by Kyra Gregory
“A week with my sister,” Riffin mused aloud, watching her exit her home to greet him, “what could possibly go wrong?”
Thane looked at him with furrowed brows, unaware of the friction that had developed between them—little did he know that he was at the centre of it. Malia smiled, taking Riffin by the hand and squeezing his fingers, “We’ll be home before you know,” she said. “At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”
Riffin smirked and leaned over her, pressing his lips to hers before the carriage could come to a stop outside of his sister’s home.
The weeks melted away into months and, true enough, before long, they were back home in Lionessa.
Just as they had joked, Malia started showing signs of carrying a child just as they returned. No longer as slender as she once was, the bump of her belly began to grow until she had little choice but to do away with her corsets. Though she suffered little from the illnesses normally incurred by those who were expecting, she no longer made as many appearances to the public, fearful the news would get out before the time was right.
Like a bird trapped in a cage, after months of contrite exploration, she was condemned to wandering the Capital alone. It didn’t trouble her nearly as much as she thought it might. She was surrounded by people who cared for her—people she cared for. No longer was she looked upon by her peers as the Prince’s whore—no longer was her presence unwanted.
Once it was safe to do so, the good news was spread across Queen Sybelle’s kingdoms. Her parents visited, as did Gyles and Lukas. No longer would people have to fear one day being left without an heir. The family would live on and, to the people, the pirate daughter’s place was cemented into the family with each day that her belly grew.
As time progressed, Riffin rarely left the palace for anything other than short journeys within Lionessa. The desire to be home, to be beside the woman he loved, was greater than ever, and he refused to give the people, or his wife, any reason to think otherwise.
Spending afternoons out in the forests, racing on horseback against Thane and his father were the few occasions he had to tear away from palace life, from duties and thoughts of fatherhood.
Although he looked forward to it, he couldn’t deny the refreshing sensation that had washed over him by the time he returned home. After hours of rushing through the forest, taking in the scent of the damp soil, the flowers that grew in the bushes, the laughter that ached his sides as his friend and father jested, he felt certain he could take on anything.
It wasn’t long after a chuckle had left his lips that a servant ran up to him and gave him the news. He left his horse unattended and sprinted up the steps to the palace. “Riffin,” his father called after him. “Riffin, Riffin, stop.”
His heart was thudding furiously in his chest but he wasn’t sure if that, or fear, forced him to a stop at the sound of his father’s strong words. His hands trembled at his sides but his fear wasn’t important. What about Malia? What about her fears? She had been promised that her mother would be here, that her mother would be at her side and she hadn’t arrived yet. She had no need to be there for a few more weeks. He had only taken another two steps before his father grabbed him.
“Come,” he said. He took him by the arm, luring him into the throne room where he dismissed the nearby guards.
Gyles was stood there, scanning the pages of a hefty book that was placed on the marble-topped table. He took one glance over his shoulder as Riffin made his way down the room in a flight, his brows furrowing together, ”You’re as white as a sheet,” he declared.
Riffin cocked his head to one side, breathing shakily through his teeth. His father approached him with a glass bottle and a chalice, placing it down onto the table before passing him the drink. Riffin took a swig of its contents, cringing against the strength of the alcohol, “Is that how you intend to get me through this? Get me drunk?” he asked, turning to his father.
“I intend to calm you down,” his father said.
Gyles glanced between them, shaking his head, “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Malia has gone into labour,” his father replied.
“I’ve heard,” Gyles murmured with furrowed brows. “Again, I ask, what’s the matter?”
His father smirked, “Riffin thinks it’s smart to charge right into the room,” he said.
“I should be with her,” Riffin whispered, cocking his head back.
“Your mother is by her side,” Gyles said, as though to comfort him.
“Is that enough?” Riffin asked, unsurely, looking from his father to Gyles. “Is that enough?” He shook his head, rising to his feet as quickly as he had sat down, “It’s early,” he said, “months too early and...” The rising panic had him moving again, his hands shaking and his feet ready to lead him back out into the corridor.
“She was early too,” Gyles said, before he could take his first step. “Malia,” he clarified, “she was almost two full months early.”
