crownfire

Paint swatches hung crooked on the wall—soft lilac, pale yellow, mint green—all pinned up weeks ago and never finalized. Half-assembled furniture crowded the room. A half-drunk cup of peppermint tea sat forgotten on the windowsill, long since gone cold. But none of it mattered. Not right now.

Because in the next room, you were breathing like the world was inside you—and it was.

Two knelt beside you on the bedroom floor, his fingers laced with yours, his forehead brushing your damp shoulder as your back pressed against his chest. The contractions had been coming steady for hours, but this—this was different. Your body was trembling, legs shaking with pressure, and your breath came out in long, slow moans as another wave overtook you.

“Almost there,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. “You’re doing so good.”

You didn’t answer—just groaned low and deep, rocking your hips forward instinctively on your knees, your palms braced on the edge of the bed. You were wearing one of his old T-shirts, oversized and soft, clinging to you now with sweat and tension. He could feel your body pulsing beneath his arms, belly taut and straining, the baby moving lower with every contraction.

Two pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’ve never loved you more than I do right now,” he said, voice thick. “I want you to know that.”

You laughed, just a little, breathless. “You say that… every hour.”

“I mean it every time.”

Your next cry cut through the dim light of the bedroom. It was sharp—raw. A sound that made his throat close. You curled forward with the contraction, groaning from deep inside your chest, your body straining downward.

He rubbed your back slowly, grounding you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You can do this. I’m right here.”

When it passed, you slumped back against him, your body going limp for a moment in his arms. “I’m scared,” you admitted, voice cracking. “It’s—so much.”

“I know,” Two murmured, brushing hair from your face. “But you’re not alone. This is ours, okay? Every breath, every push. We’re in this together.”

You nodded slowly. A tear rolled down your cheek, and he kissed it away before you could wipe it. Your belly tightened again under his hand, the shape of it pulling forward as you gritted your teeth and let out a slow, strained sound.

“Push with it,” he encouraged gently. “Let your body do it. I’m right here.”

Your thighs shook. Your hands gripped the edge of the bed harder. “It’s coming,” you gasped. “Two—it’s—oh God, it’s coming—”

“I’ve got you,” he said again, stronger now. “You’re so strong. Let it come. Just breathe with me.”

Together, you rocked.

You bore down with a guttural cry, your body curling forward, his arms steadying you as the baby pushed down lower. Two could feel it. Not just emotionally—but literally. The way your body moved, opened, the heat, the trembling force of your strength as you surrendered to it. You were radiant. Terrified. Magnificent.

Time blurred.

Pushes came one after another. Your shirt was damp against your back. Your voice cracked, and he whispered to youthrough every one. “You’re doing it. You’re almost there. You’re so close.”

You collapsed into his lap between waves, gripping his wrist like a lifeline. “Don’t let go.”

“Never,” he promised.

Then—you gasped. Froze.

“I can feel the head,” she sobbed, half in awe and half in pain. “It’s stretching—Two—it’s stretching—”

“I know. Breathe through it. One more, baby. Just one more.”

And with a scream that broke open, you bore down and the pressure shifted. He saw it—the baby’s head emerging, slick and crowned in dark hair.

“Oh my God,” he choked. “You did it. It’s here—just a little more—”

Your body trembled as the baby slipped further, then all at once, you pushed with everything you had—and in a rush of warmth and relief, your child slipped into the world.

Crying.

Alive.

New.

Two caught the baby himself, hands shaking, heart thundering. A girl. Tiny. Slick with vernix and wailing with all her might.

He looked at you, still on your knees, collapsed forward on the bed, trembling and weeping in relief.

“We did it,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You did it.”

You looked back at him, eyes flooded with emotion. “We did.”

He wrapped his arms around both of you—the trembling mother and the brand new child. Your child. Your daughter. He pressed his forehead to yours as you cried softly, laughter curling through your sobs.

And there, on the bedroom floor, paint swatches still crooked on the wall, they held their first breath together—not just the baby’s…

The first time I felt the cramping, I thought it was just my body gearing up. Maybe it was Braxton Hicks, maybe just the weight of carrying a baby this far along. But as the hours ticked on, I started to feel it more intensely. The cramps were coming in waves, low and tight. My belly would tighten, and I’d catch my breath for a moment before it eased off. Nothing that seemed worth worrying about. Nothing that made me think this is it. Not yet.

