Claimed By The Tyrant King

The royal physician arrived almost immediately after the servants were sent for, accompanied by the chief midwife and several experienced midwives who quickly took charge of the birthing chamber.

There was no time to waste.

The women moved with efficiency, preparing everything that would be needed while the royal physician remained close by to monitor Rosalind’s condition in case any complications arose.

Before long, everyone who was not needed inside was asked to leave the room and wait outside, hoping and praying for a safe delivery.

By then, the entire palace had awakened.

The Queen’s cries echoed through the chamber and carried into the corridor, making every person waiting outside hold their breath.

Rowan paced back and forth restlessly, his heart pounding harder than it ever had on any battlefield. He had faced death countless times without flinching, yet nothing had ever frightened him as much as hearing Rosalind cry out in pain while he could do nothing to help her.

No one dared to interrupt him. It was clear from the look on his face that words of comfort would not reach him.

The usually composed king now walked the corridor over and over again, one hand pressed against his brow while the other clenched tightly at his side.

More than anything, he was frustrated that he had been forbidden from entering the room. Queen Catarina had been allowed to remain with her daughter, and so had the other women assisting inside.

He, however, could only wait outside with everyone else, and the helplessness gnawed at him with every passing moment.

King Adrian stood nearby with a grim expression, saying nothing as he watched Rowan pace the corridor. Cedric remained beside Julian, gently holding the little boy’s hand while they both waited in silence outside the chamber.

Even Julian, who usually had endless questions to ask, sensed the heaviness in the air and stayed unusually quiet.

Inside the chamber, only the warm glow of several oil lamps lit the room.

Their flickering light cast long shadows against the walls while everything had already been arranged for the delivery. The chief midwife remained at the foot of the bed, carefully guiding the birth, while the royal physician watched Rosalind closely and kept track of the alarming amount of blood she had already lost.

As the minutes stretched on, it became painfully clear that this delivery would not be an easy one.

Rosalind let her head sink back against the pillow as another wave of pain crashed through her body.

Sweat drenched her face and dampened the loose strands of hair clinging to her forehead, while her vision blurred until she could barely focus on the people surrounding her.

She had never imagined pain could reach such an unbearable depth. "I... I can’t do it anymore," she whispered weakly, her voice trembling.

"No, don’t say that," Catarina replied at once, panic filling her eyes as she tightened her hold on her daughter’s hand. "You can do this."

"You can," Verity added from Rosalind’s other side, squeezing her hand gently. "We’re all here with you."

"It’s... it’s so hard..." Rosalind cried, her brows knitting together as another contraction seized her body. Tears slipped down her cheeks despite her efforts to hold them back, and every breath became more difficult than the last.

The chief midwife leaned forward, her voice remaining calm despite the urgency in the room. "Your Majesty, you must push again."

Catarina immediately looked at her daughter and gently rubbed the back of her hand. "Listen to me," she said softly, fighting to keep her own voice steady. "I’ll count for you, and when I do, you have to push. You are stronger than you think, Rosalind. I know you can do this."

Rosalind could only cry as she nodded faintly. When Catarina began counting, she gathered every bit of strength she had left, gripping the hands on either side of her so tightly that her fingers trembled.

A scream tore from her throat as she pushed with everything she had, but when the pain became unbearable, her head fell back against the pillow once more.

"She’s losing too much blood," the royal physician said gravely after examining her.

"Please... stop..." Rosalind sobbed, shaking her head weakly. "I don’t want to do this anymore..."

"You have to," Rebecca said gently as she stepped closer. She knew better than most what childbirth demanded of a woman, and although she understood Rosalind’s despair, there was no turning back now.

She said reassuringly, "I know it hurts more than words can describe, but there isn’t any other way now. You can do this, Rosalind. You’re almost there, and your baby need you to keep fighting."

Hannah nodded in agreement and Rosalind couldn’t help but breathe heavily.

After several minutes....

"Oh, goodness..." Rosalind cried out in anguish as she turned her head from side to side. She couldn’t endure it anymore. The pain had become too much, and with every passing moment, she wished there were another way.

"Isn’t there another way?" she asked desperately.

"No, Your Majesty," the chief midwife replied gently. "This is the only way."

The words made Rosalind’s heart sink.

By then, blood had already soaked the sheets beneath her, and the servants hurried in and out of the chamber, carrying away bowls of bloodied water and replacing them with fresh ones. Rowan stopped one of the servants as she stepped into the corridor, causing her to lower her head immediately.

"How is my wife?" he asked, his voice tense.

The servant hesitated before answering, "Her Majesty... she’s losing a lot of blood. The midwives said the delivery is going to be difficult."

For a moment, Rowan felt as though a bucket of ice water had been poured over him. The colour drained from his face as the servant’s words settled heavily in his chest. The others waiting nearby had also fallen silent, having heard every word.

"I’m so sorry, Your Majesty," the servant murmured before hurrying away with the bowl in her hands.

Rowan slowly turned back toward the chamber, his heart pounding violently against his ribs. What if...

He shut his eyes at once, refusing to let the thought take shape, yet it forced its way into his mind all the same.

He couldn’t lose Rosalind.

The thought alone made it difficult to breathe.

She was his life, the person who had given meaning to everything he had fought for. He couldn’t imagine a world where he would never see her again, never hear her voice, or never hold her in his arms.