empress of storms (7 page)

After she’d donned the folded towels and necessary underthings, Flavia reassured her with a pat and a sympathetic smile. “You still have another five days here, mistress, and then there’s the trip back to Hellas, and milord king will have to spend at least a week there after the wedding,” she said. “And even if you don’t catch then, you’re young and healthy. You have all the time in the world.”

Danaë blinked away the annoying wetness in her eyes. “Yes, but does Matthias?”

Flavia chuckled. “That’s the last thing you have to fret about, mistress,” she said. “Men can be in their dotage and still get a babe on a woman. I’ve seen it happen any number of times. As long as the king stays healthy, you’ll have plenty of time to start your family.”

“You’re right.” Danaë accepted a handkerchief and blew her nose. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

The maid’s mood turned solicitous. “Not at all. You’re a woman in love. It’s natural to want to have your husband’s child.” One corner of Flavia’s mouth twitched. “Plus you’re a queen in need of an heir. Don’t tell me that isn’t a part of this, mistress.”

“Perhaps.” The treaty that had led to her wedding also stipulated that her firstborn would become the heir to the throne of Ypres. That still left the throne of Hellas empty. And while Darius could sire a child if necessary, she couldn’t see him settling down long enough to raise it. Which made it her womb’s responsibility to supply not one but two royal heirs. She sighed, rubbing her aching belly. Matthias was in the prime of life, but it wasn’t impossible for him to die from an unexpected illness or an accident. Her own father’s death had proved that.

She flinched from the thought. 

When Matthias appeared in her chambers after dinner, she had to inform him of what was going on. Disappointment flickered across his face, replaced by affection and concern. “It doesn’t matter, my dear,” he said, gathering her in for a gentle hug. “I can wait for you a few days.”

She rested her head on his chest, wondering if she should mention that it was possible for a woman to enjoy intercourse while bleeding. She’d never done it herself, but in her experience and from talking to other Hellene noblewomen it didn’t seem to hinder the experience. However, the men who weren’t bothered by it were few and far between. “I wish we didn’t have to wait,” she hinted. “I have so little time with you as it is.”

He lifted her chin and kissed her once. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it myself, my dear,” he said. “But we still have almost a month together. There will be more than enough time for ourselves. Now, I’ll leave you to get some sleep.”

That startled her. “You’re not staying?”

He shook his head. “My head is aching after that ridiculous council meeting, and Lord Bournos’s blathering at dinner didn’t help any. I don’t want to disturb you by tossing and turning half the night, especially if you’re already in discomfort.” He pulled her close again and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, and we’ll dine together in the morning, yes?”

“All right.” Masking her own disappointment, she walked him to her chamber door and collected one last kiss before he disappeared to his own rooms. Disconsolate, she went back to the bed that now seemed too far too large and tried to settle in under the covers. It would be a long night without the comfortable weight of Matthias’s arms around her.

I suppose I’ll have to get used to it at some point.

With that depressing thought, she tried to sleep.

The next morning she woke sandy-eyed and out of sorts. To make matters worse her toweling had shifted during the night and she’d bled onto the back of her gown. Flavia took it in stride and put the gown aside to wash in cold water, but Danaë flushed at the thought of the gossipy castle maids seeing the stain on her sheets.
Everyone will know I’m not with child yet. I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it does.

Bathed and dressed, she made her way down to the smaller dining hall that she and Matthias had started using for breakfast. High windows let in golden beams of sunlight and made the room far more cheerful than the gloomy great hall, and it gave them a quiet moment of time in which to start the day.

Except that Matthias wasn’t sitting at his usual space. Danaë took her chair and waved one of the waiting serving maids over. “Has the king come down for breakfast yet?”

The maid shook her head. “I haven’t seen him yet, your majesty. I can have someone speak with his valet if you like.”

Danaë frowned. Perhaps Matthias’s headache had kept him up longer than even he expected. “Please do. If the king is still abed, have his valet ask if I should come and visit him.”

