Evelyn called out for the palace staff, and within moments, midwives arrived, their faces tense with concern. They quickly surrounded Margret, helping her into the palace and guiding her toward the delivery chambers. The air in the hallway was thick with anticipation and dread, the weight of the moment pressing down on them all.
"Please, calm down, Your Grace," one of the midwives said softly, her voice gentle as she assisted Margret. "We'll take care of you."
But Margret's breath came in sharp gasps, her body trembling with each contraction. She reached for Evelyn's hand, clutching it tightly as her face twisted in pain. "I... I can't… I don't want this… not now…"
Evelyn leaned over her, her voice steady despite the rising panic. "You're going to be okay. We'll get through this. Just breathe, Margret."
But as they entered the delivery room, it became clear that this would not be an easy birth. Margret collapsed onto the bed, the midwives immediately taking charge, trying to calm her as they prepared for the worst. The room was filled with the sounds of frantic whispers and hurried movements, the midwives working quickly to assess the situation.
"It's too early for this," one of the midwives muttered under her breath, her hands trembling as she examined Margret.
Margret's cries rang out, sharp and painful, as the blood continued to flow. The room seemed to spin around Evelyn, the reality of what was happening sinking in. The child—was it too soon? Would it survive?
Evelyn couldn't think of anything but the mother's pain. She squeezed Margret's hand tighter, offering what comfort she could. "You're so strong. You're going to make it through this," she whispered, her voice full of conviction. But deep inside, Evelyn feared that everything was slipping away.
Kaelen, meanwhile, remained in the shadows, watching the scene unfold with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. He had orchestrated everything with careful precision, and now, it seemed, the time for his plans to unfold was rapidly approaching. As Margret lay on the brink of life and death, his path to power was just beginning to clear.
*******
"Your Majesty, push just a little more," one of the midwives urged, her voice trembling. "The baby is coming."
The queen, drenched in sweat, gripped the sides of the bed. Pain tore through her in relentless waves, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She was exhausted—more than exhausted—but there was no stopping now.
"I... I can't..." she choked out, her body shaking.
"You can," another midwife said firmly, pressing a cool cloth to the queen's burning forehead. "The prince is almost here. Just one more push."
With a desperate cry, the queen gathered what little strength she had left and bore down. A sharp, sickening sensation tore through her, followed by an eerie silence.
Then, at last, the child emerged.
The midwife caught the baby in steady hands, but something was wrong. The room, once filled with frantic movement, stilled as they took in the sight of the newborn.
A boy—yes—but his skin was unnervingly pale, almost translucent. His tiny limbs twisted unnaturally, his cries thin and reedy instead of the strong wail of a healthy child.
"Your Majesty," one of the midwives whispered, her voice laced with dread. "The child... he is not well."
The queen's stomach turned to stone. She looked at her son—her heir—and felt an ice-cold wave of grief crash over her.
"No," she gasped, shaking her head violently. "No, this can't be happening..."
But fate wasn't finished with her yet. Another sharp pain shot through her, stealing her breath.
"Another child?" a maid murmured in shock.
The queen barely heard her. Fresh agony overtook her, and through clenched teeth, she forced out a command.
"Leave. All of you—out," she rasped. "Everyone except my daughter and Lady Evelyn."
The midwives hesitated, glancing at one another, but the queen's fierce gaze left no room for argument. One by one, they hurried from the chamber, leaving only her eldest daughter—a girl of nine—and her trusted lady-in-waiting.
The queen barely had a moment to collect herself before the next contraction hit. She braced against the bed, fingers digging into the sheets as she gave one final, bone-deep push.
Another child was born.
A girl.
Silence stretched between them. The baby let out a small, fragile cry, her tiny body trembling in the cool air.
The queen stared down at her newborn daughter, her chest tightening—not with love, but with something much darker.
This was not the heir the kingdom needed.
She swallowed hard and turned to her firstborn, who stood quietly at her side, watching everything unfold with too much understanding for a child her age.
"You must carry the burden now," the queen murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
The girl didn't speak, didn't cry—just gave a small, solemn nod. She already knew.
The queen's fate was sealed.
