Sule positioned himself with trembling hands.
“Push, love. I’m here.”
Leena bore down, her entire body straining as she clung to Rhen.
Her breathing turned frantic.
Rhen locked one arm behind her shoulders and gave her something solid to push against.
“You know what to do,” he said. “Do not fight your body.”
She screamed, the sound shattering against stone.
The child crowned.
For one breathless instant, the room went still.
Then a cry broke through the silence.
Soft at first.
Questioning.
Then stronger.
A piercing wail split the tension apart.
Sule lifted his son with shaking hands, blood-slick, furious, and alive.
His face broke open.
Rhen had never seen his king look so stripped of rank, violence, or command.
Only wonder remained.
Leena sagged against Rhen, limp with exhaustion but breathing.
Alive.
A faint smile touched her lips.
“Sule,” she whispered. “Is he—”
“He’s here.” Sule swallowed hard. “He’s perfect.”
Rhen looked down at Leena.
She had endured pain that would have broken trained warriors and still fought her way through it.
He moved one damp strand of hair away from her eyes before immediately withdrawing his hand.
Sule wrapped the child in the nearest clean blanket and returned to her side. He lowered the baby carefully into Leena’s arms, though his hands hovered as if he could not bear to release either of them.
When she saw her son properly, Leena smiled.
Weak.
Radiant.
