Forty-One

 

"The princess has given birth to a beautiful baby girl," the midwife said, rousing Lubos from his doze. He wasn't sure what day it was, or when he'd chosen to lay down to sleep on the cathedral floor, before the very altar, but he had enough sense to know he should get up before one of the priests discovered him and kicked him out of the house of God.

"Is she well?" he asked, scrambling to his feet. Despite his words to Molina, he still didn't trust the witch. Not when he had yet to pay her price. If she chose not to honour their bargain...

"Princess Molina is very tired, for she has been in labour a day and a night, but once she has rested, she should be well. It was an easy birth."

The cries she'd uttered said otherwise, but Lubos did not correct the midwife. Molina would tell him the truth of it, and whether she wanted the same midwife again next time. For there would be a next time. There had to be, for he would need an heir.

"Can I see her?" he asked timidly. It had been a long time since he'd asked anyone for anything, but the realm of women and babies was new to him. He didn't want to do something wrong.

"She is sleeping, and should not be disturbed," the midwife said.

His heart sank, but only for a moment, as he realised she hadn't actually refused him. Could a midwife give orders to the crown prince?

He rose to his full height, hoping he could manage to look regal despite not having shaved after sleeping on the floor. "I must see her, and the child."

The midwife sighed. "Yes, Your Highness. But for only a moment."

Lubos had not run through the castle so fast since he was a boy. He startled several servants, but today he did not care. He was a father, and Molina lived.

He found her tucked up in his bed, amid layers of fresh linen. The faint smell of blood lingered, but a maid brought in a fresh basket of rushes and proceeded to lay them on the floor, and then he could smell only the aroma of summer hay, as out of place in the heart of winter as he was in the women's domain this room had been, only hours earlier.

The cradle moved, just the tiniest bit, though no hand or breeze had touched it. Lubos held his breath and approached.

The baby's eyes were closed, her head crowned with an abundance of dark curls. She lifted a tiny fist from the blankets and waved it in the air, as if cursing something in her dream, before lowering it again.

"So tiny. So perfect," he breathed.

"Isn't she?"

Lubos started. Molina's eyes were open, and she wore a tired smile. Yet her expression glowed with happiness.

"I wished for a girl," she said softly. "But you must protect her. Swear to me that you will not let the strange man have her. You must take her away, hide her from him, and stand guard over her, until I tell you it is safe. Please, Lubos."

The words came easily. "I swear no strange man shall steal her from you."

"Take her. Take her now, for surely the whole kingdom knows about the birth, and he will come for her soon." Molina reached into the cradle and scooped out the little bundle, no larger than a loaf of bread. A tiny person. "Take her!"

Still Lubos hesitated as the baby was thrust into his arms. "I'm afraid I will drop her," he admitted. "She's so tiny."

Molina's eyes burned with determination, despite the dark circles framing them. "You are her father, and you will neither drop her nor allow her to come to harm. You swore an oath, Lubos, and you will not break it."

He held the child tightly, his heart sinking. Yes, he had sworn many oaths, and he would break none of them. Even if it broke his own heart to do so.

"She will be safe," he promised himself as much as Molina. He had to believe it.