I moved through the house, tidying up. Laundry had piled up, and the floors were streaked with dust. I needed to keep moving, to keep busy. I didn’t want to think about what was coming. Every time the pain would hit, I’d take a slow breath and carry on, folding towels, straightening the bathroom counter. The ticking clock was a steady reminder that I had time. I had time.

But my body had other plans.

By the time I made it to the laundry room, the contractions were coming faster, stronger. I could no longer ignore the fact that something was happening. The pain was building, wave after wave, pulling my body taut. I didn’t have a timer to check the length between contractions—there was no need. I could feel it, feel the rhythm of it, feel the tightening that followed me wherever I went.

I stopped, leaning against the washer. I breathed through it, my hands clutching the edge of the machine for support. My knees went weak for a second, and I had to close my eyes, trying to ground myself.

Another contraction hit. Harder this time.

I gasped. The air in the room felt thin.

I wasn’t sure if I could keep moving. I was almost afraid to stay still. But I was here—alone—no one around to see me like this, no one to help. I was supposed to be calm, composed. I had read about the calm births, the peaceful ones. But this… this was nothing like that.

The pain came again, this time pulling at me from the inside, like a vise was tightening around my pelvis. I groaned low in my throat, trying to breathe through it. I reached for the folded sheets I had set aside, the ones I’d put out just in case. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but there was a part of me that wanted something clean, something that felt like a space I could control.

I lowered myself onto the bedding, slowly, carefully. It felt strange—sitting there, fully aware of how much it hurt but unwilling to move, unable to move. Every muscle in my body was locked tight, my legs trembling. The weight of the baby between my hips felt heavier now, as though it were pushing down on me, pushing me to the floor. The tightness between my legs had a force of its own, like it was pulling me apart from the inside.

I was alone. There was no one to guide me, to offer a reassuring touch. Just me. Just the baby.

And the pain.

I tried to breathe, deep, slow breaths like I had practiced. But the air felt like it wasn’t enough, like the pain was smothering me, crushing my chest, squeezing the air out of my lungs. Another wave of pain hit, harder this time, longer. My whole body convulsed with it. I screamed, a long, hoarse cry that felt more like an animal’s cry than a woman’s.

It wasn’t enough. The head wasn’t coming. My body wasn’t ready to release.

I tried to move, but my body was locked in place. The baby’s head was stuck—too big to come through, too slow to move. The pressure was unbearable. I shifted, trying to find some comfort, but there was none. I needed to get this baby out. Now. I couldn’t take the pressure anymore.

I pushed. I gritted my teeth and shoved against the pain, my whole body trying to force the baby out. But nothing was happening. The baby wasn’t budging.

The pressure between my legs was suffocating, and I could feel myself starting to slip into a haze, my thoughts blurring together. I focused on breathing, even as my body continued to scream at me.

One more push.

I pushed again, with everything I had left. My legs felt like they were going to collapse beneath me, but I kept pushing. My body screamed in protest, my back arching, my hands clutching at the sheets. The pain was so intense, so deep, it felt like it would split me open. I could feel my skin stretching in a way it wasn’t supposed to, my body pulled tight, ready to snap.

And then, just as I was about to give up—just as I was sure I couldn’t push any harder—the head crowned.

The head was out.

But it wasn’t enough. I could still feel the baby’s shoulders stuck, unable to move. The pressure was so intense I could hardly breathe, hardly think. My body fought against it, trembled with the exertion. My thoughts scattered. I was sure I couldn’t do it.

But then, I pushed again. Harder. Desperation. And finally—finally—the baby slid free. The whole body.

I collapsed forward onto the sheets, my body trembling, gasping for air, overwhelmed with exhaustion. I didn’t know if I could stand, didn’t know if I had the strength. My chest was tight, my heart pounding in my ears. But I reached down with shaking hands, pulling the baby close to my chest.

