Queen of Shattered Dreams

Part 2 - Three Years Later

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I stand before the mirror, my hand pressed against my flat belly. Three years and still no baby. Feodor doesn't even come to my room as often. What once was almost nightly is now rarely once a week. Maybe I've cursed myself by concentrating too hard on having a child and finding a way out of this life. Feodor wants an heir—he hasn't said as much but it's clear. Of course, my inability to get pregnant may look like his inability to impregnate me. It's a touchy subject whenever some fool tries to broach it. How long can he withstand the humiliation? The stress of what he might decide to do to me keeps me up most nights. What exactly did Queen Catherine do that led him to finally end her life?

This hasn't been something I can just press my hands against and murmur a few words and voila, I'm with child. As Hassiba had explained the first time we spoke of magic, I use the elements around me. I cannot create something out of nothing—such as a life. So I'm left to herbs and potions for fertility.

I finger the vial of potion hanging from my necklace, a small, silver cylinder with a blue jewel embedded. My potion to strengthen and protect my child against whatever evils may come. I spent so much time working on this potion when what I should have focused on was one to help me conceive a child. Maybe I'm not at fault. Maybe that's why my potions haven't worked—it's King Feodor. All this time I've assumed that Queen Catherine was the one who couldn't get pregnant again. But did that happen to men? Did they just stop being—fertile? I chuckle, maybe Dendrite isn't even Feodor's. What if the queen had an affair and passed the child off as his. That would be marvelous. Then Dendrite would have no claim—but I would still be without a child. I tuck the necklace into my dress, turn away from the mirror, and make my way to the library.

There has to be something I haven't read yet that would aide me in solving this problem.

As I push open the library door, I'm startled by a young man jumping to his feet. His actions are so quick that I wonder if I've caught him doing something he shouldn't be. He's not one of the servants, and he's dressed like nobility, though I don't recognize him.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"I'm Prince Dashel."

"Oh." I stand frozen in the doorway, unsure if that name should mean anything to me. I turn to leave but remember I actually came here for a reason.

"Have I upset you?" The prince watches me, the corners of his lips hinting at a smile.

"No, you haven't." I walk past him and over to the exact shelf I need. I could close my eyes, point and say the titles of each of these books.

He sits back in his chair, continues reading his book and then closes it. "Pardon me but—who are you?"

I can't remember the last time I had to introduce myself. Everyone who comes to the castle knows exactly who I am. Calling myself 'the queen' feels pompous. This prince can hardly be much older than myself. But he introduced himself as 'prince' so why shouldn't I be pompous? "I'm Queen Mila."

A wide smile brightens his face. "No, you're not."

I straighten my shoulders and raise my chin. "You doubt me?"

"Well, you did pause for an awfully long time before answering."

My indignation melts away and I laugh. The sensation is foreign. I haven't laughed in a long time.

"I only paused because I didn't want you to feel inferior, being in the presence of a queen and all."

Now it's Dashel who chuckles. "There's no chance of that."