I shifted uncomfortably in bed for what felt like the hundredth time that day, trying to find a position that didn't make my back scream in protest. The pressure in my abdomen had been building steadily since dawn, waves of discomfort that were growing more frequent and intense with each passing hour.
"My lady, perhaps we should send for the midwife now?" Clara hovered anxiously beside me, her face pinched with worry.
"Not yet," I insisted, gritting my teeth through another spasm. "It could still be false labor. Alaric is with the King—I don't want to call him home unnecessarily."
In truth, I was terrified. Stories of women dying in childbirth had haunted me throughout my pregnancy, despite Alaric's assurances that he'd hired the finest midwife and physician in the kingdom. He'd been called to the palace yesterday to assist King Theron, whose wife Queen Seraphina had just delivered their first child—a healthy prince. The timing couldn't have been worse.