“At once, your majesty.” The maid curtseyed and bustled off. Another came up with a platter of smoking ham steaks and fresh baked rolls. She loaded Danaë’s plate, pouring watered wine into the waiting goblet.

Delicious as it was, Danaë picked at her food and waited for the return of the serving maid. When she did reappear in the breakfast room, she was frowning. “I spoke with the king’s valet, your majesty,” she said. “His highness didn’t have an easy night and wishes to sleep in a bit more. He told the valet that you should keep to your schedule, and that he would see you at the noon meal.”

Danaë frowned. But trooping up to Matthias’s rooms while he was trying to sleep wouldn’t do him any good. “Does the king suffer from headaches very often?”

The serving maid looked a bit nervous at that, but said, “He gets them every few weeks, your majesty. The light hurts his eyes and they sap the energy from him, but he’s better after a day or so.”

“Hm.” Matthias’s headache sounded like something Hellene physicians called a
hemikrania
, a type of headache that often nauseated the sufferer and required him to lie in a darkened room until the pain had passed. “Thank you.”

The maid curtsied again, leaving Danaë alone with her breakfast. The only event on her schedule that morning was a children’s chorus that came to the castle and serenaded her with traditional Ypresian songs. She met the children and their choirmaster in one of the sitting rooms, applauding after each song and inviting them to stay for milk and cakes. This won her a cheer from the tiny choristers.

By noon Matthias made his appearance as promised. Appalled, Danaë wished that he’d stayed in bed instead. His skin had lost its healthy tone, looking grey and drawn, and the skin under his reddened eyes was dark and ringed. Worse, his hands trembled as he reached for his knife and fork, and he frowned at them as if trying to cow them into obedience.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, concerned.

He grunted, trying to saw at his slab of steak. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered. “Just give me a bit.”

Unable to ask him detailed questions about his health in front of the servants, she confined herself to an amusing description of the choristers’ performance and the brief but energetic cake fight that had broken out in the reception room, much to their conductor’s horror. A ghost of a smile wisped across the king’s face, but faded soon enough.

She sipped her wine, studying him over the rim.
You’re being seen by my physician as soon as we get to Hellas, my love, and that’s that.

****

Matthias glared in bleariness at his lunch. His stomach roiled at the thought of swallowing it, but he knew from unpleasant experience that it was better to vomit food than green bile. With some effort he managed to detach a small piece of steak and put it in his mouth, chewing stolidly in time to the thumping pain in his skull.

He’d hoped that the headaches were gone. These last few days with Danaë had been pain-free, not even a hint of the skull-cracking agony that had been his secret bane these last three years. His physician had tried every remedy under the sun, some of them so foul he shuddered to remember ingesting them. He’d even swallowed a bezoar against the possibility of poison. Nothing had worked.

His head throbbed again and he winced.

“Eat something dry.”

He stopped chewing, forcing himself to swallow. “I beg your pardon?”

“You should eat something dry,” Danaë said, enunciating, “such as a toasted roll. You look green as spring leaves. Something bland and dry will be better for your stomach than what’s on your plate.”

He looked down at the steak swimming in bloody juice and felt his stomach turn over. He pushed the plate away. “Bring me some toasted bread,” he ordered.

The serving maid waiting on him curtsied and hurried to the kitchens. He forced himself to look at a concerned Danaë. “I’ll be all right in a day or so,” he said. The last thing he wanted to do was look weak. It was bad enough that her bleeding kept him out of her bed, but to be laid low by one of these blasted things added insult to injury. “It’s a headache. I get them sometimes. It’s nothing.”

“And your physicians can’t help?”

The question irritated him. “It’s nothing, I told you. I’ll be fine.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing to me. Our physicians—”

“Blast your physicians!” he shouted, slamming a fist on the table. “You may be my wife now, madam, but that does not give you leave to pry into matters that do not involve you.”

She went white at that, her chin coming up. “Indeed,” she said. “My apologies, husband. I shall leave you to your meal.”

She stood and swept off as the serving maid returned. The young woman stepped out of Danaë’s way with a hasty curtsey, then approached him like a hunter checking on a wounded bear. “Your rolls, sire.”

