Princess of the Black Death | ✔️

Chapter XL

For a few days, Joan sank into a fantasy life of a simple peasant girl living in a quaint village. No one spoke of the plague or her impending marriage. Life was just taken day by day.

She had to do more physical labour than she had ever dreamed of, but she felt accomplished helping make her own food and clean up for herself. Her simple dresses over a shift was easy enough for her to dress herself. She laughed at that. Most of her gowns her whole life required someone else to button or tie her into them or they were so heavy she couldn't lift them over her head. She hadn't even put on her own hose before. It was so freeing to take care of herself instead of a fancy doll to be dressed up and shown off.

The days were tough, but there was still time on occasion to ride their horses when the horses weren't needed for field work.

"People out here don't ride for leisure, they ride to tend to their fields. This farmer has been kind to us, so if he needs to use the horses for work, then the horses must work first," John explained.

"I know the feeling!" Joan said. "But even wary horses need to run for fun sometimes."

So even for brief trots, Joan got to ride a horse. Being in the country, isolated from society, unbound from propriety, she was free for the first time in her life.

When she wasn't helping her hosts with their daily chores, she was kissing John when they stole a moment alone. The farmer and his wife would likely not stop them if they wanted to kiss more openly, but John said it wasn't appropriate for an unmarried couple to share any affection.

"Then why do you kiss me at all?" Joan asked one evening after their hosts went to bed.

"Because I like to, and I know I won't be able to for long. You must keep your pure reputation when we are sent word we can leave Loremo," he said.

Joan looked outside into the field, seeing no civilization beyond the trees. "What if I don't want to leave?" she asked.

"You can't avoid your destiny, your highness," John said. He wrapped his arm around her. She knew he was right, but for a moment she didn't feel like a princess with an obligation.

"Say my name," she said.

"Joan. My darling Joan." He kissed her again before he told her the hour was late, and it was time for sleep.

Their utopia was brief.

Death had marked her as she lifted up the next morning her skirts to wash and felt the telltale boils on her inner thighs. Her hand reached down to touch one, the skin sore and darkened, but it was undeniable what it meant.

Her instinct was to hide them by covering herself back up and telling no one. Her first thoughts were of shame and of not wanting to worry John. It wasn't until a couple of hours that she started to feel dizzier and unable to stand that her mind started to grasp what was truly happening. She wanted to tuck away the boils and pretend they didn't exist, but even if she hid the external signs, the malignancy was already deep inside her.

It was more than an embarrassment that she developed these lumps. She was a princess of a powerful king. She was destined to be married and become a queen someday. Her life was planned out. This wasn't supposed to happen to her.

Despite pretending nothing was wrong, it quickly made her dizzy and her knees too weak to stand. She braced herself against a wall.

"I need to lie down," Joan said in the late morning.

John jumped up. "How are you feeling?"

"Not well," Joan said. She entered her small room and shut the door behind her.