Crowned for the Prince's Heir

She was over a week away from her due date when the first pain came in the middle of the night, waking her up with a start. A ring of steel clamped itself around her suddenly rock-hard belly and Lisa clutched her arms around it in the darkness, trying to remember the midwife’s instructions. It was the early hours of the morning and the contractions were very irregular—she had plenty of time before she needed to let anyone know.

But as they got stronger and more painful, she rang for Almeera, whose eyes widened when she saw her mistress sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking forward and back.

‘Fetch the Prince,’ said Lisa, closing her eyes as she felt the onset of another fierce contraction. ‘Tell him I’m in labour.’

Luc arrived almost immediately, looking as if he’d just thrown his clothes on and not bothered to tidy his hair. His cell phone was pressed to his ear as he walked into the room, his gaze raking over her.

‘Dr Gautier wants to know how often the contractions are coming,’ he said.

‘Every...’ She gasped as she glanced at the golden clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Every five minutes.’

He relayed this information, slipping naturally into French before cutting the connection. ‘The ambulance is on its way and so is Dr Gautier.’

She gazed up at him. ‘My...my waters have broken,’ she stumbled.

He smiled. ‘Well, that is normal, isn’t it, chérie?’

His soft tone disarmed her and so did his confidence. It made her forget about the distance between them. And suddenly Lisa wanted more than his support—she needed some of his strength. And comfort. ‘Luc?’ she said brokenly as another contraction came—surely far sooner than it was supposed to.

He was by her side in an instant, taking her hand and not flinching when her fingernails bit into his flesh as another contraction powered over her. ‘I’m here,’ he said.

‘I’m supposed to have the baby in the hospital,’ she whispered.

‘It doesn’t matter where you have the baby,’ he said. ‘We have everything here you need. You’re going to be fine.’

And somehow she believed him, even when Dr Gautier arrived with another doctor and two midwives and said there was no time to go anywhere. All the things she’d read about were starting to happen, only now they were happening to her. At first she was scared and then it all became too intense to be anything but focussed. She tried to concentrate on her breathing, aware of the immense pressure building up inside her and Luc smoothing back her sweat-tangled curls. The medical staff were speaking to each other very quickly—sometimes in French—but Luc was murmuring to her in English. Telling her that she was brave and strong. Telling her that she could do this. She could do anything.

And then it was happening. The urge to push and being told she couldn’t push, and then being unable to do anything but push. Still gripping Luc’s hand, Lisa gritted her teeth and tried to pant the way she’d been taught—and just as she thought the contractions couldn’t get any more intense, her baby was delivered into the hands of the waiting doctor and a loud and penetrating wail filled the air.

‘C’est une fille!’ exclaimed Dr Gautier.

‘A girl?’ said Lisa, looking up into Luc’s eyes.

He nodded. ‘A beautiful baby girl,’ he said unsteadily, his eyes suddenly very bright.

Lisa slumped back against the pillows as a sense of quiet and purposeful activity took over. The intensity of the birth had morphed into an air of serenity as the doctor finished his examinations, and, now cocooned in soft white cashmere, the baby was handed to her.

She felt so light, thought Lisa as a shaft of something fierce and protective shot through her. So light and yet so strong. With unfamiliar fingers, she guided her daughter to her breast, where she immediately began to suckle. Dimly, she became aware that Luc had left the room and, once the baby had finished feeding, the midwives helped her wash and gave her a clean silk nightgown. And when she next looked up, Luc was back and it was just the three of them.

She felt strangely shy as he dragged up a gilt chair and sat beside her, his elbows on his knees, his palms cupping his chin as he watched her intently. Their eyes met over the baby’s head and Lisa suddenly felt a powerful sense of longing, wishing he would reach out and touch her. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship, she reminded herself. They’d gone too far in the wrong direction and there was no turning back.

‘We need to discuss names,’ she said.

‘Names?’ he echoed blankly.

‘We can’t keep calling her “the baby”. Are you still happy with Rose and then both our mothers’ names?’

‘Rose Maria Elizabeth,’ he said, his slow gaze taking in every centimetre of the baby’s face. ‘They are perfect. Just like her.’

‘Rose,’ Lisa echoed softly, before holding out the snowy bundle towards him. ‘Would you like to hold her?’

Luc’s hesitation was brief as he reached out but his heart maintained its powerful pounding as he held his baby for the first time. He had never known real fear before, but he knew it now. Fear that he would prove inadequate to care for this tiny bundle of humanity. Fear that he might say the wrong thing to the woman who had just blown him away by giving birth to her.

As he cradled his sleeping daughter and marvelled at her sheer tininess, he felt the thick layer of ice around his heart begin to fracture. He could feel the welling up of unknown emotion—a whole great storm of it—packed down so deeply inside him that he hadn’t even realised it was there. It felt raw and it felt painful, but it felt real—this sudden rush of devotion and a determination to protect his child for as long as he lived.

‘Thank you,’ he said softly, glancing up to meet Lisa’s eyes.

‘You’re welcome.’