[Seraphine’s POV]
The pains stroke me like a knife.
A deep, wrenching pull low in my belly, then another, sharper, rolling through me with such force I nearly cried out. The room was dark, the candles guttered to stubs. Sweat dampened my neck. My hands clenched the sheets.
“Elowen,” I whispered, but it came out strangled.
She was beside me in an instant, already dressed, as though she'd been waiting for this exact breath.
“It’s time,” she murmured. “Breathe, Sera. Slowly.”
“I— can’t—” Another pain tore through me. My vision blurred.
“You can. And you will.” She squeezed my hand once, then leaned close. “We move now. Before the guards change shifts.”
Move? The castle? Like this?
“Elowen, I can’t walk—”
“You have to. If we call healers, it’s over. If a guard hears you, it’s over.” She hauled me upright, surprisingly strong for her size. “Rowan is waiting.”
The next contraction nearly folded me in half, but she held me steady, tucking a cloak around my shoulders to hide the tremors. I didn’t question her. There was no room left in my body for anything but pain and the urgency of escape.
We slipped into the corridor like shadows. Elowen’s arm braced around my waist, my feet stumbling over stone. Every twenty steps, I had to stop to breathe or bite down on a scream.
“Almost there,” she whispered. “Just a little farther.”
The hallways were empty—by miracle or Elowen’s planning, I couldn’t tell.
The cold hit me as we stepped into the courtyard. The night air slapped my damp skin, stealing my breath. Lanterns flickered in distant windows. Somewhere, a dog barked. But no one stopped us.
The stables loomed ahead: dark, silent, smelling of hay and leather. Rowan stood just inside the shadows, sword drawn, eyes cutting through the gloom like fire.
“When did it start?” he asked, voice low but urgent.
“Minutes,” Elowen said. “Help me.”
He sheathed his sword and wrapped an arm around me, easing me the rest of the way inside. The stable door shut behind us with a dull thud, muffling the world.
Pain surged again. I doubled forward, gripping Rowan’s sleeve, teeth gritted.
“You’re alright,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
The birthing bed—a pile of blankets arranged in an invisible corner between stalls—waited in the far end of the stable, lit only by a shuttered lantern.
Elowen guided me down. “Sera, listen. You must stay quiet. No screams. Can you do that?”
“I don’t know,” I gasped.
“You can,” Rowan said. “You’ve survived worse.”
Another contraction hit like a wave. I clamped my jaw shut so hard it ached.
Elowen knelt between my legs. “It’s close,” she murmured. “Too close to wait. When I say push, you push.”
I dug my nails into the blankets. I pushed. The world narrowed to agony and breath. Sweat dripped from my brow. Elowen spoke steadily, calmly, her hands precise and sure.
“Good, Sera. Again.”
My body obeyed her before my mind caught up. A rush of warmth, a tearing, a cry I wasn’t expecting—
A baby’s cry. My baby.
Elowen lifted a tiny, blood-slicked form. “A boy,” she whispered, awe flickering across her face. “Strong lungs on him.”
A sob tore from my throat—joy and terror tangled so tightly they were indistinguishable. Rowan wrapped the baby in a cloth, his expression crumbling in a way I had never seen: raw, reverent, and devastated.
I reached for my son, but another pain ripped through me before my fingers brushed him.
“Wha— no— Elowen, it’s done, it’s—”
Elowen’s head snapped up. “No. Sera— listen to me— there’s another.”
“Another what?” I gasped.
“Another baby. You’re having twins.”
My heart lurched. Twins. Two heirs. Two children Aldric would claim with both hands.
“I— I can’t—” The panic nearly strangled me. “Elowen— Rowan—”
“We’re here,” Rowan said fiercely. “You’re not alone.”
But the pain swallowed everything. Time lost meaning. There was only pushing, gasping, the pounding of blood in my ears. Elowen’s voice anchored me when nothing else could.
“One more, Sera. One more. You can do this.”
I did. A second cry—softer and weaker—broke the darkness.
Elowen lifted the tiny infant, her hands trembling. “A girl,” she breathed. “Smaller, but breathing.”
My heart split open. I held out my arms as they placed both babies against my chest. Their warmth, their delicate weight, their tiny fists curling unconsciously into the fabric of my gown—
They were real. They were mine. And they were in danger.
Rowan knelt beside me, touching the boy’s head with trembling fingers. “I swear to protect them,” he whispered.
Before I could speak, footsteps crunched in the gravel outside. Rowan stiffened, rising silently to his feet. Elowen snuffed the lantern to its faintest glow.
A shadow fell beneath the stable door. Then another. Rowan drew his sword soundlessly.
The door shifted.
“Rowan?” a whisper came. “I heard something, are you in here?”
Maris, the maid. My blood froze.
Rowan moved fast, slipping out the side stall door and intercepting her before she reached the main entry. I clutched my children tighter as their tiny bodies squirmed against me. Elowen crouched low, out of sight, eyes wide.
Rowan dragged Maris deeper into the shadows.
“What are you doing out here?” he hissed.
“I— I heard noises,” she stammered. “A cry. I came to check—”
“And you’ve seen nothing,” Rowan said.
“I have to report anything strange,” she whispered. “If the king returns and—”
“He’s not here,” Rowan snapped. “And if you tell anyone about this, you doom her.”
“She’s always been kind to me,” Maris murmured, voice trembling. “But the king— if he finds out I hid something—”
“I’ll pay you,” Rowan said. “Enough to keep your family comfortable for a year.”
“I don’t care about coins!” she hissed. “I care about—”
“Then care about her.” His voice softened, raw. “Maris… look at me.”
I peeked through the slats. Maris looked up at him with terrified, darting eyes.
“She’s fighting for her life,” Rowan said. “And for her children. Do you want to be the reason those children end up in Aldric’s hands?”
Her face crumpled.
“No,” she whispered.
“Good. Then you walk away. You didn’t see us. You heard nothing.”
Maris swallowed hard, trembling. “I’ll stay silent… but gods forgive me if he finds out.”
She hurried away, skirts brushing the gravel, and Rowan watched until she vanished into the dark. Then he shut the door and turned to us.
Two infants lay on my chest: tiny, fragile, warm. Elowen’s breath trembled:
“Two heirs,” she whispered. “Two.”
Rowan stared at them—at us—and the horror and awe mixing on his face told me the truth: Everything we’d planned was now twice as dangerous. Twice as impossible and urgent.
And dawn was coming.