The moment was fleeting as the slow ache between my legs ebbed like a pulse growing stronger with each sound of the drumbeat until I reached back and gripped a handful of his hair. My hips moved of their own accord as I ground myself on the hard cock inside of me.
“Your cunt clenches like it's begging for another half-breed. Should I oblige?” he whispered in my ear as he rocked his hips beneath me, making me hiss. “Perhaps a little princess for Evander to play with.”
Evander. He had already named him. Of course, he had.
The image of a little girl with pointy ears, chasing her brother, appeared, and I nodded. He lifted me off his cock, turning me around to face him.
“It’s time to take this to my chambers,” he said with a smirk before he stood up.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and gripped his shoulders, looking forward to another long night. This time I wasn't sure if it was me or the aphrodisiac speaking.
Chapter 6
Willow
The discomfort began in the morning—a slow, creeping pressure, like vines tightening around my spine. By afternoon, it was no longer discomfort—it was agony.
I banged on the gilded door, my voice raw.“Someone, please help me!”
When I paused, banging, there was no answer. Fae babes grew faster than human ones. I knew that. But knowing didn’t stop the terror clawing up my throat. What if something went wrong? What if this birth, like the last, ended in silence?
I pressed a hand to my belly. Evander kicked hard, as if scolding me for doubting him.
Alive. Alive. Alive. He was alive.
The door flew open. A dark-haired Fae servant stood there, her eyes widening as she took in my hunched form, the sweat soaking my nightdress. Without a word, her silver wings flared, and she vanished to alert the court.
Alone again, I staggered to the bed, my fingers digging into the sheets. Memories ambushed me—the sterile hospital where I’d lost Luke, the premature labour, and the words that still rang in my ears.
There’s no heartbeat. I’m sorry.
I choked back a sob. Not this time. Not this child.
The first real contraction hit, sucking the air from my lungs. It felt like my bones were splintering. Like, Evander wasn’t just moving down, but clawing his way out.
The doors burst open again. Midwives swarmed in, their hands cold, their voices colder.
“It’s time,” one said, as if I hadn’t already figured that out.
I wanted to scream. To fight. But another contraction ripped through me, and all I could do was hold on and pray that this time, I’d get to hold my baby.
The pain ripped through me like claws, each contraction a cruel reminder that my body was no longer mine. I bit down on the leather strap until my gums bled, the taste of salt and iron flooding my tongue. The Fae midwives’hands were cold as they pressed against my thighs, their whispers like rustling dead leaves.
“Push.”
I screamed—not just from the agony, but from the way my muscles twisted unnaturally, as if the child inside me was carving his own path out. He didn’t crown. He slithered free in one slick, violent rush.
Silence.
Then, a sound broke free, and I sagged in relief.
Evander’s first cry. He was alive.
The midwives swarmed, their silk gloves wiping him clean. My arms shook, desperate to hold him, to feel the weight of a living child in my arms at last. But before I could even lift my head, Alvar was there.
He snatched the baby from them, his obsidian eyes alight with something feral.“My son,” he breathed, cradling Evander like a prize.
No. Mine too. The words lodged in my throat, suffocating me.
