The Dragon Prince

by Patty Jansen

  Roald came to stand behind her, reaching for her belly from behind. His hands were always cold.

  “You can feel the child move,” she said. She placed his hand on her skin.

  They stood like that for a while. Roald’s beard tickled her shoulder.

  Then he called out, “Yes!” He laughed. “I can feel it!”

  He pulled her to the bed, where she took off his coat and his shirt and undershirt. He was not half as pale as she was, which didn’t surprise her, given that he spent so much time in the sun in the reed beds with his sleeves and trousers rolled up. He was still very thin and his chest hairless.

  She undid his belt and pulled off his trousers while he lay on his back.

  They went through the usual routine. She sat on top and impaled herself on him. It was very sensitive, and to be honest, not very pleasant. He was bumping and tossing her around and she tried to keep in a position where his thrusts inside her would not hit any painful spots, never mind finding pleasure herself. That hadn’t happened for a long time, and trying to explain to him what she wanted was a waste of time.

  The whole thing was made less pleasant because for some reason he’d started taking much longer to reach his release.

  Johanna worried about that. At the quayside, she sometimes heard the crude jokes men made about the prowess—or lack of it—of the powerful noblemen. The inability of older men to “do the job” was apparently a given.

  Had that already started?

  Was it something she had done or that she had allowed him to eat? Did it mean that he would never father a child?

  Afterwards, when Roald had gone to sleep, Johanna lay awake, staring towards the ceiling hidden by darkness. As usual at this time of the day, the child cavorted around inside her belly. It was growing. She dreaded what the king’s council would say when she turned up for a meeting when her condition was obvious.

  They’d be offended. They’d tell her that they couldn’t possibly have a meeting like this.

  Johan Delacoeur would rule, and her idea to get the surrounding countries to invest in the harbour would never happen.

  He’d tell Li Han that he couldn’t have the office.

  The Baron would continue to try to get his hands on the city.

  Or the Belaman Church.

  Li Han would leave, and Johanna would never set foot aboard the iron ship. Li Fai would leave, too, and take his ships to Anglia.

  Chapter 6

  * * *

  IT WAS NOT a good morning. Johanna woke up feeling ill and things did not get better from there.

  She had been told that the sickness only happened at the time that one could not yet tell that a woman was with child, but her body clearly had different ideas.

  The tea she’d had for breakfast made a reappearance, and then she was hungry and ate some bread, but that didn’t go down too well either.

  Feeling listless and ill, she retired to the couch in the living room where Father came to keep her company.

  As usual, he had needed to think about an idea before he formed an opinion on it, but his opinion had formed in favour of Johanna’s plan. In fact, he’d already drafted a letter to be sent to each of the royal houses in the area, and he had come to show it to her.

  He had plans, too. “King Leopold of Burovia has a lot of money and is not averse to trying new things as long as we can show clearly what his benefit will be, so I will draw up a table of returns on investment based on estimates of warehouse hire and mooring fees. I expect to be able to give a positive return after about five years. And that isn’t counting any tariffs and trade levies of goods sold. We might even get this grumpypot of a Baron Uti to invest in the seaport because, without it, he’ll have to import through Lurezia and he’s not a friend of the Lurezian court. I very much doubt that, given the choice, he wants to fight over access to Saardam. Most wise rulers try to limit the number of wars they get involved in. Say what you want about Baron Uti, but he’s not dumb.”

  It was worth trying to get him to invest, Johanna thought, although fighting seemed very much in Baron Uti’s arsenal. If King Leopold would commit to making an investment, that would forge a bond between him and the Carmine House. In turn, Baron Uti would not attack something that his cousin King Leopold was involved in.

  Father said, “The support of Estland is pretty much a given because of strong ties between the royal houses, and I don’t think Lurezia would hesitate to invest either. They are not averse to trying new things, especially if they don’t have to send people.”

  Ultimately, all of the landlocked countries in the east depended on imported goods coming in through Saardam.

  Trying to make an attractive proposition to the foreign companies and countries that hoped to sell through the port was a bit trickier. Phoenicia and Anglia could easily go elsewhere, so it was all about premium customers for their produce, about quick unloading and fair quay tariffs.

  Father understood what made the captains happy. He proposed preferential unloading treatment and warehouse space in return for the investment.

  “For example, Anglia and Phoenicia could each own a warehouse. They would pay for rebuilding that warehouse and in return they would never have to pay storage fees.”

  That was a scary prospect. Storage fees had always an important source of income for the city.

  The idea of foreign countries owning buildings in Saardam was both exhilarating and scary. The name Anglia struck fear in the hearts of many Saarlanders. In the past, conflicts on land had been fought with places in the east. Baron Uti usually had something to do with it. The conflicts at sea were usually fought with King William of Anglia, who had been in power for longer than Johanna had been alive. He had a vastly superior seafaring fleet and was in the process of mapping out all the unknown lands.

  If Li Fai made his office in Saardam, and if he was tied to Saardam because he owned the warehouse, the people of the city would eventually have iron ships. If Li Fai was driven out of Saardam by ignorant men “because he had dragon magic,” then he might well go to Anglia and would ply his dragon magic there. If that happened, King William might well be the next ruler trying to overthrow the weak royal family of Saardam with the help of eastern magic.

