The walls of the King’s keep seemed to reverberate with Misery’s screams. The anguished sound cut through the cold, lifeless halls like a knife, sending midwives into frantic motion.
Blood stained the pristine white of the sheets, and the air was thick with the metallic scent. Misery’s face was pale, her hair plastered to her forehead as she writhed in pain.
Adrian knelt beside her, gripping her hand tightly. His crimson eyes, usually sharp and unwavering, were filled with barely concealed fear.
“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered, his voice steady as though the words themselves could anchor them both. “You’ve faced worse than this, Misery.”
Her eyes fluttered open, glassy with tears, and she shook her head weakly.
“Adrian,” she gasped, her voice broken. “He’s going to take her. He’ll take her from me.” Each word was laced with desperation, her free hand clutching at her swollen belly as if she could shield the child within from the King’s looming shadow.
Adrian’s jaw tightened, but he forced calm into his tone.
“I won’t let that happen,” he said firmly. His grip on her hand didn’t falter. “You trust me, don’t you?”
Misery’s lips trembled, but she nodded. “I do,” she whispered, though the fear in her eyes was unrelenting.
The midwives exchanged anxious glances, their hands trembling as they worked to slow the bleeding. One of them whispered to another, too low for Adrian to hear, but their worried expressions told him everything he needed to know. The labor was coming too soon, and the odds were not in Misery’s favor.
Misery cried out again, her body arching off the bed as another contraction tore through her. Adrian leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching hers.
“Breathe with me,” he said, his voice quiet but commanding. “Focus on me, Misery. You can do this.”
She gripped his hand with surprising strength, her nails digging into his skin as she fought through the pain.
“Adrian,” she choked out, “promise me… promise me you’ll protect her.”
His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. Then, with all the conviction he could muster, he said, “I promise.”
***
The oppressive air of the King’s throne room seemed heavier than usual as Adrian strode in, his steps purposeful despite the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. His face was calm, his expression a mask of control, but his thoughts churned with desperation.
He had promised Misery he would protect her and Eryon’s daughter, and now he had to face the monster who held their lives in his hands.
The King lounged on his throne, a cruel smirk curling his lips as his cold gaze fixed on Adrian.
“I assume this is about your precious Misery,” he drawled, his tone laced with mockery.
Adrian stopped a few feet from the dais, his back straight and his jaw tight.
“She’s still in labor,” he reported, his voice steady despite the tension in his body.
“Good,” the King said, leaning forward slightly. “When it’s done, we can get rid of the mother. She’s served her purpose.”
Adrian’s fists clenched at his sides, but he kept his composure. “The child will die without its mother,” he said firmly. “Misery is too weak. She needs time to recover, to nurse the child.”
The King’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with amusement.
“And what assurance do I have that you won’t use that time to take them both and run?” he asked, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’re clever, Adrian, but I didn’t get here by being a fool.”
Adrian took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. “You have my loyalty,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “I’ve proven that time and again. Let me keep proving it.”
The King studied him for a long moment, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension. Adrian stood tall, refusing to flinch under the weight of that icy gaze. Finally, the King leaned back in his throne, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat.
“You have until the child is strong enough to survive,” the King said, his tone dismissive. “Then it’s mine.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened, but he gave a small nod, knowing he couldn’t push further without risking everything. “Thank you,” he said, his voice even.
The King waved a hand, already losing interest. “Go. Tend to your little wife while you still can.”