"Wahh… wah… waaah…"
The sharp, fragile cry of an infant cut through the warm air, mingling with hurried footsteps and excited murmurs from the accoucheurs moving about the chamber.
"Your Majesty—oh! After so many daughters, you…"
Asher turned his head weakly toward the voice, breath heavy in his chest, every muscle burning as exhaustion weighed on him. His vision swam, but he forced his eyes to stay open, straining to see past the blur of movement.
Across the room—
He saw Leticia.
His queen. His wife.
Cradling a small, trembling bundle in her arms.
"…have a boy!"
'A boy?'
Asher's heart stuttered.
A boy…
Of course, he loved every one of his daughters—his fierce, brilliant girls who filled the palace with strength and laughter. But still… somewhere deep inside him had always lived a quiet longing.
To raise a son.
A prince.
Someone to someday walk beside him… or even take his place.
"M-May I…" he murmured hoarsely, lifting an unsteady hand toward Leticia. "May… I—"