I held him there, his body warm against mine, as I finally allowed myself to breathe. His tiny hands grasped at me, his face scrunched in that beautiful newborn way.

I could hear him—his little cry filling the space around me, filling the emptiness in the room.

I didn’t care that no one was here. I didn’t care that I was alone. I had done it. I had birthed my baby.

And then, just as I let out a breath, I heard the sound of the front door.

My heart leaped. The familiar sound of footsteps.

“Hey,” my husband’s voice called from the hallway. “I’m home early…”

I looked down at the baby in my arms, his small body resting against my chest. His face, still a little scrunched up, but so beautiful. He was perfect. And then, just as I was holding my breath, my husband appeared in the doorway.

He froze when he saw me.

And saw our baby.

He rushed toward me, his hands hovering over us, unsure where to touch. “You—you did it,” he whispered. His voice was thick with emotion. His eyes were wide, the shock and awe in his face undeniable.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So I just held our son tighter, looking up at him, my own tears mixing with the sweat and the blood.

“I did it,” I whispered back.

He knelt beside me, gently brushing his fingers against our son’s cheek. He didn’t need to say anything more. His presence was all I needed. The rush of everything—the pain, the exhaustion, the isolation—seemed to melt away in that moment.

We were here. Together.

cw // tmpreg, labor

"How close are the contractions?" Aram pressed the gas pedal down slightly more, inching himself closer to the rear of the car in front of him as if that would help along traffic.

The voice on the other end was lilting, shaken from the latest pain as he tried to gather his bearings again.

"I uhh.. mmh... like every seven minutes? Maybe? Are you coming home? I need you...!" Row whimpered again as he lowered himself down onto the ground after having rocked through the latest contraction. His eyes pricked with tears, he really regretted not being honest to Aram about the contractions earlier this morning and now? He knew how long it would take for his husband to come home from work, especially given the traffic.

Aram bit his lip as they came to a halt yet again. Glancing at the traffic in front of him. "I'm trying to get back as fast as I can, babe. But I think there was an accident up ahead. Do you remember the classes?"

Row sobbed. "I do.. but Aram, I want to go to the hospital, where there's doctors! And help if necessary, what if something goes wrong?! We have a room booked right?" He hissed harshly as his abdomen contracted once again. "Dammit!"

"Are you contracting again? ... Oh god, sweetheart, I think-"

Aram frowned helplessly, his eyes darting between the road and his phone as his boyfriend moaned painfully through the latest pains; begging him to hurry home.

Unfortunately for the both of them their prayers were being left unanswered so far. It had been about five minutes since Aram's car had moved and it did not seem to be improving the further down the road he got.

Frustratedly he ran his hand down his face as he mumbled a prayer under his breath. "Row? Can you hear me?"

The phone was silent for a bit and Aram was about to call out to him again when a short gasp and whimper came from the phone.

"Yes ... I hear you, oh Aram, it *hurts*. It really really hurts ..."

Aram's heart broke at hearing his beloved so frightened, like on the day he had told him he was with child, afraid that it would interfer with Aram work. But it was nothing short of a miracle to Aram, becoming a father, looking after his boyfriend and their baby? It was a stronger calling and feeling of belonging than he had ever felt before. He cut back on work to help support Row in the final weeks leading up to this but he just *had* to go in today to wrap up a project. Stupid of him in the hindsight.

"I know, my darling, come on, breathe with me, Row. You can do it." Aram soothed to the best of his abilities. "Lets do the breathing exercises yeah? In, one, two, three."

Aram took an audible breath in and held it.

"and out, two, three, four."

He repeated this until he could hear Row doing it too, between his whimpers. The two continued this until Row's breathing evened out, the contraction had passed.

"Are you still contracting?" Aram tested out gently.

"... no, I'm .. I'm alright, 's over for now." Row's voice sounded shaken and tired and there was a shifting noise of a body heavily but deliberately sliding down onto a soft surface. Aram assumed it was the bed. "I'm so hot ..."

Aram chuckled. "You have never been more attractive to me." Row sputtered out an exasperated laugh as Aram continued: "Just stay on the bed if that's the most comfortable. I'll be there as soon as I can. But I'm here, Row. I promise."

