Chapter 29 #2
My terror must have been apparent, as Florence quickly added: “It’s a painless process, but I’ll only do it with your express consent. It is, after all, a means of conception… Are you certain you are ready to do this with your body?”
“I…” I shivered. “I’m not entirely sure what it’s like. I have read stories—”
“I could tell you every story and still be wrong,” Florence interrupted, smiling. “Each woman’s experience differs considerably. But you will get big, and your body will change. You will experience birth, ultimately, and that changes a woman.”
“It’s not as though I really have much choice.” I stood up, crossing over to the window. “The prince will want a child, and I am sure he’ll put in the work to create one.”
I placed a hand on my cheek to conceal the rosy hue the thought created.
“There are ways. We may bless a womb with fruition, or command it to hold fast.”
I was not especially eager to bear a child.
To do so was the price of the crown, another expectation unfairly placed upon me the moment I’d bewitched the prince.
If I could not produce an heir, someone would.
Perhaps the prince would be pressured into leaving me, and as rare as divorces were, they carried a great weight of shame in this country.
I might be kept around at court, but my position would crumble.
At best, I’d become a concubine while Nicolas remarried someone else.
I could put it off, have Florence command my body to wait…
but for how long? If the queen knew of the ritual, it was likely that Nicolas did, as well.
Would he expect it of me, just as Elias had for the queen?
Surely not. He valued my opinion, to some degree; surely he could stand to wait through at least a few months of marital bliss.
“I’m putting unreasonable pressure on you,” Florence said quietly. She placed her hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. “In your position, I wouldn’t be quick to answer, either. You’re a virgin and should have the time to enjoy intercourse for what it is.”
My fingers traced the windowpane. Sooner, later, never.
Three choices awaited my decision, each with its own set of positives and negatives.
Gallae was in rough shape, bound to get worse before it saw any improvement.
The queen was preparing to step down in the midst of the chaos, but her word remained law, her position unassailable not because of a marriage to the dead king, but because she bore his son.
The court might sneer at my common blood, but they could not easily dismiss me as the mother of their future heir, the symbol of Tomorrow. If the situation in Gallae worsened, I’d need the armor a child would provide.
Besides, it was bound to happen eventually. So long as I waited, the court would regard me as nothing more than the prince’s amusing choice, forever on trial. With a child…
I squared my shoulders. This wasn’t surrender, it was strategy. I would give the court, queen, and prince precisely what they wanted, and I would secure a power that couldn’t be stripped away by anything short of revolution.
“Go make your preparations,” I answered at last, turning to face the sorceress. “Be careful. I don’t need the Banewights watching us.”
“Indeed. We’ll have to work around them,” Florence agreed, rising from her seat. She made for the exit, adjusting her dress. Then she looked over her shoulder once more, a mysterious glint in her eye. “Ready yourself, dear Princess. Your vivacious friend Angharad is here.”
I wondered how she could possibly know that, but in short order, there was a knock. Florence greeted Angharad after only one of these raps, turning to me. Behind her, the red-haired woman waved, visibly startled by the sudden answer.
“Angharad,” I said, measuring my volume carefully. “What brings you to me now? It’s nigh suppertime.”
“My husband’s being an ass,” Angharad answered. “I thought perhaps I might seize the opportunity for your private companionship before your chambers are entirely off-limits.”
I blinked, taking one look to Florence for guidance. The sorceress shrugged.
“Well, I suppose you’d better come in and get drunk with me,” I said at last, pouring two glasses. “While we still can.”
Florence excused herself. She shut the door, and Angharad made a cautious approach, sitting across from me.
“Why ‘while we still can’? Are you going somewhere?” She paused, a flash of dread in her eyes. “Am I going somewhere?”
I considered dragging out the torment just for fun. “I’ll be married soon, and all that implies. I expect I shall be with child soon thereafter.”
“Oh, it’s not always so swift,” Angharad chuckled, knowing nothing. She palmed the stem of her wine glass. “It took me years to have my first. I’ve got two of the little wonders running about.”
Curious. I had never heard of them until now, and in my time within Castle Altaigne, not once had I seen a child younger than twelve. “Have you? Where are they?”
“Why, with the nurse, I expect.” Angharad took a sip. “Much of the rearing is left to lesser nobility and hired nursemaids. If you are ever in my private estate, which I really ought to invite you to, then you shall see the unavoidable signs of their presence. The place is always a mess.”
“Hold on—you say it’s left to others? What exactly does that mean?” I asked.
Angharad tilted her head, as if a child had asked her why the sky was blue.
“It is beneath our position to raise our own children. At times, it can be nasty business: changing their clouts, for instance, or taking a babe to breast, making all that mess, prolonging the period of wait before the next child can be born. Then there are matters of their lessons, their manners. If we spent our time raising the pups, we’d have no time for court affairs.
” Court affairs such as what? Games of badminton? Gossip?
“And now you’ve a sour look about you,” Angharad sighed. “We still see the kids. I see mine at lunch most days, or for holidays. Sometimes the castle hosts an event that they are welcome to attend, once they’re old enough to be tolerable.”
“Are children so vile?” I asked. I recalled the ones I’d seen, running about in the lower districts of Caermont. They were soiled from poverty, but didn’t seem terrible.
“Oh, they’re adorable little cherubs, but sit in a room with one for more than a moment and you’ll feel your nerves starting to go.
They talk and talk—” I parted my lips, but Angharad went on.
“—and talk of such nonsense, scarcely pausing for the slightest consideration of a reply, and when it’s not incessant chatter it’s crying or outright screaming…
And it’s not enough for them to ruin our minds, but our bodies, growing the little devils; without a wet nurse, children would render every one of us haggard. ”
I waited until I was certain Angharad had finished her rant. “So I shall grow a child of my own, and then my child will be given to someone else?”
Angharad nodded. “Prince Nicolas himself was largely raised by wet nurses and other family until he was of tutoring age.”
“Viscount Quinn was raised by his parents until his mother became too ill,” I countered.
“A Hadrian value, and one going out of fashion,” Angharad quipped, swirling the last of her drink until she took the last sip. “I suspect he was among the last of his generation to be brought up in such a way. Coddling our children does little for them.”
I saw flames. I’d need more wine if I was to tolerate another moment of Angharad today, so I finished off my glass and poured us both another, and I took to the second glass with urgency.
“That’s the spirit,” Angharad applauded.
“To motherhood!” I raised my glass, but I couldn’t bring myself to echo the toast. I’d just agreed to a blessing that would ensure I was to bear a child, one I would apparently be expected to hand over to strangers.
I drank deeply, wondering if the queen’s sorrow came not only from her losses, but from the only child she’d successfully borne being taken away so that she barely came to know him.