Riffin trembled, “As comforting as that may be, I know of the realities of such...complications,” he said. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nostrils flaring.
“What do you propose sitting there and watching those complications will do?” his father asked. “Do you imagine that it will make a difference?”
“She’s my wife and I should be at her side!” he argued.
“It is not an unreasonable request,” Gyles said, glancing in Deros’ direction. Deros shifted his weight from one foot to the other, reaching for his drink as he glared at Gyles from beneath his lashes. Undeterred, Gyles went on, ”I was present for Kara, when Malia was born, and that did me no harm.”
Deros bit the inside of his cheek, glancing over his shoulder in search of the nearest servant. “Please look into the Princess’ state,” he ordered.
Riffin lowered himself back into his seat, sitting at the very edge as he turned his attentions to the man he called his uncle, “What was it like?” he asked.
Gyles itched his brow, lowering his gaze as an uncertain smile tugged at his lips, “I don’t know how to describe it,” he said.
“A horror, might be a good start,” his father chimed in.
“It is painful to watch,” Gyles said, a touch of agreement in his tone, “only nowhere near as painful as it is for her to endure.”
“Comforting to know,” Riffin murmured. There was a second of silence. A heartbeat. He rose to his feet and stormed past his father.
“Where are you going?” his father asked, calling after him, throwing his hands up at his sides.
“To be with her,” he called back. “There is no better way of knowing than seeing for myself.” He quickened his pace down the corridors until he got to her room, sucking in a breath before entering.
The room was filled with servants, the air in the room damp and stale, thick with the stench of sweat and blood. He could barely make out her figure on the bed through the crowd around her; the physician and his assistant, as well as the servants that surrounded her, shielding her from immediate sight upon entering.
Two of the servants approached him immediately, “Your Royal Highness, please,” they pleaded, moving to usher him back out. They got onto the tips of their toes, trying to further hide the sight from him as others scrambled to hide the blood-stained sheets.
He shrugged out of their gentle touches and slipped out of his jacket in the same instant before tossing it onto the nearest piece of furniture. He cut through the crowd around the side of the bed, his eyes falling on his wife’s sweat and tear-soaked features. He got onto the sheets beside her without a second thought and drew her in just enough to press a kiss into her damp hair. His mother was at her other side, just as Gyles had said, tending to her warm skin with a cool cloth and clutching her hand dearly in her own.
It was just as Gyles said; watching Malia’s suffering was another sort of excruciating. No pain he had ever endured in his young life could ever rival what she was enduring now. Malia trembled in his e
mbrace, shaking and screaming through the agony. It wasn’t long after his arrival that their child was born. Malia laid back, reeling from the spasms and discomfort, her lips trembling. Riffin leaned into her, a smile growing on his mouth at the sound of a healthy baby’s cries.
The baby was taken aside to be bathed and Riffin buried his smiling lips into Malia’s sweat-soaked features. When their eyes were not on each other, they were on their crying child’s profile as he was wiped clean and swaddled in blankets.
As suddenly as the euphoria had been granted, it was taken away. Malia’s breath caught in the back of her throat and she cried out suddenly, hissing through a sharp pain.
Riffin’s hands started to sweat as her fingers tightened around his and he started to tremble just like she did. “What’s wrong?” Riffin asked. His words were barely above a whisper, escaping him in a soft stutter that was barely audible to anyone other than themselves.
Malia said nothing. She cried out again, doing her utmost to sit up, leaning into the pain.
“Another one?” the physician whispered.
Sure enough, within minutes, and to everyone’s astonishment, a second child was born.
The physician smiled, handing the child off to another servant. Riffin snatched a wet cloth from his mother, dabbing at Malia’s neck and chest as she threw herself back against him. He watched her intently, counting each breath that escaped her lips, watching her eyelids fluttered open and shut repeatedly as she fought against her own exhaustion.
The servants scrambled towards them with looks of absolute delight in their eyes, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Two girls,” they declared.
Riffin felt robbed of breath as he watched one of the babies laid against Malia’s chest, the other soon transferred to his arms. Holding this tiny creature, watching it try to stretch its arms above its head, Riffin felt his eyes begin to burn. He chuckled, unable to contain the smile growing on his face. Looking to Malia, the same look of delight fought through the exhaustion as her fingers curled around the small bundle on her chest.
