The Queen and her Ploughman

Part 13

 Nezamysl was born eleven months later, and the Queen was becoming distraught - he was born ready to die. The labour itself had been much harder than previous. Kazi had been frantic, fearing the Gods had decided to take Libuše herself this time around. Except she survived the birth.

Nezamysl was far more like Přemysl that Lidomir had been. He was thin and small and frail looking, with narrow eyes and fair hair. He was sick from the start, crying out at every jolt or pain, harbouring fevers for weeks on end with little break. He rarely ate. He cried.

Kazi was helpless. She stayed with the child even through the night, beginning to lose hope but not daring to say it. She lost sleep, if she even slept these days. Libuše was not much better.

Přemysl had all but receded. Their perfect life - their victory over what was expected from them. A Queen to marry a ploughman? Surely this was cursed from the start. He never should have pursued her. Those days in the meadow, when they were both just teenagers seemed so far away. Regretful days. He shouldn't have built her a house. He should have let her marry a blue-blooded man.

He couldn't bare the thought of leaving her. He loved her. He loved everything about her and the fact that she tricked and deceived and lied and found her way to get exactly what she wanted only made him love her more, but it was too much. He couldn't watch another child die.

He found Libuše nursing the baby one morning, standing, looking out the large windows down to the city of Praha - the city of glory and stars and kings. The city he was indirectly created.

"Good morning," he said.

"You were gone before I woke up," Libuše commented, turning to face him. "I thought you'd be gone all day."

"I just went down to the altar," Přemysl said, taking a deep breath. "And I think you need to tell the city what you did."

Libuše shook her head, striding away from the window with all the dignity and grace of a born-and-raised Queen. Přemysl had spent years trying to mimic the confidence in which she wore her crown, but hadn't even come close.

"I won't lose what I've built. Kazi will save the child," Libuše said.

"You won't lose anything," Přemysl snapped, turning on her. "If you've truly built something, the people will stand behind you. Whether you're a prophet or not, you've built the city you said you would. You've created a legacy that far outreaches your false prophethood."

"Then they won't trust me," Libuše argued. "And they'll lose faith in what I have - and you. They'll know that you weren't a prophecy. They'll know you don't belong here."

He was stung - he knew he was an outsider, but he'd have liked to think that he was a good ruler. That he was respected and liked. The same went for him as the city. His actions should speak for him. He didn't need Libuše's prophecy to be valued.

"I don't care," he said. "Tell them the truth, or I will."

"Přemysl, I will not risk you," she said.

"But you'll risk Nezamsyl?"

"Kazi will save him."

"Kazi may as well be a donkey!" Přemysl shouted. "Kazi has already suffered the heartbreak of losing two of your children, and do you want to lose a third? Stand out and call a gathering. Stand on your balcony and tell the people of this city that it wasn't the Gods, but you, who built it."

Libuše stared back.

"And if you have to leave?" she said, shaking her head. "What then?"

"Then you marry someone else," he said. "I already built myself a house."