"I know..." Row's voice shook slightly. "I love you."

"I love you too."

They spent the next forty five minutes like this, talking and coaching. Row's cries becoming weaker as his focus turned more inwards with each passing contraction until eventually it was just low rumbles and grunts.

Finally, the road seemed to clear up again and Aram toed the speed limit just a little over. "Traffic has cleared, Row. I'll be home soon, thirty minutes max."

"Th-that's great! Oh, thank god..." Row gasped, shifting the phone closer to him. "Because I think... Oh- fuck, I think I'm... I-oh, NO-nnghHH ah ahhhahh mhh!"

Row's cries muffled as the man buried his face into something soft and Aram's heart began to race. "Row? Row, talk to me? What's happening?"

"'mphhushing!!" Row forced out with a cry before groaning loudly.

Aram's grip on the steering wheel tightened his lower lip already swollen from chewing on it so much during all of this, a stone heavily forming in his stomach, he was supposed to BE there for him... "Oh, love..."

The final thirty minutes was a blur, Row's cries and sobs mingling with the traffic and Aram's encouragements, Aram sloppily parked his car into the driveway and grabbed his phone off its holder and ran inside the house, bounding up the stairs by 2 steps at a time to reach the bedroom. "Row?!"

Row was lying on his side on the bed, one arm hooked a pillow by his head for stability while the other clung under his leg to help spread himself open more, giving Aram full display of the head just barely crowning despite all the time that had passed. His heart ached as Row's eyes met his and his beloved began to sob anew.

"You're here!"

Within an instant he was beside Row, kissing his sweat drenched forehead and cheek and taking over holding Row's leg up for him so the laboring man could move and hold onto him instead, beginning to cling like his life depended on it as he howled again and his abdomen visibly contracted, pushing without giving Row the time to decide if he wanted to or not.

Aram held him close through it. "'s okay, I'm here, I'm right here. Just concentrate on the feeling of the baby. You can do this, love. You can."

With the last push the baby was at full crown now, nestled between Row's lips and making him pant harshly to breathe through the pain. His back arching slightly as if that would help him crawl away from the sensations that were plaguing his body.

Row groaned, eyes opening to look at Aram. "Is the head out yet?"

"Almost, my darling. Almost... the next push." Aram cooed softly, nuzzling his boyfriend. "Do you want to change positions?"

Row shook his head, going limp again to rest up before the next contraction hit him again and he pushed, there was more focus to him now, Aram's presence comforting him even if he did sob once or twice while taking a breath. "mmghh.. rrghh... gnk-god..."

He inhaled once more and pushed hard, his face visibly reddening and then cried with relief as the head came free and he reached a hand down to cradle it. "Ohmygodohgod the baby, our baby!"

Aram watched with wonder as the baby twitched softly, not quite yet born. He gently set Row's leg down and reached a hand over to join Row's on the baby's head. Tears pricking at his eyes. "Oh you're so close, Row... Our baby's beautiful..."

When he turned to face Row again the other was beaming brightly at him, smiling despite the torment he was in and Aram couldn't help but lean in and kiss him there and then. As they broke away Row's face contorted, the baby beginning to turn and finally with a final gasp the shoulders and rest of the body were delivered right into their waiting hands. A sharp wail piercing the silence.

Aram's tears fell from his eyes as he broke away from Row to pick up the baby, holding them gently in his arms and mindful of the cord. He smiled at Row, who was also openly sobbing now. He barely managed to get a word in. " 's a boy."

"A boy..." Row choked up and reached over.

New colouring experimentation! \0/

Oh sure!

Make way for some bits and pieces of whump with regards to alien biology not meshing nicely with human biology :)

Link to comic because it's too friggin yuge to post

yes prompto is pregnant, no he did not have any alcoholic drinks, he's just vibing

But then his father, the king, announced that Henry was to be married to the princess of a neighboring realm, one with grain to fill our empty silos and ships to protect our vulnerable coastlines. It was the best thing for the kingdom, and the worst thing for us.

We were foolish to act like this could last forever. Even more so to actually to believe it.

A week before the wedding, the king came to me in my chambers—not unheard of, but definitely unusual. He requested that I produce a fertility elixir. For his son. To ensure the wedding night was… fruitful.

