gathered at my brow.
Drago smiled—thin and cruel. “I spoke with my son last night.” He tipped his head toward Caius, who had lowered his gaze again, like a child sent to the corner for disobeying. “He informed me of your…little problem.”
“Problem?” The word caught in my throat, still unsure how much the boyar knew.
“His bastard,” Drago said. “The one you carry.” He spoke as though Caius were no longer in the room.
“Bastard?” My voice rose before I could stop it. “Caius—“ I pleaded. “Tell him we are to be married—“ I needed to hear it again. Needed something to hold on to. Needed proof I hadn't imagined it.
Drago's laugh boomed through the room, rich and cruel. “Yes,” he said, still smiling. “He told me of his plan.” Then the smile faded. The amusement drained from his face, leaving only the hard, cold thing beneath. “No son of mine will marry a Romani whore.”
The cruel whispers I had ignored for the past year surged through me, each one rising over the last, mocking me more cruelly than even Drago Burián's brittle laughter.
“You love me…” I said to Caius, the words scarcely more than breath. I couldn't tell if I was making a statement or begging for confirmation. “You love me,” I said again, forcing the words out, gathering what little self-respect I had left.
Caius stood with his shoulders bent, unmoving.
He did not reach for me, did not speak. His silence was the answer.
Something in me shifted—desperation giving way to anger, anger hardening into defiance.
Magda the hellcat rose in me. I turned to Drago Burián, to defend myself if Caius would not.
“Everyone will know that Caius is the father of my child.”
Drago didn't even look up. “Caius won't be here,” he said mildly.
“He leaves tonight to begin his military training—with the warlord Mircea in Wallachia. He will be gone a year. Perhaps more.” He shrugged, his attention already returning to the papers on his desk.
“You'll handle your mistake on your own.”
“My mistake?” I spat, venom bitter on my tongue.
Drago's mouth curled. “Your grandmother's a midwife, isn't she?” He smiled thinly. “Ask her what she gives to girls who forget themselves.”
“I will not kill your grandchild,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “You spread your legs for Caius—who's to say the babe is even his?” He held my gaze as he spoke, as if the words themselves might remake the truth. His eyes were Caius's blue, emptied of warmth—winter stripped to bone.
He reached for a small silver bell at the edge of the desk. The chime rang out, thin and shrill, shattering the silence like glass. Then he turned away, already done with me.
A guard appeared. Silent. His rough hand closed around my arm, fingers digging into the tender flesh. As I was dragged toward the door, I looked back at Caius one last time. He had lifted his head. His eyes were full of apology.
He did nothing.
I was hauled through the corridors and thrown outside the gates, my first tears only falling once the doors slammed shut behind me. A man stood only a few paces away, leaning lazily against the stone wall that ringed the boyar's castle—as if he had been waiting for me.
I gathered myself and started toward the road that would take me back to the cottage, refusing to look at him.
“Where are you running off to in such a hurry, Magda?” Ivar's voice drifted after me, amused. Then he laughed.