An Accidental Queen

Chapter 18

Jawhara

I HAVE OFTEN WONDERED why my life unravelled the way it did, like loosening strands of a once beautiful baldachin curtain. At once beautiful, everything had fallen apart.

My childhood was not unhappy. Of course, each passing year brought both triumphs and disappointments, but such is the nature of life. Though my mother perished in childbirth, my baba was an honourable man who travelled across Iberia trading silk with Christian and Jewish merchants.

As was customary, my baba married two other women—Fathuna and Bahja, the latter of whom was also my mother's eldest sister—and provided a comfortable home for us in the heart of Granada, where I spent hours preparing sweet honey cakes and Baba's favourite Andalusian dishes like tarida.

Like the famous princess Wallāda Bint al-Mustakfi, Bahja hosted literary salons on our expansive patio, inviting the most brilliant mathematicians and writers and philosophers in all of Granada to share their knowledge with our growing family.

Unlike most girls my age, I was given the freedom to explore the vibrant bazaars with my brothers—spending many days weaving through the market stalls and mud-ridden streets until the moon rose over the starry horizon. I grew strong as I explored the rugged cliffs and mountaintops that surrounded our home with my siblings.

I also enjoyed the good reputation of my father. Whenever I bartered for spices and fabrics in the market, I was given the best price with vendors recognizing my status as the daughter of a benevolent and noble man.

I thought about my childhood as I held the next King of France in my arms.

My mistress—the dauphine—had spent countless hours in the throes of labour, her wails filling the royal bed chamber like the keening of a wild animal. After almost a year of waiting, an heir had finally been sired, eliciting a unanimous feeling of relief among the court.

It was a miracle such a beautiful thing could come from such pain.

The small prince's eyes shuddered open when he felt the smooth silk of my robe, his mouth latching around my finger as he searched for milk.

For a sliver of a moment, I imagined what it would be like to have a child of my own. I had not thought of such a thing since I was young. Though I had once been betrothed to a good young man—another merchant's son with eyes the colour of gold—I had long since forgotten my dreams of motherhood. I had reached my twenty-ninth year with my marriageable years far behind me. Besides, I did not know if my womb was even capable of carrying a baby.

Tears thickened at my eyelashes, but I wiped them away hastily, hoping the nursemaids milling about the royal nursery had not noticed my emotional display.

I had promised the dauphine I would simply find her son and ensure his safety since she was not permitted to leave her canopied bed until the physician declared her able.

"Why is the Moorish harlot holding the King's grandson?" A masculine voice arrested me.

Swiftly, I placed Louis back into his cradle.

Since I had been plunged into the French court, I had heard many crude words spoken about me, often decrying my heritage and former position as a slave. Perhaps they still believed I was a slave and not an official member of the dauphine's ladies, even though I had been given that role by the dauphin himself.

Regardless, I kept my head low and did not engage in the gossip and treachery that swirled throughout the castle's passages. Nor did I speak of my personal opinions. I had learned early on that speaking one's mind had severe consequences.