This was normal, necessary even, to ensure the royal bloodline would continue. I nodded, though my stomach had already begun twisting itself in knots. But Henry loved children, had always wanted them, and it was bittersweet to know that this was the role I’d play in giving them to him.

It still would have been enough just to be near him. To see Henry grow into the role of husband, father, and one day king. And even though I promised his father that I would do whatever he asked, that I would not interfere, that Henry did not even love me in the same way that I loved him, he knew how close the prince and I were and could not risk my presence interfering with his judgment, his duty to his people.

He would be sending me away as soon as they were married.

The room swayed like the flutter of his royal cloak as he left me to prepare, both the potion and for my departure.

It was easy enough to withdraw from Henry in the following weeks—he was busy getting fitted for robes and hunting for the feasts, and I was busy trying to figure out how to live my life without the man that I loved. Several times he pulled me aside to make jokes about how ridiculous and over-the-top this all was, about how archaic these arranged marriages were and how he would probably barely even see her and nothing much was likely to change.

He would look at me then, as if asking me to confirm this to be the truth, but all I could ever manage was a tight smile and the promise that all would happen as it should.

I delivered the potion to the king a week before the wedding, but celebrations were already underway. A caravan was to take me away the morning of the ceremony and I just had to hold on until then. It would be easier once there was some distance between us. It had to be.

All my mental preparation was shattered, though, when Henry came bursting into my quarters the night before his wedding. There was a spark of accusation in his eyes as he waited for me to speak.

“You cannot leave me,” he finally said when I remained silent.

“Is that a request or an order?” Not that it mattered—even Henry could not trump the command of a king.

“Neither, it is simply a statement of fact.” I raised my eyebrows and looked pointedly around at the boxes in the room. “I cannot—“ He paused, cleared his throat, and sat beside me on the bed. “I do not want to do this without you.” He leaned to the side, taking my hand in his and resting his head against my temple. “I love you.”

And that was both why I wanted to stay, and exactly why I needed to leave. “Henry—“ My voice broke on just the utterance of his name, and any elegant, composed goodbye speech I might have intended shattered with it.

He kissed me then, long and slow and deep. He tasted of wine and honey, though sweeter and more intoxicating than either. “Don’t go,” he whispered against my lips, swallowing any refusal I might have given. His hands grabbed for my thigh, my waist, my neck, every desperate movement echoing his words’ entreaty.

I knew he didn’t really want me like this, he just didn’t want me to leave. But at that moment I was too selfish to care.

I took every part of him he offered and gave all of myself in return.

I let him make love to me, and let myself believe that he meant it.

I let him say goodbye.

. . .

We traveled for weeks before reaching the rocky coastline that was to be my new home. I was almost glad for it, as the constant jostling hour after hour, day after day had started to make me ill.

The small seaside town was nice enough, but something about it clearly did not agree with me. The scents of saltwater and seafood followed me everywhere and caused my stomach to lurch. The sun was brighter here, the air hot and moist and clinging to my skin. These were the excuses I made for myself to indulge my grief by sleeping the days away in my dark empty room.

I was supposed to be running the apothecary alongside the local witch, so it should not have come as a surprise that she came looking for me. Perhaps it was the healer in her, or perhaps I had spent too long in the company of entitled noblemen, but it was not her ire I received, as I’d been expecting, but rather sympathy. Kindness.

I broke down in her arms.

After a few weeks of adjustment and good company, I started to feel like myself again. There were still plenty of tears, but laughter too, and there was so much to learn, so much the witch was willing to teach me.

She was the first to suggest I might be pregnant.

It was a ridiculous assertion, until it wasn’t. The nausea, the exhaustion, the rounding out of my middle. It would have made perfect sense if it weren’t impossible.

“We perform magic for a living—what is impossible to us?” she’d said.

And that’s when I remembered the fertility potion. If the king had given it to Henry at any point before the wedding…

I pressed a hand to my stomach, fingers molding to the soft curve beneath my belly button. Joy and hope swirled with fear and melancholy—this child was supposed to belong to Henry and his princess, to the king and his people. But there would be other children, even without magical intervention, and I could not bring myself to regret taking this piece of him with me.

