The next morning, after breakfast, Cenric left with Nikolaj and Godric on a hunting trip. The vast forests surrounding the lake were reserved for royal use, and the game within had apparently grown fat and complacent in the months since the court had moved south for the summer.
As the clip-clopping of hooves faded from my position at the bridge gate, the household retreated. A stiffly polite lady-in-waiting had extended Danaë an invitation to the queen's Solar - but Danaë had declined, opting instead to take a walk through the grounds.
After all, she was the mistress.
It made sense to extend the courtesy - who would want to offend the neighboring monarch by insulting his woman?
But, that didn't mean her presence was actually wanted.
Besides, Danaë reasoned, the more time spent with them, the more time they had to realize who she actually was.
So, while the queen's court met in her quarters, Danaë strolled along the water's edge, followed at a distance by Osmund and Leofstan.
Breathing in the chill, autumn air, she pulled her cloak closer around her shoulders, surveying the vibrant golden gradient of the leaves on the trees.
Winter isn't far behind.
Farther south, in the Imperial City, the approach of the year's end had only been heralded by dryer weather and cooler air. This close to the mountains, the latter half of the calendar was a dire warning.
Death was coming, frigid and unforgiving.
Danaë had gotten a brief taste of it when an unseasonable snow shower had dusted the high road with white flakes. Suddenly, the phenomenon she'd read about in books was happening, falling from the sky, dancing on the icy wind.
And, as the initial whimsy of the moment faded, Danaë realized - I'm in danger.
People died of cold, died curled up, clutching their insufficient clothing as they froze in place, died as their shivering stopped and they became wretched statues, victims of the elements.
Danaë hated the cold.
Which is, of course, why you fled to the northernmost kingdom of the empire...
Shaking her head, she wondered why Cenric couldn't have lived along the southern coast.
Ahead, along the rock wall separating the grounds from the low, lapping waves, a small, slight woman hurried after two young girls, neither more than seven years old.
Danaë paused, watching the children racing along the stone path, their laughter ringing through the silence.
A strange pain shot through her, originating on the left side of her chest, under the ribs.
Swallowing, hard, she turned, intending to backtrack to a different path.
"Oh, forgive me, my Lady, I didn't intend to disturb you!"
The woman's strange accent called behind her, and Danaë assumed a mask of polite courtesy, "Please, don't trouble yourself - I'm only taking a walk-"
A sudden tug on her skirt stilled her words, and she looked down to see the younger of the two girls staring up at her.
"Are you King Cenric's woman?"
"Hanne!" The maid cried.
The girl's bright, blue eyes didn't waver, staring with the directness of unlettered youth.
Danaë paused for a moment, then curtsied, "I am Isolde, Baroness of Ravenswald; it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your Highness."
The little girl frowned, "How'd you know I'm a princess?"
Danaë fought back a grin, "You bear a strong resemblance to your father - it's the eyes."
Behind Hanne, the other little girl ran up, stopping short as she caught sight of Danaë.
Hanne turned, "Katja! It's the lady!"
Katja, older and likely more learned in the art of courtly manners than her sister, blanched.
Danaë curtsied again, "Your Highness." As she rose, she addressed both of them, "Forgive me for interrupting - I'll be on my way-"
"Why do you talk like that?" Hanne blurted.
"Hanne!" Katja scolded.
"What?" Hanne asked, "She doesn't talk like a northerner."
Oh, no...
"It's not proper to ask things like that!"
"It's alright," Danaë assured them, thinking quickly, "I actually spent a good deal of time in the south when I was younger - that's where I got my accent."
Hanne's eyes grew wide, "You've been to the south?"
Danaë nodded, "My mother's family lives near the Imperial City. We visited often."
Not wholly a lie...
The girl's voice was a whisper, "You've been to the Imperial City?"
Smiling, Danaë answered, "I have."
"Is it as big as they say it is?"
Lowering to a squat, Danaë met Hanne's curious stare, whispering, "There are balconies on the upper level of the Palace - I've stood on them, and from there, the city stretched as far as my eyes could see."
Hanne gasped, but it was Katja who asked, "You've been in the Palace?"
"Once or twice."
Her face grew grave, and she spoke, "Papa said it burned to ash - is that true?"
