A few months into his new life, Oskar was enjoying another feeding session from Patricia’s bountiful breasts when Simon entered the nursery.
“How are our sons?” Simon asked.
“Very hungry,” Patricia said. She rubbed Oskar’s head. “Oskar’s hair is starting to grow in. I wonder if he will be witch stock like Pyotr.” Pyotr’s blond hair was already thick and full, indicating that he would have magical abilities. Simon walked over to his wife. When he saw the fuzz on Oskar’s head, he paled.
“Patricia, Oskar’s hair is red,” he whispered. Patricia looked down at the suckling babe. She gasped softly.
“How did I not realize that?” she said.
“He must be either the former King’s son or the former Prince’s son,” Simon said. “The only people with that color of hair are directly in line for the throne.”
“One of the King’s concubines or Prince’s concubines must have hid him in our wagon to save him from the rebels taking over the castle,” Patricia said. “I heard that all redheaded children in the Royal Nursery were…disposed of.” Upon hearing how close he had been to death, Oskar promptly wet his diaper. He let go of Patricia’s nipple and began to cry. “Oh, Oskar, it is okay,” Patricia said soothingly. She guided Oskar’s mouth back to her nipple. Oskar latched on again and suckled, desperately seeking comfort.
“What are we to do?” Simon asked. Patricia frowned thoughtfully.
“For now, I will make his hair black like yours,” she said. She passed a hand over Oskar’s head, turning his thin layer of fuzz from red to black. “That will keep him safe from anyone who sides with the rebels.”
“That will work in the short term,” Simon said. “We need a long term plan, however. We cannot just raise a prince. …Can we?”