The first whispers of war started around the first time I felt the babe stirring in my womb. A conscription for soldiers came soon after, followed closely by a call for healers. I was the obvious choice, strong and gifted and young, but the witch would hear none of it.

She’d volunteered herself in order to keep me from the battle, but even she could not keep the battle from coming to me.

Over the next few months my services shifted from delivering babies to delivering funeral rites, from casting enchantments of blessing and bounty to ones of shelter and separation. Boats flying foreign banners gathered in the harbor as the beaches crowded with camps of our own.

I offered sacrifices to the sea to keep her churning and tumultuous, too dangerous to approach her jagged shores. Spells of protection spilled constantly from my lips, and the armies took it as an auspicious sign that no men were lost even as the sky darkened with volley after volley of arrows.

But the continual release of magic took its toll—one that I couldn’t afford to continue paying once the contractions started.

They kept me up most of the night, so I was already awake when a soft knock sounded at the front door in the quiet pre-dawn. The man was obviously a soldier, though he was not currently in uniform, and cocked an amused smile at me.

“And I thought the war was taking its toll on ME.” He shifted slightly under my irritated glare. “Ehm, you’re the town mage, yeah?”

I pressed the heels of my palms into my tired eyes and sighed. “What do you need?” I asked, annoyance suddenly replaced with an anxious weariness. A piece of paper was placed in my hand and I looked back up at him. “What’s this?”

“A note.” Obviously. “From my commander.” He glanced back toward the cliffs overlooking the shore before giving me a quick salute. “Best be getting back now.”

A sense of foreboding washed over me and I sat heavily into a chair as I unfolded the letter. I recognized the handwriting immediately and the baby twisted wildly in response to my racing heart.

“I was supposed to die out here. To sacrifice myself. To perish in dishonor and anonymity and hope it would be enough to appease the disgraced king. And I was ready—it was my fault, after all.

But you saved us. You are still saving us. I know it’s you. I can feel you in the air, the salt, the sea, just as real as the last time I saw you, the last time I held you in my arms. But you cannot forestall destiny forever.

There is so much I wanted to tell you, but it is enough to know you are here with me at the end. Just as you always were. I would not change a thing.

I love you.

—H”

I ran out of the house, stumbling over frantic unbalanced feet, and dropped to my knees at the precipice of the bluffs. He was down there, somewhere among the thousands of armored men arranged in neat, intimidating blocks glinting in the golden light of the rising sun.

Henry was here, and he still loved me, and our child was coming… and the ships were getting closer.

The rocks beneath my hands were warm and hummed with anticipation. I tried to force my magic to travel through them, to seek out the soldiers’ feet and ward them with whatever power I had left to give. But a sharp pain in my lower back broke my concentration and it didn’t even reach the beach.

The ships anchored close enough to the shoreline that the navy’s longer range weapons could easily find their mark, but too far for any man to hope to swim there without being shot down. The invading force didn’t need to strike hard or fast, they just needed to bide their time and pick off Henry and his men one by one until there was no one left.

Cowards.

Righteous fury burned away the weight of fatigue and I began the long trek down to the ocean. My enchanted cloak was better than any shield, the spells on my tongue sharper and more deadly than any sword. I was waist deep in the still water when the only voice that could have pierced through my cloud of anger reached my ears. It was yelling my name with the same intense desperation I felt. I turned, and the world fell away as my eyes landed on Henry—my friend, my prince, my love. With a flick of my wrist he stopped, mid-sprint, but his gaze never wavered.

“I will not let you die here today.” The words were barely more than a whisper, but I sprinkled them in with the wind and knew they had reached him when his face turned desperate and he began struggling against the invisible shackles at his ankles. “I love you too much for that.”

I didn’t wait to see how he responded to that before turning back to the reason I’d come. I began chanting and the water receded around me in a circle. The ocean held its own kind of magical power, and all wizards knew it was a fool’s errand to try and control a force of nature.

But I had always been a fool when it came to Henry.