*********
Kaelen paced outside the chambers, his hands clenched tightly behind his back. The tension in the air was suffocating, and his impatience grew with each passing second. His sharp ears caught the occasional muffled cries of pain from inside, but still, no one emerged to give him the news he so desperately craved.
A midwife finally stepped out, her face pale and strained, followed by the others. Kaelen was on her in an instant. "The gender. What is the gender of the child?" His voice was sharp, his words quick, as though the answer might determine his entire future—because it did.
The midwife hesitated, glancing nervously at the others. "Your Grace… the queen ordered us out of the room. Only Lady Evelyn and the eldest princess remain inside."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed, his face darkening with suspicion. "She what?" he demanded. "Why would she do that?"
"I-I don't know, my lord," the midwife stammered. "She insisted."
Kaelen's mind raced, his stomach twisting into knots. Why would Margret send everyone out? Was she hiding something? Was the child even alive? His thoughts spiraled, and the longer he waited, the more his paranoia grew.
He clenched his jaw. Enough waiting.
Kaelen pushed past the midwives and strode toward the chamber doors, throwing them open with a force that sent them banging against the walls. The sight before him brought him to an abrupt halt.
Margret lay on the bed, her face pale and drenched with sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead. She looked utterly spent, her body slack against the pillows, but the moment her eyes met his, they widened with fear.
Kaelen's gaze darted around the room. It was empty—no sign of Evelyn, the princess, or the newborn. He took a step closer, his sharp eyes scanning every corner. "Where is the child, Margret?" His voice was low and dangerous.
Margret's breathing was shallow, her expression guarded. "Why are you so eager to see the baby, Kaelen?" she asked, her voice hoarse but defiant.
His patience snapped. "Enough games! Tell me what the child is—a boy or a girl?"
Margret stared at him, her fear melting into something else. Something fierce. Slowly, she sat up, bracing herself against the pillows despite the pain that wracked her body. "You want to know?" she said, her voice gaining strength. "Fine. I gave birth to your greatest fear, Kaelen. I've given this palace a male heir."
Her words struck him like a physical blow. His eyes widened, his carefully composed mask cracking to reveal the terror underneath. "You're lying," he hissed, his voice trembling. "Don't play games with me, Margret. Where is the baby?"
Margret's lips curved into a faint, almost defiant smile. "You don't believe me? Then see for yourself."
With deliberate slowness, she reached beneath the blanket and pulled out a small, swaddled form. Kaelen froze as she removed the cloth, revealing the infant's tiny, pale body. His heart thundered in his chest as his eyes roamed over the boy The child's imperfections didn't matter. What mattered was the undeniable truth staring him in the face.
It was a boy.
Kaelen staggered back, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. The world seemed to tilt, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.
Margret's voice broke through his haze, strong and resolute. "I have given birth to the heir of this palace. Your nightmare has become reality, Kaelen."
Kaelen's terror turned to rage. "No!" he roared, his voice echoing off the walls. "This cannot be! That… that thing cannot be king!"
Margret's gaze didn't waver. She clutched her son protectively, her arms cradling him as though shielding him from Kaelen's fury. "He is your future king, Kaelen," she said, her voice calm despite the storm brewing in his eyes. "You cannot change that."
Kaelen's fists clenched at his sides, his mind racing. He needed to act quickly. If this child lived, his plans would be ruined. The power he had worked so hard to seize would slip through his fingers.
But Margret saw the panic in his eyes, and her defiance only grew. She knew what he was thinking, and she wouldn't let him win. Not this time.
Kaelen took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. "If you think this changes anything, Margret, you're a fool," he spat. "That boy won't live long enough to wear the crown."
Margret's grip on her son tightened, her heart pounding with both fear and determination. "You'll have to kill me first," she said, her voice steady. "And even then, you'll never succeed. The kingdom will rise against you, Kaelen. You'll never be king."
For a moment, they stared at each other, the tension between them thick and suffocating. Kaelen's mind raced with plans and possibilities, but for the first time, he felt the weight of true fear pressing down on him. Margret had just changed the game, and he wasn't sure if he could win anymore.
Without another word, Kaelen turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, his fury barely contained. But as he left, one thing was clear: the battle for the throne had just begun. And Margret wasn't going down without a fight.