  Johanna and Father agreed on many things, and neither of them needed to mention the looming uncertainty hanging over this plan: without Roald’s support or understanding, how were they going to get this plan past the King’s Council?

  While Johanna and Father sat talking, the palace guard she had sent to check the Lady Sara came in.

  “We can’t see much damage to your ship, Your Majesty,” he said. “The intruder had a torch but most likely he used it for light.”

  “Was anything stolen?”

  “Not that we can tell. Most valuable items were removed from the hold when the ship first returned.” Carpenters had removed the temporary stairs and the old furniture that made up the makeshift room where Johanna and Roald had lived when the ship had lain moored at the riverbank in Florisheim. The Lady Sara had gone back from being a houseboat to a river sloop.

  She asked, “Was the intruder perhaps a pauper, looking for a dry place to sleep?”

  “We can only guess until we can question the man.”

  And that required knowing who he was and where he was.

  Father said, “Look, if there is no damage to the ship, it’s not worth worrying about. For all we know, it was a sailor looking at the sky longing for his sweetheart in some faraway town and then getting nervous when he was disturbed in a place he shouldn’t have been.”

  Johanna’s sickness subsided after some sweet cakes and tea. Father said he was going to see the mayor to talk about their plan. Apart from Master Deim, he was the person most likely to support it.

  Johanna went in search of Roald.

  She found Nellie instead, setting the table for the midday meal.

  “Whatever did you do to your brown dress, Mistress Johanna?”

  “It split while I was at
church.” That seemed such a long time ago and seemed such a trivial thing to worry about.

  “I told you that it was too tight. It is getting really scandalous. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked the modiste to come. She will be here this afternoon. I apologise for the very short notice, but I’ve waited long enough. I will not have the dresses fall off you while you’re in town.”

  Johanna sighed and let her shoulders slump. Nellie was right, of course.

  “Do go and see her,” Nellie said, her voice stern.

  Johanna nodded.

  She went to the room she used as her office, sat down and with a heavy heart wrote an announcement for the town crier.

  To the citizens of Saarland: King Roald and Queen Johanna Carmine de Lacoeur van Leeuwen Brouwer announce the impending birth of the first heir to the throne, expected at the end of August. The Queen intends to keep fulfilling her duties to the people of Saardam.

  There.

  She debated adding for as long as possible, but that would be dishonest. She had no intention of giving up her position, ever.

  She cringed when she rolled up the parchment and sealed the paper. There was no avoiding it.

  Once the modiste came in, the news would spread like wildfire anyway. There was a King’s Council meeting tomorrow. It was best that she announce the news rather than that the men hear it in some other way.

  Johanna gave the roll of parchment to the guard station in the foyer and went to the dining room.

  Roald had come in for the midday meal. He sat at his usual spot at the head of the table. His cheeks were red from sunburn and his jacket was probably still in the garden.

  Johanna sat opposite him. “Did you see anything special in the garden today?”

  “Lots of frog eggs. There are so many frogs! They’re very hard to catch.”

  But clearly that hadn’t stopped him trying. “You have duckweed in your hair.”

  “Oh?” He ruffled his hair, making it more dishevelled than it already was. The duckweed fell onto his plate. He blew it onto the white tablecloth while the maid came to ladle soup into the plates.

  “I want to get ducks for the garden. They eat grass so the gardener won’t have to cut the grass anymore.”

  “But they poo everywhere.”

  “That’s good for the grass. I want to have chickens, too, and I have to grow carrots. They are good for your skin.”

  Johanna had intended to raise the subject of the foreign investment with him once again. He would have to sign any plan that she and Father made, and she wanted him to understand. He’d said he liked the idea. Why couldn’t he just sign the document and let her do whatever needed to be done? But sadly, that was not how Roald worked. Once he got an idea into his head, he was unlikely to listen to anything else.

  And frankly, his enthusiasm for the garden was infectious.

  A vegetable garden would be nice, Johanna agreed. The queen’s rose garden had always struck her as frivolous. Roald could grow carrots, and at harvest, she’d ask the cook to make a lot of carrot and potato soup and hand it out to the poorest citizens. He could grow cabbages, too and they could make cabbage pots and hand those out to poor people in winter.

  Roald said he knew exactly how to make cabbage pots, how much vinegar and how much water to use. She suspected he had learned this at the Guentherite farm.

  As usual, talking to Roald never failed to take her mind off problems.

  Sitting here, with the sunlight streaming in through the window, with a view into the garden that was bright green from spring growth, it was easy to forget how precarious the Carmine House’s position was.

  It was such a nice day that Johanna followed Roald into the garden after the meal. He chatted endlessly about where he wanted to keep the ducks and the chickens, and where he wanted the carrot bed.

  “And we can grow beans over there. No parsnips. I don’t like parsnips. I’m the king. If I don’t like parsnips, I can just not grow them.”

  Johanna eyed the empty middle of the old garden. “What shall we do with the fountain?”

