The Prince in Exile

Chapter 8

Janos.

The name had been buried in her mind, his face painted over in darkness. He had left, and she could not abide his memory to outstay him.

But he would not be forgotten, the selfish wretch. He had ensured she could not ignore him, could not move past. With intention or not, he had doomed her.

She spent two more fretful days, begging, praying to any and all that her courses were merely delayed, that she had miscounted the days, that she had been distracted in the new court and had merely missed her flow.

She brushed off concerned questions from Gertrude, leaving early from breakfast and hiding away as much as she could manage for the rest of the day. On periodic hours Herlinde would appear to meekly ask if she needed aught, only to depart again at her command. Otherwise, she was left undisturbed–blessedly, the gathering armies drew most of the attention of the court, and the lurid light of gossip moved on, shining elsewhere, leaving her to her dim hovel.

She was by no means idle in these hours, but neither was she productive. She sat long in her parlor, sipping sweet wine and picking at fruits and biscuits. Her thoughts turned, plotted, chased threads and flipped stones, frantic for any prospective path, finding nothing.

Her first step must be to confirm the pregnancy, but even that seemed impossible. How could she find a doctor who she could trust to hold his tongue? Even if she wasn't with child, the mere inquiry would tell of her unchastity, and if that news found its way to the prince or his court...

Surely she could ask no one in the castle, but would it be any better to wander the city streets in hopes of stumbling across a physicker? She could hardly suffer some back-alley cutter to inspect her, and lousy as the city now was with soldiers, even the short jaunt to the alley in question would be a dangerous trip to make alone.

She needed an escort she could trust, someone strong at her side, loyal to her and her alone, free of ties to the prince or his court.

She needed Janos.

A crash–she looked down to see her fine glass shattered at her foot, the pale wine just starting to soak into the carpet. A breath later a door creaked open, and she jerked up to see Herlinde's concerned face peeking in. "My lady–"

"It's fine," Erzsebet snapped. "The glass just fell." She shifted her foot as the puddle spread slowly towards her. "Get a rag, would you?"

"Of course, my lady," the maid replied, pulling a cloth from her waistband and shuffling towards her. "Take care of the shards, that you do not step on them." The girl knelt and began patting the spill, as the faint fruity scent began wafting up around them. Erzsebet watched as she set a second kerchief aside and, between dabs of the wine, used her cloth to carefully pick up the pieces of the glass and set them atop the kerchief.

She took a deep breath, shaking her head at her own foolishness. What good was it to yearn to hear a songbird in winter? Love had passed out of its season. "Thank you, Herlinde," she said. "Sorry to trouble you."

"It is no trouble, my lady. I am happy to help." There was something odd in her voice, as if she meant to say more–thankful as Erzsebet was, she would not go fishing for this one's tongue. Instead she grabbed an apple biscuit from the tray on the table before her and took a small bite, still watching the maid at her work. The last of the glass was piled up, but still she hunched over, pressing her rag into the soaked carpet. "If I may, my lady..." she finally said, still with back bent and face down.

"If you have something to say, stop cleaning, face me properly, and say it," Erzsebet chastised, her harshness unsought but fitting all the same.

"Yes, my lady." She set the rag down, got up from her knees and faced Erzsebet, wringing her hands. "It is only, well..."