The connection I’d established was intense and threatened to consume and overwhelm. Drown. But the twinges of pain and flutter of kicks moored me to my body, my mission. Shafts of arrows sprouted from the sand around me, but stopped suddenly when a wall of water rose up and blocked their path. It felt as though I bore the whole weight of it on my shoulders and I shouted my own battle cry even as I was brought to my knees. My body twisted and trembled, but did not break. When it towered as tall as the surrounding cliffs I threw out my hands and fell forward, the giant wave falling with me. A thunderous crack echoed off the rocks, the mighty roar of the water mingling with the cries of broken men and splintering ships.

The sun was high, but to me the world was dark and cold and heavy. Arms were pulling me from the foamy aftermath, but I didn’t even have the strength to dispel the water flooding my lungs. My whole body ached and I recoiled from the fist pounding into my back. I tried to scream in pain, but all that came out was a violent spray that tore at my throat and caused my chest to spasm and seize. The air that replaced it was like breathing fire, but then Henry’s mouth was on mine and there was nothing more I wanted to do than keep breathing him in.

I gasped and pulled away when the insistent pressure between my hips peaked, unable to answer Henry’s frantic, worried questions.

“Get the healer!” he commanded, and I saw a shadow retreat from my curled up position in the sand. Then, leaning in close to nuzzle at the spot just below my ear, “You cannot leave me.”

“Is that—“ I coughed and winced, holding tightly to the hand he offered, “a request or an order?”

There was some shuffling and grumbling and then I heard a familiar voice that almost brought tears to my eyes. “What were you thinking taking on Mother Nature like that? Have I taught you nothing!” The witch’s warm, motherly face tutted affectionately as she knelt down and took in the state of me. Her assessing gaze paused on the hand I had wrapped around my stomach, which was still pretty well concealed beneath the folds of my robe. “How far along are we then?”

“I’m… not sure,” I admitted, but the next contraction told her all she needed to know—I was close.

“Far along with what?” Henry asked, looking between the two of us. “What don’t I know?”

“This the guy?” the witch asked in a stage whisper. I nodded and she hummed in approval. “Cute. Can you make it back to the shop?” My inability to answer was answer enough and she turned to Henry. “I don’t suppose the prince’s quarters are equipped with a bed?”

I would have been difficult to carry all the way to Henry’s tent in the sand amidst the wreckage even if I weren’t weighed down by the drenched fabric, so I was maneuvered onto a shield and dragged. It was undignified, but at least it was quick.

I tugged at the stifling garment as soon as the flaps closed behind us, but my muscles were spent and I whined when it clung stubbornly to my body. Henry took over the task and his breath hitched as the changes in my body became apparent, now only thinly veiled beneath a light dressing gown.

“What’s wrong with him?” He was looking at me but the question was directed toward the witch.

She ignored him, instead running her hands lightly over my prone form, checking for injuries. She lingered at my feet, my wrists, my chest, my head, and the cool tingle of a healing spell soothed cracks and tears I hadn’t even realized were there. “You’re lucky, kid,” she huffed when she was satisfied, settling her hands on her hips.

“He’s okay?”

I wanted to ease Henry’s concerns, to wrap my arms around him and kiss away the worry lines between his brows, but my arms buckled as soon as I tried to push myself up to reach him. I gave the witch an accusatory look, but she just shrugged unapologetically.

“Can’t do much about the energy drain,” she explained. “That’s the magic’s doing—you picked a hell of a time to bring your body to its limit.”

“What does she mean?” I groaned and Henry tucked me into his side, holding me as I crumpled and shook under the force of a pain he did not understand. When I stilled a minute or so later, he stroked my hair and brushed his thumb across my cheek. “You know you can tell me anything.”

I took his hand, stroked my fingers across the place where his wedding band would be if he weren’t on the battlefield. He shook his head, didn’t understand. My throat was ragged and raw but I managed, “Your w-wife…” the word burning worse than the saltwater.

“My—“ He pulled away just far enough to give me an incredulous look. “I’m not married. I couldn’t go through with the wedding after…” he glanced toward the witch and a light blush swept across his skin. “Well, after. Her father was not happy, obviously.” He nodded toward the entrance to the tent, toward the tattered fleet just on the other side, and yeah, that was an understatement. “I thought you knew, I thought—fuck, you did this thinking I belonged to another?”