  When the bandits had removed the statue of the Triune that used to stand on a pedestal in the middle of the pond, they had broken the basin. The water was all gone, and the bottom was covered in dead leaves. Weeds grew in the cracks.

  “We can fix it. We can keep fish, and the ducks will have somewhere to swim!”

  “What about the statue?”

  He frowned.

  “The statue of the Triune that used to sit in the middle.”

  “The church can keep it.”

  “We can have a new one made.”

  “No. I don’t like the faces on those heads.”

  The shepherd at church often asked her when the king would come to the evening service. After all, King Nicholaos used to come every day. Johanna usually made a vague reply. In truth she didn’t know what Roald thought of his father’s obsession with the church. She had tried to keep him away from the subject and never asked him to come. If Rinius was his hero, he would not care for the church. Rinius cared little for religion, and had paid a heavy price for expressing those views openly. Roald could get into a lot of trouble.

  It was with a heavy heart that Johanna watched Nellie coming into the garden to announce that the modiste had arrived and was waiting in the Red Room. Back to playing games.

  Mistress Daphne had left town or had been killed—no one was sure which. Apparently the modiste where the royal family bought their clothing, even before the fires, was Mistress Dina.

  She sat in the Red Room, where the servants had put the two makeshift thrones against the back wall, removed the chairs for the King’s Council and replaced those with the couches that normally stood in this room when there was no meeting.

  Mistress Dina sat on one of the couches, her basket on the floor next to her. She came from Saardam—no exotic accents this time—and she was a good bit older than Mistress Daphne had been, with her grey hair tied back from her head in a bun.

  She rose when Johanna entered and dipped into a curtsy. “You Majesty. I’m your humble servant.”

  “Good afternoon, Mistress Dina. Do sit down.” Oh, how she hated it when people simpered.

  Mistress Dina sat, one hand on each knee in perfect symmetry. She looked up at Johanna like a dog waiting for her to throw a stick.

  “I seem to be in need of some dresses.” Johanna dropped the cape revealing the house dress that she wore underneath, a plain garment that had no laced bodice or anything that hid the rounding in her stomach.

  Mistress Dina’s eyes widened. “Oh. Your Majesty. Congratulations!”

  “Thank you. Unfortunately, I have a problem. None of my current dresses fit me anymore.”

  “I understand. I will be most happy to help you. When will we have an heir to the throne?”

  “At the end of August.”

  “That is so soon already.”

  “I have nothing decent to wear when I go out, so I will need something quickly.”

  “You’re lucky. There have been many women in your situation. I might have just the thing.”

  Mistress Dina put her basket on the couch and started taking items out. Johanna thought back to the time that Mistress Daphne had come with her giant boxes that contained hideously frilled evening dresses. For some reason, she wanted something bold and colourful and outrageous like Mistress Daphne would propose.

  But the samples that Mistress Dina put on the couch were all dark-coloured, heavy material. And then she dug up a larger bundle of material. “I have one dress here that I can adapt quickly so that you can have something to wear while I make the other ones.”

  She helped Johanna out of her housedress. The servants had been so thoughtful to carry the mirror from the bedroom. Johanna glanced at herself in her underdress. The bulge in her stomach was really very obvious. She put her hand on the top of its firm roundness.

  “Look at you,” Mistress Dina said. “When Nellie called me, I had a suspicion, but you
certainly have been clever in hiding it this long.” She helped Johanna into the dress she had brought. Is was dark grey and made from heavy fabric.

  The sleeves came all the way down to her wrists and the bodice buttoned up right up to her chin. Instead of at the waist, the skirt went all the way up to just under her breasts.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. The fabric was so heavy and thick that the folds hid the curve in her stomach. Johanna pulled the fabric around her so that it drew taut around her front.

  “Yes, the dress hides it very discretely.”

  Yet it was very obviously a type of dress that would only be worn by a woman with child. Johanna wasn’t sure that now she announced it officially, she wanted to hide it discretely. She’d want Mistress Daphne to design something outrageous in bright pink with a huge frilly bow, or something ridiculous.

  “It’s going to be summer. I’ll be so hot in this dress,” Johanna protested.

  “Well, you can’t wear any of those Lurezian flimsy gowns. Imagine, in some of those, people can see right in between here.” She held her hand over her bosom. “You are already quite heavy in the bosom. You do not want men staring at the rounding of your bust or your stomach. You want a dress that covers all the indecent bits. It’s not meant to be flattering. Mind you, you will have no waist so being flattering is nigh impossible.”

  No, indeed. Johanna stared at herself in the mirror, dismayed at the dreadful dress. Was this what she was going to have to wear for the next few months?

  Mistress Dina made her stand with her arms wide while she measured and scribbled on her slate. Then, with all the measurements taken, she told Johanna to keep the dress on.

  “It’s a bit wide in the shoulders. I will fix it later, but it’s almost church time and you can’t possibly turn up to church in your house dress.”

  Johanna looked wistfully at the dress draped over the back of the couch and again at herself in the mirror. The dress was a horrible, shapeless thing. She looked as if she were going to a funeral. Even her dark red cape was going to be outrageously colourful compared to this thing.