Chapter XLI: Childbed
The king carried Isabella swiftly through the harem, his heart racing with worry. Lady Belet's urgent commands spurred the maids into action, sending for the midwife without delay. Isabella's labored breathing echoed in the hallway as they rushed to the nearest room.
As they entered, Isabella's panting intensified, her grip tightening on the king's arm. The midwife arrived just in time and, as she rushed to Isabella's side, Lady Belet turned to the king, her expression solemn yet determined. "You must wait outside, your Majesty," she instructed firmly, her eyes meeting his with a silent plea for understanding.
Reluctantly, the king stepped back, his mind racing with concern for Isabella and their unborn child. Standing outside the room, he could only hope and pray for their safety.
The king's heart clenched with each agonizing scream that pierced through the door. He despised feeling so utterly helpless, unable to ease Isabella's pain in any way. All he could do was wait.
A whole hour had passed when Lady Belet emerged from the room, the king's breath caught in his throat, hoping for news of his child's arrival. Yet, her words brought a mix of relief and frustration. "The baby hasn't been born yet, your Majesty," she informed him gently, "It could be hours before the actual birth. You may leave if you wish; I'll summon you as soon as there's progress."
The king shook his head resolutely. "I'll stay," he declared, his gaze unwavering. With a nod, Lady Belet disappeared back into the room, leaving the king alone with his thoughts, his heart heavy with anticipation and worry.
For another four hours, the king stood outside the door, his anticipation mounting with each passing moment. Until, finally, the sound he longed for reached his ears—the cry of new life.
Lady Belet swung the door open, her smile radiant as she welcomed him inside. There, in her childbed, amidst the aftermath of labor, he beheld Isabella. She was covered in sweat, her face flushed with exertion yet glowing with joy as she cradled their newborn baby in her arms.
A surge of emotion washed over him as he gazed upon his child for the first time. Isabella's smile was infectious, and he couldn't help but mirror her expression of pure happiness. "It's a boy," she announced, her voice filled with pride and love, and in that moment, the king's heart swelled with overwhelming joy.
Lady Belet, the midwife, and the maids bowed respectfully, their faces alight with joy and reverence. "Congratulations, Your Majesty, on the birth of your son and heir," Lady Belet declared, her voice ringing with genuine happiness. "Long live the prince!"
The king leaned down to press a tender kiss to Isabella's forehead, his heart swelling with pride and affection. Gently, he reached out to caress the soft tufts of hair on their newborn son's head, feeling a rush of warmth and tenderness wash over him.
With a smile, Isabella carefully placed the baby in the king's arms, her eyes shining with love and adoration as she watched him cradle their precious child. It was a moment of pure bliss, and the king felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and awe at the little miracle in his arms.
"I shall name you Ikkar," the king said, savoring the sound of his son's name on his lips as he cradled him. "A strong name for a strong prince."
Isabella smiled up at him, her eyes shining with maternal pride. "Ikkar," she repeated softly, her voice filled with love.
The baby began to cry softly so the king returned him to his mother. As Isabella cradled Ikkar, the king watched with awe and pride, feeling a surge of love and protectiveness towards them both. The midwife began to assist Isabella so she could feed her child. Seeing Isabella nurse their son, his tiny hand curling around her finger, filled the king with a profound sense of gratitude and wonder.
As Lady Belet and the midwife left the room, the king settled into the chair beside Isabella's bed, unwilling to tear himself away from the precious moment. He watched in awe as Isabella cradled their son, her expression a mixture of tenderness and exhaustion.
"Thank you, Isabella," the king said softly, reaching out to gently stroke her cheek. "For carrying and birthing my son."
Isabella seemed tense and bothered somehow.
"Isabella," he began tentatively, reaching out to touch her hand. "Is everything alright?"
Isabella glanced up at him, her expression unreadable. "I'm fine," she replied tersely, her voice strained.
The king frowned, sensing her unease. "You don't seem fine," he remarked gently. "Is there something on your mind?"
Isabella hesitated, her gaze flickering between the king and their son. "I just... I don’t like this feeling," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
The king furrowed his brow in confusion. "What feeling?"
Isabella sighed, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion. "This, right now. I’m happy, you’re being sweet and caring… And I know this moment can be over all of the sudden and you will turn against me again," she confessed. "I should’ve known better than to trust your affections by now."
The king's heart clenched at her words, a pang of guilt washing over him. "I'm sorry, Isabella," he said softly, reaching out to cup her cheek.
Isabella met his gaze, her eyes filled with a mixture of resentment and vulnerability. "How long until you seek pleasure with your other concubines?" She asked, her voice trembling slightly. "How long until you suddenly remember that I am your enemy’s daughter?"
The king's heart ached at her words, but he knew that he couldn't change the past. He couldn’t change what he was. But he could decide who he was going to be from now on.
"No, Isabella," he said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "You’re the mother of my child. You’re the mother of my heir. And I shall hold you in my greatest regard for this."
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