It was a passing fear, though, for Constance reminded herself of how badly she had wanted a child. Her childbearing days were nearing their end, but Danube showed little movement toward formalizing their relationship, and so she had been given little choice.
Of course, she could have sought out a different sire, a less complicated union with a lesser noble-many of whom would have been thrilled to take her as wife. But Constance didn't want just any man's child, and had no intention of settling for another whom she did not love. No, she loved Danube, and had loved him since before his wedding to Queen Vivian two decades earlier. He was her friend and her lover, the only man who had ever seemed to genuinely understand her. And now he was the father of her child, and to Constance, nothing in all the world could have been more appropriate.
And so, as she settled in for a long morning's rest, her joy overcame her fears, and she became at ease with the reality of her situation, very pleased that her child, Danube's child, was growing within her.
"Kalas continues to hold the Abellican Church in check in Palmaris and all the northern reaches," King Danube said happily to Je'howith when the old abbot came upon him, later that same day, reclining in his study, sipping fine brandy, and surrounded by the most extensive library in all the world, greater even than the collection of tomes hoarded at St.-Mere-Abelle.
Danube's smile was genuine; he was in fine spirits, and not because of the drink. He was happy to be home again, in the bright summer, and with his kingdom finally settling back into its previous state of calm. He was happy that he could again go riding in the fields around Castle Ursal, that he could enjoy the balls and parties with the many nobles and courtesans. It seemed that the pall of the demon dactyl was finally lifting from his kingdom, and that the upstart brothers of the Abellican Church, often his most bitter rivals, would soon again be huddled within their dark walls.
"I do miss Duke Kalas," the King admitted, and he laughed again when Je'howith, who had never been a friend to the fiery and ultimately secular Duke, frowned deeply. "Perhaps I will be able to invite him home soon enough."
"Do not underestimate Abbot Braumin Herde and his intentions," Je'howith warned.
"Word from Kalas says that Jilseponie has left for the northland," the King replied. "Without her, our friend Braumin will prove much less formidable. And as the darkness recedes, so too will the influence of the Church. The people of Palmaris remember well the oppression of Bishop De'Unnero, I assure you, and his reign of terror suited Duke Kalas well."
"Because Duke Kalas was ever such a gentle man," Je'howith said with obvious sarcasm.
King Danube only laughed again. "It is a fine day, my friend, with the promise of many better days yet to come," he said, hoisting his glass in toast.
Abbot Je'howith assumed a pensive posture; and Danube lowered his glass, looking hard at the old monk, finally catching on that the man's arrival was more than a casual visit.
"I met with Constance this morning," Je'howith remarked.
"And…" Danube prompted. "If there is trouble in my court, then speak it plainly."
"She is with child," Je'howith informed him. "Your child. A son, I believe, who will be born next midwinter, unless there are complications."
Danube swallowed hard. "Impossible…" he started to say. "Constance is well versed in methods of preventing…" He paused there and considered the information, wondering immediately if the conception was accidental or deliberate. Constance had long been his trusted friend and his off-and-on lover for decades-and once she had questioned him directly about his intentions toward her, if he had any beyond their liaisons… But to think that she had purposely tricked him…
"These things do happen, my King," Abbot Je'howith said. "You have sired two before-have you forgotten? Many of the courtesans find themselves with child, I assure you, though they do not carry through with the pregnancy."
"Children of mine?" Danube asked, his eyes widening in an accurate reflection of his shock.
Abbot Je'howith began patting his hands in the air to calm the man. "It happens," he said quietly. "They consider their condition and their future. Their places at court, after all, are ones reserved for the most beautiful and the most talented… and the ones least burdened. Many courtesans understand well the complications that a child will bring to their lives, a situation that might send them back to a life of poverty and without position."
King Danube settled back in a chair that seemed suddenly not so comfortable to him, and took a hearty swallow of his potent liquor. He didn't like being told of the seedier side of his life, but neither could he deny the truth of Je'howith's observations. When he compared that truth to Constance's present situation, though, he took some comfort. "Constance will not do that," he remarked.
"No, she will not," Je'howith agreed. "I doubt that she views carrying the child of King Danube Brock Ursal as a burden or a cause for tears, unless they be tears of joy."
His tone as he finished made it clear to Danube that the old man fully believed that Constance had become pregnant on purpose; but strangely, to Danube, even that possibility did not invoke his wrath. How many years had Constance Pemblebury stood steadfastly beside him? How many times had she been there to comfort him in days of distress, to reassure him on those few occasions when he was faced with momentous decisions: the pardoning of a condemned criminal or the portioning of rations among communities where starvation seemed inevitable?
"Perhaps she has earned this child," Danube muttered, speaking more to himself than to Je'howith.
"And what, exactly, is this child? " Je'howith asked bluntly, drawing him from his private contemplations. The king looked up at the old man. "You have sired two before, and have done well by the mothers, awarding them comfortable positions and even minor titles for your children," the abbot reminded him. "Yet at the same time, you invoked Refusal of Acceptance, separating them forever from the ruling line, denying them for all time any claims to the throne of Honce-the-Bear. Will you follow the same course with the child of Constance Pemblebury? "
Danube started to reply Of course, but the words got stuck in his throat as he considered the reality of the situation, of this woman. He gave no answer, then, but merely blew a deep and contemplative sigh.
"Do you love her? " Je'howith asked.
Danube shook his head, but at the same time, he answered, "I do not know." "Do you love the woman Jilseponie? " the surprising abbot went on, and how that question widened King Danube's eyes!
"How could you ask such a question? " he responded loudly, but again, Je'howith was patting his hands in the air, motioning for a calm discourse.
"I saw the look in your eyes when you gazed upon her," the abbot replied. "She is beautiful beyond question, a sight to stir the loins of any man, and by deed alone she has made herself fit for the throne-indeed, I would reason that there is no woman in all the world more suited to sit by your side than Jilseponie Wyndon."
Again, Danube found no rebuttal against the sound reasoning. He carried it one step further, though, and reminded himself that perhaps the second woman most fit to be queen would be none other than the woman now carrying his child. The confusion inspired by that realization showed clearly on his face.
"I have delivered stunning news to you, my King," Je'howith said with a bow. "There is no need to make any decisions at this time."
"Soon enough," Danube replied. "The seasons will pass quickly, and Constance's condition will be known before summer's end. Many will whisper and ask questions."
"You need not marry her, obviously."
" But I will need to make a decree concerning her status and that of the child," Danube reasoned. "To invoke Refusal of Acceptance would wound Constance profoundly, something I do not wish to do."