But the time had come.
The loathsome child was coming.
Pain surged through me like a tidal wave of knives. My screams had barely faded when Philip burst into the room, his face pale and stricken. He rushed to me, gathered me in his arms, and I collapsed into him, sobbing.
“It’s alright,” he murmured into my hair, brushing away my tears with clumsy gentleness. “Everything will be alright. I’ll find a midwife. She’ll help us through this.”
“No!” I hissed, clutching his shirt. “No midwife.”
“But, sweetheart, you’re in pain,” he said, attempting a tender smile that only made me want to spit. “I can help the cows and the sheep, but a woman in labor…” He chuckled nervously. “That’s a mystery I dare not solve on my own.”
My glare could’ve melted glass. If looks could kill, he’d have been a smoldering heap on the floor.
He didn’t notice. Or he refused to.
The contractions rippled through me again, dragging screams from my throat.
“Alright,” I panted. “Get her.”
Philip hesitated, then trudged away, the floor creaking beneath his boots as if the house itself mourned what was coming. The front door groaned open.
“Greetings, Philip.”
That voice—cold, familiar. Dread swept through me like a blizzard.
“H-how do you know my name?” he stammered.
“I’m a midwife,” came Zara’s low, mocking reply. “We’re trained to know what matters most about our patients. I came to check on Alina. How is she?”
“She’s in labor! Please, come right in!” His voice wavered, high and strained, tight with urgency and fear.
Zara glided into the room like a wraith, chilling the air. Her eyes skimmed over Philip with the disinterest of a queen inspecting a servant. Without a word, he turned and fled the room, leaving me alone with her.
Zara’s gaze settled on me, and it burned.
“Pathetic,” she sneered. “What’s wrong with you? Childbirth should be a blessing. I didn’t flinch when I gave birth to Balthazar’s children. You, on the other hand…” She shook her head, savoring my agony. “You’re a wreck. A screaming, useless wreck.”
She stepped closer, her shadow stretching across the bed, consuming everything.
She was power incarnate.
And I was at her mercy.
Terror gripped me like a vice. My heart pounded with hatred—for her, for the child, for the twisted fate that had led me here. I wanted them both cursed, damned, erased from the world and consigned to the deepest, cruelest pit in hell.
Zara smiled, baring her teeth like a predator. “Why so quiet now? Has fear strangled your tongue?”
“What do you want from me?” I sobbed as a contraction ripped through me.
“I’m here for the child,” she said, her tone eerily calm. “To make sure no harm befalls her… especially from you.”
I clenched my teeth to hold back a scream. My body trembled, slick with sweat, every nerve ending on fire. My hands curled into fists as I forced breath after breath through my burning lungs.
I pushed—screaming into the silence—again and again, until it felt like I was splitting in two. The world narrowed to pain. Blackness clawed at the edges of my vision.
Then, finally, a piercing cry tore through the air.
Zara stood over me, backlit by shadows, her expression flooded with something disturbingly close to reverence. Blood streaked her arms as she held up the squirming infant like a dark priestess offering a gift to some unseen god.