“I didn’t know,” I rasped, “you loved me like that… too.”

He took the hand I still had on his and intertwined our fingers. I squeezed him back tightly as a cramp wound its way around my stomach, my hips, my back.

His other hand fluttered around me uselessly as he begged us both, “Please, what can I do? What’s wrong?”

“From what I understand,” the witch explained to Henry, as I was otherwise occupied, “your father slipped you a fertility potion right before your wedding and you knocked up the wrong person. That about right?”

I cringed at the crass explanation, but nodded.

“I don’t—what does that mean? What do you mean?”

I positioned his large hand across the firm expanse of my belly. “It means I’m having a baby, Henry.” The next contraction was starting, bringing with it an urge almost as powerful as the ocean. “Mm, right now,” I warned, my knees shifting restlessly in a fruitless attempt to open my hips.

“What? You can’t!” Henry protested.

“I wouldn’t argue that with him right now,” the witch said, putting a comforting hand on my knee. “Whaddaya say, kid? How do you wanna do this?”

“Bed. Please.”

With considerable assistance, I made my way to the small cot and it was heaven against my aching joints. Following my body’s instincts—for whatever they were worth in a situation like this—I rolled onto my side, drawing one knee up to pull against as I bore down with the immense pressure building inside me. Henry quickly took over holding the position when it was apparent that my strength should be focused elsewhere.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” he whispered, though there was no way either of us could know that was true. “I’m right here. You can do this.”

My hips were much more narrow than a woman’s and progress was torturously slow. My already meager strength waned and I had no way to replenish it—I couldn’t eat or drink anything without it coming back up. The sky had just begun to darken when a hellish burn started to accompany my efforts and I could not stop myself from wailing with each push.

“I can’t,” I sobbed for the thousandth time as my body stubbornly refused to release the life trapped inside it.

“No one else gonna do it for ya,” the witch reminded me, quite unhelpfully.

“I’m going to tear in two.”

“Yep, yep. That’s the head tryin to come through—this is the hardest bit, lad, but it’s right there, I can see it even now!”

“Wait, really?” Henry’s eyes went from anxious to alight as they flicked to the gap between my legs. “That’s a baby,” he said, as if it was the first time he actually believed it. Maybe it was. A tear eked out from the corner of his eye and followed the strong line of his jaw as he kissed my raised knee with a disbelieving and semi-hysterical laugh. “That’s our baby.” My stomach tightened before I was ready and I whined. “Push now, keep pushing.”

I would give Henry anything he asked of me, but in this case there was nothing left to give. As soon as I held my breath, my head went fuzzy and my grip slackened. I tried again, sucking in a quick breath only to release it on an anguished cry.

“I can’t,” I said again, shivering despite the heat radiating from my body. “You need to save the baby. Please, I can’t—just save the baby.”

Henry studied me seriously for a moment before releasing his hold on my leg. Whatever he saw must have been enough to convince him that I meant it, and he took my face in his hands, forcing me to look into his eyes and see the determination there as he echoed my own words back to me. “I will not let you die here today.”

I believed him.

Henry pulled me gently but firmly to a seated position at the end of the bed, then settled himself at my back. At the start of the next contraction he inched forward, forcing me off the edge and into a deep squat. His strong grip kept me from collapsing to the floor but I howled as gravity added to the unbearable weight in my core.

“That’s it, just let it come now,” the witch soothed as the head suddenly came to a full crown in her palm.

“Henry, I—“ I gasped and shuddered, slumping in relief as the rest of the head slipped out.

“I know, it’s almost over.”

“No.” I craned my neck so that I could look up into his eyes. “It’s only just beginning.” His returning smile was radiant, fighting back the dark pull of unconsciousness long enough for me to give one last strained, desperate push.

“Born in the caul,” the witch remarked as she cleaned off the baby, rubbing it down until it began to wriggle and cry and then placing it—him, I realized, my heart skipping a beat—in my arms. “Supposed to be good luck, and seems to me you all are gonna need it.”

Maybe we did, but for now we had each other.