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Lada stared thoughtfully at the empty space above the narrow window. “My brother and I once used a curtain rod to push an assassin off a balcony. Maybe we should add them.”
“Well, I thought they might be pretty. But, certainly, they can double as weapons. You are very practical.”
Lada shook her head. “I hate this castle and every room in it. I do not care what it looks like.”
Daciana nodded, not asking any questions. Lada liked that about her. She asked questions when she needed to and otherwise let memories lie where they would. Lada suspected it was because Daciana was equally reticent to talk about her own past. She seemed quite content in the present. She had appointed herself Lada’s personal maid, but, contrary to convention, she did not sleep in Lada’s rooms. Judging by the new expression of bemused happiness on Stefan’s formerly blank face, Lada knew where Daciana had settled.
Daciana had decided what she wanted and had secured it. In spite of carrying another man’s child, in spite of her circumstances, in spite of everything. Lada felt a pang of jealousy. To be able to want a man and claim him, heedless of anything else? She could have claimed Mehmed. She had claimed him. But it did not satisfy her. Why could Daciana find happiness when Lada could not?
No. That was wrong. Lada had decided what she wanted, and she had secured it. The throne was hers.
Mehmed’s face and the feeling of his hands on her body still haunted her, though. She wished she could carve out his memory with a knife. Trace the lines of him that would not leave her, then cut them free. She would bleed, but she would not die. Still, he lingered in places no knife could ever reach.
Daciana gasped, bringing Lada back to the present. She was bent over, hands on her belly.
“Are you ill?” Lada asked.
“I think the baby is coming.”
Lada was struck with a terror deeper than any battlefield could have presented. The need to flee was overwhelming. “I will go get the nurse. Oana, I mean.”
Daciana nodded, breathing deeply against some internal pain Lada did not want to imagine.
The nurse was easy to find. After laughing at Lada’s obvious horror, Oana escorted Daciana to another room. Lada waited outside with Stefan, who paced with nerves as though the child were his. Lada wondered idly what they would do with the newborn bastard. That was none of her business, though.
The hope on Stefan’s face grew increasingly pained. It was obvious he loved Daciana. Lada wondered what that must feel like, to know someone loved you enough to take everything you were. To wait. To hope.
She wondered what it would feel like to be the person who loved that much, too.
She found Bogdan and invited him to her bedroom, but it did nothing to take the ache away from the edges of her memory of Mehmed. After, Bogdan wanted to linger. Lada dressed hurriedly and left her rooms. She did not have space in her heart for that. Not after last time. Not after loving Mehmed so much, and being so deeply betrayed by him.
No. Bogdan was safe. Bogdan was steady. And she did not and would never love Bogdan as she had Mehmed, which was both a relief and an agony.
When Oana told her that Daciana had safely delivered a little girl, Lada was unmoved. “They want to see you,” the nurse said.
Lada did not want to see them. But Stefan was one of her oldest and most trusted men. So she entered the room, ready for the scent of blood and sweat and fear. Instead, she found a cozy, warm space. Daciana was curled in a nest of blankets, the babe at her breast. Stefan sat next to them, gazing in wonder at the tiny, mewling creature. Daciana looked up, beaming.
“Thank you,” she said.
Lada frowned. “For what?”
“For giving me a world where I can raise my daughter how I wish. For giving us this Wallachia.”
Lada felt something tender and sweet unfurling in her chest. It was a vulnerable feeling. A dangerous one. She cleared her throat. “Well. I guess I will have to find another maid.”
Daciana laughed. “There is a boyar woman who has already hired me on as a wet nurse. It is amazing what they will pay for. But as soon as I am able, I will be back to fill your room with deadly curtains. You will help me, right, my little Lada?”
The endearment was very confusing. Stefan smiled up at her, nodding toward the baby. “We wanted to give her a name of strength.”
Lada’s face flushed. She had to clear her throat again. She leaned closer, trying to see the little bundle. “Is she pretty?”
Daciana held out the baby. Her face was red, squished and bruised from its violent entrance into the world. Dark hair sprouted from the top of her head, and one tiny fist was balled tightly and raised in the air. She was not pretty. But she screamed, and the sound was piercing and strong. “Do you want to hold her?”
“No!” Lada put her arms behind her back just in case Daciana and Stefan t
ried to force the baby on her. But Daciana seemed content to hold the baby herself. Lada tentatively smiled. “When she is old enough, I will give her a knife.”
Daciana and Stefan both laughed, and though Lada had been serious, she laughed, too. But watching the tiny life, she promised herself she would do exactly that for this little girl and every other Wallachian under her rule.
