“Your certainty is misplaced,” Philipp snapped with a shake of his head. He began to pace once again. “If she could be healed, she would be healed by now.”
Charlotte bit her tongue to silence a sharp retort. Calm. Steady. If she began to screech, he would simply take the baby and go. “As I told you before, the magic within us is far more potent than the magic that comes from outside us. Something you do not know firsthand because you’ve never actually wielded your own magic.”
Red infused his cheeks. “As I told you, witches demand an exorbitant sum for such a service. Why save a sickly daughter with no future? No, far better for us to leave her in the forest, as fate intended. I will give you another baby. A healthy son.”
“I don’t want another baby,” she cried. “I want this one.”
“Why can’t you see the truth? I’m thinking only of our well-being,” he said, using his most cajoling tone as he strode over and knelt beside the bed. “Try to understand. Your brother is heartsick over the death of his queen and eldest son. Everyone agrees King Challen is no longer fit to rule Sevón. Your young nephew cannot take his place—Prince Roth isn’t old enough. No, I am what the kingdom needs. I can lead Sevón in addition to Fleur. If I’m saddled with a sickly child, I will appear weak. My enemies will feel confident enough to strike at long last. Our enemies. Do you wish to raise a child in a time of great war? Of course not. What good mother would? My way is best, my sweet. Trust me in this. Why tax your tired mind further?”
Reeling. So many insults, so many wrongs, all to make her feel foolish for refusing to back down. “My brother won’t allow you to rule his kingdom.” At sixteen, Challen had manifested battle magic. No one could defeat him now. “If you try, he’ll kill you and raze all of Fleur in retaliation.” She only wished she exaggerated.
Philipp traced his tongue over his teeth. “There is always a way. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day. It is a duty I cannot eschew. The needs and wants of many must come before the needs and wants of one.”
Why did his needs and wants always count as the majority, then?
Heart beating with more force, Charlotte searched for a response that would both appease him and change his mind. Her daughter’s very life was at stake. Finally she settled on, “Please, Philipp. Please summon a witch. Please give our daughter a chance to live. Just one chance. If you do, I’ll... I’ll...help you defeat Challen.” A desperate lie or a desperate truth? She wasn’t sure. She hardly knew her brother, but family was family. On the other hand, she’d meant what she’d said; she would do anything to save her daughter.
A muscle jumped in her husband’s jaw, a sign his volatile temper neared eruption. “The matter is closed. I’ll hear no more arguments about the baby. Say your goodbyes.”
Charlotte swallowed a whimper. “Summon another oracle, then.”
The muscle jumped faster. He sighed. “Why would I bother?”
Thinking fast, she said, “Because the royal oracle was a gift from Challen. She probably sensed your aspirations to rule Sevón.” Yes, yes. A play on Philipp’s greed. “What if she kept Ashleigh’s prophecy to herself to prevent our daughter from one day aiding your military successes?” Or your defeat...
“Now you are being ridiculous. Oracles cannot lie.” And yet, he pursed his lips, as if he was considering her words.
Not exactly bright, Husband? “The oracle remained silent. She didn’t lie, but she might not have admitted the truth, either.”
He narrowed his eyes, the gears in his mind churning at a faster speed.
Desperate, Charlotte pressed her advantage. “Will you risk your future on the silence of a single oracle? Why not find an unbiased one, just to be sure?”
This time, he nodded. “Very well. I will return shortly. If this oracle doesn’t see a fairy tale in the babe’s future, she goes to the forest with no more argument from you. Agree. Now.”
What else could she do? “I... I agree.”
After giving her another stiff nod, he stalked out the door.
The second his footsteps faded, Charlotte told the room’s other occupants, “Leave me. I wish to be alone with my baby. And close the door behind you. I’m not to be disturbed.”
As the midwife and healers scurried out, shutting the door as ordered, she shifted Ashleigh in her arms, resting the now-sleeping baby’s cheek upon her shoulder. Ignoring her aches and pains, she worked her legs over the side of the bed and lumbered to her feet, unsteady but determined.
With the first step, dizziness struck, and she almost toppled. Concern for her child kept her upright. Deep breath. She remained in place, giving her head time to clear. But all the while, her breasts leaked, wetting her nightgown, and a warm trickle of liquid ran down her legs. Blood? She didn’t care. Hurry. No telling when Philipp would return.
With no money of her own, Charlotte had to find a witch as desperate as she was, someone willing to accept little in exchange for a great infusion of power. And she knew just where to look...
Using a hidden passageway she’d discovered when Philipp snuck out of their room one night, Charlotte made her way down, down, down. The farther she went, the colder the air became. By the time she reached the royal dungeon, she was shivering and her teeth were chattering, goose bumps rising on her limbs.
What a horrid place. Crumbling walls lit by the occasional torch. Webs in every corner, insects unable to escape. The pitter-patter of rats accompanied a constant drip of water. This was where Philipp liked to lock away anyone who had wronged him. How many times had he bragged about the powerful witch he’d defeated in battle years ago?
What had the witch done wrong? Think, think. Murder? Theft? Had she merely insulted the king’s unending pride, like so many others? Though Charlotte racked her brain, the answer remained at bay. Did the woman’s crime really matter? If the witch agreed to share her magic with Ashleigh, Charlotte would agree to set her free, regardless of her past actions. A promise she had the means to ensure.
As a child, her father the king had beaten his two sons for any wrongdoing. Charlotte, however, he’d locked in small, dark spaces, a nightmare come to life. One day, her mother had secretly bought her a magic key able to open any lock. A key she still carried around her neck, just in case.
Charlotte readjusted Ashleigh to carefully cover her face with the wolf’s fur. Nerves on edge, she shuffled along a wide corridor. The scent of mold, waste, and decay hit faintly at first but soon grew overpowering, creating a fetid stench that stung her nostrils and watered her eyes. Down here, there was no hint of the bright sunshine and sweet perfume of rose that permeated the rest of the kingdom.
A strange clack, clack, clack registered. A chorus of pained moans followed, becoming louder and louder only to quiet when she turned a corner and came upon the occupied cells. Haggard, emaciated prisoners hobbled to the bars.