He looked at them sourly. “Take them away.” Today he was doomed to be miserable. He might as well do that on an empty stomach.

****

Danaë headed to the office that had been given to the Hellene contingent for their use during her visit. As she’d hoped it was empty and she could be alone for a few moments.

He’s in pain and irritable. Men turn into babies when they’re ill, you know that. He didn’t mean it.

She paced the floor.
Or did he?
He had seemed to be growing fonder of her, speaking to her with affection and regard during the day. And their nights were something beyond her wildest dreams, blissful cocoons of passion and heat that made her hope…

Foolish woman. He wouldn’t fall in love with you, not so soon.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a brusque knock on the door. Perhaps Matthias had reconsidered and come after her to apologize? She brushed her hands down her gown, raising her chin. “Come in.”

To her disappointment, the man standing outside the door was the commander of the Ypresian cavalry. “Your majesty,” Bardahlson said. “Might I have a word with you in private?”

“Oh. Er, yes, of course,” She stepped back, gesturing him into the room. 

He stumped in, hands clasped behind his back. His entire demeanor thrummed with tension as he paced. “Have you and his majesty quarreled?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He turned, narrow brown eyes gleaming with intelligence and distrust. “His majesty had another one of his sick headaches last night. The first one he’d had since your arrival. I thought it might have been prompted by an argument.”

Her irritation rose at his blunt questioning. “Not that it’s any of your business, but the king and I are in perfect accord with one another. It’s not my fault if he’s unwell.” She pressed her lips together to firm them. “Besides, as I understand it he gets these headaches every few weeks. You can hardly blame that on me.”

“Days,” Bardahlson corrected. “He gets them every few days.”

That shocked her. “But the maid said—”

“They build up, you see. A bad night every other night or so, and then one great whopping one that lays him out like a corpse for a day.” The commander’s bushy brows drew down. “Except that he hasn’t had any at all since your wedding. Even he’s remarked on how good he’s been feeling. So you understand my concern when all of a sudden he’s laid out without warning. I thought perhaps you’d had a lover’s tiff or some such foolishness, and that brought on the sickness.”

“No, not at all.” Danaë’s concern returned. “What has his physician done for him?”

“Poked every headache remedy known to man down his throat. Even tried a bezoar. Nothing works. Did y’do something different last night when you bedded?”

She felt her cheeks flame. “That’s none of your business, commander,” she snapped.

“Forgive me, but it is my business, majesty,” Bardahlson said. “His majesty is not only my liege lord but my friend as well, and an old one at that. It’s bad enough to have seen him suffer this sickness. To see some measure of relief waved under his nose and then yanked away galls me. Now, I neither want nor need details of what goes on between the two of you, but was anything out of the ordinary last night?”

Danaë pulled her irritation back under control. “Apart from the fact that we slept in separate rooms, nothing.”

Bardahlson looked surprised at that. “He didn’t sleep with you?”

“No. He said he had a headache from dinner and didn’t want to disturb me.” She allowed to herself that Bardahlson was entitled to be concerned with his king’s health, but she was not about to discuss her courses with this great, hulking man. “So he slept in his own rooms.”

The commander frowned. “I don’t understand it. That room’s been cleaned top to bottom any number of times, and his linens washed every week. It can’t be some sort of contagion or poison.”

Danaë went rigid. “Who would want to poison Mat—the king?” she demanded.

“No king is loved by all his subjects, majesty. King Matthias has his share of enemies both within and outside of Ypres. But a bezoar would have taken care of poison.”

She tried to think. “How long has he been suffering from these headaches?”

“They started soon after the queen died. Pardon me, majesty—Queen Hanne, I mean.”

Three years. Matthias had suffered from debilitating
hemikrania
for three years, and she’d had no word of his suffering. “There still could be something in his chambers,” she said. “Not poison but a natural material such as pollen or certain plants. Our physicians know that some people can react to these substances with symptoms like a bad cold or even headaches and vomiting.”