Page 51 of Royal Love
“Better?” he asks as I relax back against the pillows.
“For now,” I say, catching my breath. “They’re getting stronger.”
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch infinitely gentle. “You are the most incredible woman I have ever known,” he says with such intensity that tears spring to my eyes. “And you are going to be the most amazing mother.”
“You can’t know that,” I whisper.
“I absolutely can,” he counters. “I’ve seen you with children. I’ve seen how you fight for what’s right, how you love without reservation, how you make everyone around you feel valued and heard. Our baby is the luckiest child in the world to have you as their mother.”
A tear slides down my cheek, and he catches it with his thumb. “Hormones,” I explain weakly.
“Of course,” he agrees, not calling me on the obvious lie. “Now, tell me what you need. What can I do to help you through this?”
“Just stay with me,” I say, suddenly overwhelmed by how much I love this man. “Be here.”
“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” he promises, settling in beside me. “We’re doing this together.”
As if on cue, another contraction begins. Tristan helps me sit up, supporting my back as I breathe through it, murmuring encouragement in my ear. When it passes, he offers me ice chips, adjusts my pillows, makes sure I’m comfortable.
“Has anyone called my mother?” I ask suddenly.
“She’s on her way,” he assures me. “Should be here within the hour.”
I nod, relieved. Despite our occasional clashes, I want my mother here for this momentous event. “And the press?”
“Kate is handling it,” he says. “A brief statement that you’ve gone into labor, and updates will follow when appropriate. No details, no photographs, exactly as we planned.”
Another wave of gratitude washes over me. Even in crisis mode, rushing to my side, Tristan remembered our careful plans for privacy during this intensely personal moment.
The next few hours blur together in a rhythm of pain and respite. Tristan never leaves my side, not even when my mother arrives and tries to convince him to take a break. The contractions intensify, and finally I agree to an epidural when the pain becomes overwhelming.
“You’re doing beautifully,” the doctor tells me during her next check. “Eight centimeters now. Not much longer.”
Tristan wipes my brow with a cool cloth, his eyes never leaving my face. “You hear that? You’re almost there.”
I nod, too focused on the sensations in my body to form words. The epidural has taken the edge off, but I can still feel the pressure of each contraction, the inexorable movement of our child toward the world.
“I never thought we’d get here,” I say during a brief respite. “When we first met, when you were this frustrating, arrogant prince who drove me crazy.”
He laughs softly. “And you were the stubborn commoner who refused to be impressed by my title.”
“Look at us now,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears again.
“Look at us now,” he agrees, pressing his lips to my forehead. “About to be parents.”
The word sends a fresh surge of panic through me. “Tristan, what if?—”
“No what-ifs,” he interrupts gently. “We’ll figure it out together, just like we’ve figured everything else out.”
Before I can respond, another contraction builds, this one with a different quality that makes me gasp. The doctor returns, checking me quickly.
“It’s time,” she announces, her calm voice cutting through my momentary fear. “You’re fully dilated. On the next contraction, I want you to push.”
Tristan’s hand tightens around mine. “I’m right here,” he reminds me. “Right beside you.”
The next hour passes in a blur of pushing, breathing, and Tristan’s steady encouragement. My mother stands by the door, her presence a quiet comfort, while Shannon waits outside. The medical team moves with practiced efficiency, their voices blending into background noise as I focus solely on bringing our child into the world.
“I can see the head,” the doctor says finally. “One more big push, Your Majesty.”
