Chapter 24 Aug 18, 2025 Celeste The first pain struck as I was reaching for my morning correspondence, sharp and sudden enough to steal my breath. I gripped the edge of my writing desk, the polished mahogany cool beneath my palms as I waited for the sensation to pass. "My lady?" Hannah looked up from arranging fresh orchids, her weathered hands stilling as she caught sight of my expression. "It's nothing," I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I felt the warm rush of water down my legs, soaking through my silk morning gown and pooling on the marble floor. "Oh dear God," Hannah whispered, dropping the flowers. "It's too early. It's three weeks too early." "Hannah." My voice was steadier than I felt. "Lock the doors. All of them. Send word to Dr. Beaumont, but quietly. No one else comes in. No one." She moved with the efficiency of someone who'd served in royal chambers for decades, her fingers working quickly at the heavy locks while I braced myself against another wave of pain. "Should I send for the Prince?" she asked, though we both knew the answer. "No. Send for the King." The next hours blurred together in a haze of mounting pain and whispered preparations. Dr. Beaumont arrived through the servants' entrance, his medical bag clutched tightly as he hurried through the darkened corridors. Behind him came Mrs. Adelaide, the most trusted midwife in the kingdom, her silver hair pinned beneath a simple cap. "Your Majesty," Dr. Beaumont bowed quickly as Alexandre entered my chambers, his coat half-buttoned and his hair disheveled. "The labor has begun, but it's early. We must be prepared for complications." "How early?" Alexandre's voice was tight with barely controlled anxiety. "Three weeks, Your Majesty. The child should survive, but…" "But what?" "Premature births can be difficult. For both mother and child." I watched this exchange from my bed, gripping the sheets as another contraction built like a wave crashing against rocks. The pain was becoming impossible to ignore, radiating from my belly through my entire body. "How long?" Alexandre asked, moving to my bedside. "Hours, Your Majesty," Mrs. Adelaide replied, her experienced hands checking my pulse. "First babies take time, even when they're eager to arrive." Alexandre began pacing then, his boots wearing a path in the Persian carpet as the afternoon stretched into evening. Outside my windows, the palace continued its daily rhythms, unaware that history was being written in this shuttered chamber. "Breathe with me, my lady," Mrs. Adelaide coached as another contraction peaked. "In through your nose, out through your mouth." I bit down on my sleeve to muffle the sounds that wanted to escape, conscious even in my agony that palace walls had ears. The pain was unlike anything I'd ever imagined-wave after wave of pressure and fire that seemed to consume everything else. "I can see the head," Mrs. Adelaide announced after what felt like an eternity. "One more push, Your Highness. Just one more." "I can't," I gasped, my body trembling with exhaustion. "You can," Alexandre said, suddenly beside me, his hand covering mine. "You're the strongest woman I know." The final contraction built like a thunderstorm, and with it came a scream I couldn't contain-a sound that tore from my throat and echoed off the high ceilings, probably carrying through the entire palace despite our precautions. And then, suddenly, there was silence. Followed immediately by the most beautiful sound in the world-an angry, indignant wail that announced a new life had entered our dangerous world. "A girl," Mrs. Adelaide announced, her voice thick with emotion as she lifted the tiny, writhing form. "A perfect, healthy girl." The baby was indeed perfect-red-cheeked and furious, her little fists waving as if she were already fighting the circumstances of her birth. Her cries filled the chamber with startling strength for someone so small. Alexandre reached for her with trembling hands, cradling her against his chest like something holy. His storm-gray eyes were bright with unshed tears as he gazed down at the daughter he would never be able to publicly acknowledge. "She's perfect," he whispered, his voice breaking on the words. I lay back against my pillows, every muscle in my body aching but my heart full to bursting as I watched the man I loved hold our child. She was so small, so fragile, yet already so fierce in her protests against the world that awaited her. "She already knows how to fight," I managed, smiling despite my exhaustion. Alexandre looked up at me, his face transformed by wonder and something deeper-a love so profound it seemed to fill the entire room. "She'll need to," he said quietly, understanding passing between us. This child would face challenges from the moment she drew breath, would carry the weight of secrets and the burden of a crown she could never officially claim. But she was here. She was alive. She was ours.