Burned? Would Maxson do such a thing?
A vision of the night she'd fled flashed through her mind, the harsh light of a hundred torches flickering across the stones.
"I don't know," she answered honestly, "I hope not."
"Girls!" The voice of the nursery maid called behind them, "I think we've taken up enough of the Lady's time."
"But I wanna hear about the City!" Hanne whined.
"Hush," the maid chided, "now, come along."
"But-"
"Or we could go straight back inside?"
"Fine."
Danaë curtsied again as the girls walked away.
As they disappeared around a bend in the path, a sharp pain emanated from her chest.
Will my daughters be as carefree?
She wasn't naive - she knew that there were consequences to sharing a bed with Cenric. And, even though his seed hadn't yet taken root in her womb, Danaë knew it was only a matter of time until her belly began growing with his child.
Their child.
Sudden tenderness washed over her, tinged with grief.
What kind of life would it have?
Any child of hers would automatically and without question be the next heir to the Empire.
Or whatever was left of it.
And, in the aftermath of Maxson's betrayal, that was a very dangerous position to be in.
A rush of protectiveness flooded her mind, and in an instant, Danaë knew she would do whatever she could to stand between her children and the dangers of the world.
Then, she shook her head, starting to walk again along the path.
This is ridiculous. I'm not even pregnant.
Her menses had come and gone at their regular interval, and none of the telltale signs of impending motherhood had happened yet.
Still, the lingering worry, the fear for the future, hung over her grey, and heavy, like the dreary Autumn sky.
The baying of hounds heralded their return.
Danaë hurried to a window, watching as the party rode in, triumphant, with the carcass of a massive boar as their trophy.
Smiling, she watched as Cenric dismounted his horse, then, as though he sensed her eyes on him, looked up to see her face in their chamber window.
A slow smirk graced his features, but, when Nikolaj clapped a hand on his back and directed him toward the hall, he glanced apologetically at Danaë and disappeared into the castle.
Danaë sighed, returning to the fireplace and the book she'd brought along.
But, as she sat down, a brief, courteous knock sounded on the outer door.
Standing, she crossed the room to open it, revealing the same polite lady-in-waiting from before.
"Oh, hello."
"My Lady," she curtsied, "Her Majesty wishes to inform you that afternoon services will be starting shortly in the chapel, if you would like to attend."
"Uh," Danaë thought for a moment, "yes - I'd love to."
There was a moment's pause, barely longer than a heartbeat, where the woman seemed displeased by her answer, but then it passed. "Very well. I'll have a maid come and escort you to-"
"Actually," Danaë interrupted, "if you'll just give me a moment, I can be ready now."
The woman seemed nonplussed, and Danaë quietly enjoyed the disruption in her stiff courtesy.
Stepping back inside their chambers, she closed her book and setting it away from the fire, returning to follow the woman through the sunlit halls, Osmund and Leofstan close behind them.
They stopped outside two large, open doors, pausing as Danaë dismissed her guards. Inside, the afternoon light streamed through intricate stained-glass windows, painting the walls and floor a brilliant array of colors.
As she cleansed her hands at the ritual font, Danaë recognized Nikolaj's queen kneeling on a finely woven prayer mat, surrounded by attendants and her two young daughters.
Danaë felt the weight as her eyes turned, surveying the newcomer. She curtsied, whispering a reverent, "Your Majesty," before stepping aside to claim a slightly less ornate mat further across the room.
Kneeling, Danaë breathed in the calming fragrance of incense, lowering her head in thanks - thanks for her safe journey and thanks for her continued protection.
Then, as she waited for the priest to begin the sermon, she sat up, admiring the small but beautifully adorned sanctum. Statues of the saints stood in shallow alcoves, and deceptively delicate stone pillars held up the high, vaulted ceiling.
And, of course, there were the windows; panes of colored glass fit together to paint vivid scenes-
-but not scenes that she knew.
Danaë had been versed in church lore since infancy, she could recite the gospel from memory, but nothing she'd heard or read matched with what she was seeing.
Except...
The tapestries.
The scenes in the glass matched with the tapestries hanging on the walls in Cenric's castle.
Scenes of the Old Religion...
A chill shivered over her skin as she realizedthat her god was not the only one that had been worshipped within these walls.