Nighttime’s cool whisper of a breeze came as a blessing from the heavens, cooling the sweat on the olive brow of her majesty the Queen. All throughout the day she’d labored, trying to bring her child into the world. The Queen’s maids had been running to and fro with water and all manners of medical equipment, but now solemnly stood with their backs facing the tapestries on the walls. It was not because the Queen had given up, it was because the labor was over. A doctor had not yet returned with the child to say its sex, or even to say if it had survived such a troubled birth.
Dark brown and red swirls of lank hair hung in tendrils on the Queen’s face. Cold beads of sweat clung to her skin like glistening diaphanous pearls, chilled by the breath of night. Although she was exhausted and couldn’t dream of moving the Queen was a proud creature, propping herself up on the royal bed, head resting on the wood carving of a lion’s regal visage. The door had been opened with a heavy unwavering bang and the Queen locked her light blue eyes on the doctor cradling her child in unemotional arms.
“Tell me foremost, is it a male heir?” the Queen asked, narrow face strained. “I must know if I have bore a male heir.”
Bowing slightly in her majesty’s presence, the doctor took his place beside the bed. “No your majesty, the infant is female.”
Swallowing disappointment the Queen asked again, “So it was indeed born alive?” Her nerves had been shaken, for she could hear no cries coming from the bundle wrapped in the doctor’s arms. As with all men of science she found him impossible to read, and after all day of labor was gasping for a straight answer. “This baby girl, she was not stillborn?”
In response the doctor stooped low and placed the bundle of blankets in the Queen’s open arms. Her eyes came to rest on the small pinched face of a baby girl. Her baby girl. An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach because as she longingly gazed at her daughter, her daughter gazed back at her with the deepest eyes the Queen had ever seen. The infant’s eyes were wide open and regarding her mother like an artist examining a freshly finished painting. And the moment her majesty tried to name the color of her eyes they seemed to glint another shade, first green, then grey, and lastly blue. The baby girl blinked and wrinkled her nose, tickled by the loose threads of the cloth she was enveloped in. But she did not cry, remaining serious in disposition.
“Aye your majesty,” said one of the younger maids, a girl from Ireland, “that be one of the solemnest babes I’ve ever seen.”
Instead of replying to the naïve girl’s comment the Queen shooed the doctor away, assuring to bring the King in and let the handmaids out. In the quiet of the room, the Queen and baby stared at one another- feeling as equals. Such a strange child, the Queen thought, she’ll grow into quite a strange princess.
Opening both of the large double doors as he entered in a sweep of a thick velvet cloak, the King hurried to his wife’s bedside. Sitting on the mattress he moved closer and kissed the Queen on the forehead, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “It is a girl I’ve been told.” He said as he ran his hands through the Queen’s damp hair. How exhausted and lovely she looked right then, holding their child. “She’s beautiful, just like her mother. Now we can’t have an unnamed daughter can we?”
With a warm smile he looked from his daughter to his wife and wondered if she knew of a name she favored. They’d both believed the midwife when they’d been told that the child would be born male, the names that had been chosen were all for boys.
“My mother always loved the name Lustro- it means fire.” The Queen said with a sigh. "She could go by Ro, Princess Ro Rying..."
“Yes and your mother was a gypsy.” The King stated darkly. “Should we give the new princess a name chosen by a gypsy? She looks far enough from us to start rumors if she had such a name.”
“The Queen’s name is a Roma name as well, should we change that too? I was also raised a gypsy, and it seems that it did not stop me from being successful.” The Queen said through her teeth, knowing the King would fold for her at the remark of her own name.
“Mirela please,” The King said as he watched the baby squirm in the blankets. “She’s an odd child- her eyes are dark and knowing beyond our own years. That hair has a tinge of red to it. If we have a daughter that looks like neither of us and with a gypsy-given name, well, people will begin to talk.”
“Let them talk.” In the Queen’s arms their daughter made a sound of indignation, as if telling her father ‘people will talk regardless.’ Her big dark eyes squinted at her parents, face scrunched as if about to wail. The infant sneezed, surprised at the sudden outburst.
“She is a different type of girl.” The King said seriously, rubbing a hand through his dark beard as if a bug was itching inside it. “Very different, she’ll have to be watched.”
“Lustro will have to be watched.” Her mother said, running her thumb across the girl’s brow. Lustro looked at them stonily in a glimpse of blue, green, and grey, eyes glinting like iridescent dragon scales. “Lustro will grow up normal, if I can help it. I’ll make sure of it. James and Jasper will keep watch over her and help her stay on the proper path.”
As if these words meant something much deeper to her, Lustro pinched her tiny face and let out a cry for the first time.
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