Of Princes and Power | Of Crowns and Crimes Book 3

chapter one: of labour and love

Natasha woke up in pain. She bit back a scream and pulled the covers away from her body, peeling the sheets away from where they had tangled with her legs, dampened with sweat and... was that blood? Now she really did let out a startled, terrified noise, like an animal who had awoken to find themselves caught in a trap. She flailed in a most undignified manner, her hand hitting Connor on the shoulder.

Groggily, he pushed himself upright into a sitting position. "Tasha, what—My God!"

She gingerly swung herself out of bed, planting her feet solidly on the ground. Connor picked up her robe and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Would you like for me to summon your mother? The midwife?"

"Both of them," she yelled, feeling more than a twinge of pain slice through her abdomen. She white-knuckled the sheets, not sure if she could stand. "Tell them to come in here. I think I'm having the baby."

"What?" he said again. "No, you can't... It's too early..."

Natasha shrugged, gritting her teeth. "Why, dear husband, do you think I am deliberately attempting to undergo childbirth weeks earlier on purpose?"

"Not at all, my lovely wife." Connor quickly made his exit and returned moments later with her mother and the midwife. He looked pale.

"No men in the birthing room," the midwife said, clucking her tongue. "Usually, they'll be in a useless state."

That was true. She recalled that during Grace's birth, he had staggered back in to hold her, smelling as though he'd bathed in whisky. Natasha would have laughed at the thought if she weren't in so much pain. Was she supposed to be in this much agony?

"Our youngest child and I—" she winced as another jolt of pain stabbed at her. "Will see you when they've entered into this world and not a moment sooner, love."

He nodded, still gripping the door jamb. "Very well, then." Connor cast a look at her mother and the midwife. "You will take good care of her."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a command. It was a threat. She would have found that laughable, too, if she didn't feel like her body was being torn apart from the inside.

"Mother?" she said, squeezing her hand. "Is this... is there supposed to be this much blood?"

Lilian Blackmore had birthed five children. Surely if anyone were to know...

Her face was stiff, taut with worry. "Ask the midwife."

She echoed her question. The midwife, who had been busying herself telling a maid to fetch towels and boiling water, now looked her dead in the eye. "Your Majesty, if it's this early... it could be twins."

Her mouth dropped open. "Are you quite certain?"

Natasha recalled the past few months, thinking that it had been more uncomfortable, that she had been more easily tired doing simple tasks, that it had felt heavier than when she had been carrying Grace. It definitely could have been twins.

The midwife pressed down hard on Natasha's abdomen, which apparently ascertained something more than mere discomfort, and nodded. "No doubt about it, Your Majesty."

Natasha groaned. "I would like to be happier about this new development, save that I know of all of the pain that is to come."  Doubled.

Towels were fetched, water was boiled, maids bustled in and out, but all she could focus on was the trepidation and excitement and worry that twisted inside of her body. "Would you please send someone to tell my husband of this... new development?"

The midwife waved a hand to tell her that it had been done. Natasha sucked in a breath through her teeth as she settled into the birthing chair. This would most certainly be a long day.

•

That evening, William Blackmore made his way into the world, followed by his twin sister, Cordelia White. Their soft cries and the sight of their dark wispy hair more than made up for the pain they had caused and the extreme fatigue she felt. Her eyelids nearly fluttered closed when the door was opened and she jolted upright. It was Connor, of course, his blond hair rumpled and his face shadowed, though any traces of unhappiness vanished when he laid eyes upon her. He was holding Grace and set her down in the bassinet.

"Two..." he breathed, immediately marching over to sit next to her. The bed dipped to accommodate his weight, and she sank into him, letting him hold the girl. "Two babies?"

"Twins," she corrected him. "I took the liberty of naming them as well."

"The first names, but what of their middle names?" Connor asked, gently brushing a finger over Cordelia's face with such tenderness that her heart nearly burst.

"That is Cordelia White," she said. "This is William Blackmore."

He moved closer to her, allowing her head to drop onto his shoulder. Her body was aching and tired and utterly sore. She smelled awful and needed a bath and her skin was stained with sweat and various other bodily fluids, but there was nowhere else she would rather be—no one else she would rather be with. She heard the door click shut as her mother and the various others left the room.

"Cordelia Blakely White," Connor suggested, his fingers combing gently through Natasha's slightly damp hair. "For..."

Her throat swelled with tears; she could barely breathe at the sudden wave of sadness in the midst of what ought to be a joyful moment. "For Blake?" she asked, though she did not need to. He was alive. He had to be. "I'm sure Victoria would be bitter that she didn't get her name in."

"Then... William Victor White. For her, as well as—as well as my uncle." He rested his chin on the crown of her head.

Their family was whole, through sorrow and celebration and trials—they were still whole.