The Queen smiled, reaching out to touch the new additions to their family. “When I asked for heirs, I didn’t think you would deliver like this,” she said.
Malia laughed and Riffin pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inching himself closer to her until their young children could lie side-by-side, receiving love and warmth from them both.
Hours passed. Malia was bathed and changed, lying in her bed, watching intently as Riffin paced between her and the two cradles beside the window, torn between caring for his growing family. “I always thought to ask what it would be better to hope for,” she said, “but I always worried what the answer might be and what would happen were I to disappoint.”
Riffin looked over, finding her staring at the cradle through tired, half-lidded eyes. As both baby girls slumbered, he gave the cradle a gentle nudge, watching it sway them peacefully from side-to-side. “What do you mean?” he asked.
There was a pause, silence falling between them as Malia lifted her hand to wipe at her eyes. “On the one hand, I have grown up in kingdoms ruled by a Queen. On the other, I have seen what she has had to endure; the power struggles, the insinuation that she isn’t fit, the threat of childbirth—”
Riffin hushed her, taking a seat beside her and pressing his forehead to hers. “Enough,” he whispered, brushing his thumb against her jaw. “You’ve endured too much to be troubled by this.”
She grabbed his hand, increasing the intensity of her grip, “Is it wrong?” she asked. Licking her wobbling lips, she asked again, “Is it wrong that they’re girls?”
Riffin leaned in, brushing his lips against hers before resting her forehead against hers. “They’re perfect,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.” Malia smiled widely, leaning into the palm of his hand before kissing it.
***
In the next few days, the news of two daughters, Dione and Neaera, was announced to the people. Villages celebrated and gifts were sent by the nobles, messengers entering the palace constantly, one after the other.
Malia found it difficult to leave the children, no matter who offered her help. Hours she used to spend practicing her archery or horse-riding were now spent in the nursery, sitting beside the cradles with a book in hand.
When she wasn’t resting in their chambers, Riffin knew he could find her there.
The nursery was re-decorated, a dark blue shade, decorated with an intricate pattern of gold. The white cradles and curtains added a brightness to the room that had been detracted by the dark walls. With the windows open, it was the airiest room in the kingdom, with the crisp white curtains billowing slightly against the breeze that entered.
Malia paced around the room, Neaera in her arms with a smile of content tugging at her lips. Riffin sat at the window, leafing through the pages of one of his mother’s journals. Interested as he may have been in his mother’s musings, he couldn’t help but be distracted each time his wife and daughters caught his eye.
Dione, dressed in white with gold trimmings along the lace, lay sound asleep in the cradle beside him. With her arms stretched out above her head, she breathed and dreamed in silence.
There was a gentle knock on the door and, before they could call for them to enter, the door was opened the Queen entered. “And how is the happy family?” she asked.
Malia curtsied elegantly, all the while holding her daughter to her chest. “We’re well,” she replied. “Growing stronger with each week that passes.” She found herself laughing and the sight of it was enough to cause Riffin’s heart to flutter. “Is it wrong that I find it impossible to leave them?”
Queen Sybelle approached, peering into Malia’s arms to admire the baby girl’s soft profile. A smile, fond and forlorn, was quick on her lips as she took in the sight of her delicate features. “They’re beautiful,” she remarked. “I would struggle to leave them too.”
Riffin rose to his feet, placing the journal on a side-table beside the window. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
Queen Sybelle’s smile faded as she pulled herself away, turning on her heel before doing so again to face them. Riffin drew in closer and, as his mother sat on one of the couches, he moved to do the same across from her.
Sensing the tension in the silence, Malia placed Neaera in her cradle, draping a blanket over her before joining Riffin on the couch. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
Queen Sybelle pulled a letter from the folds of her dress, handing it to Malia, “Your mother remains unable to travel,” she said.
Malia’s brows furrowed together in confusion, “Unable to travel?” she asked.
Queen Sybelle pursed her lips together. She lifted her gaze, appearing sympathetic in ways Malia had never seen from her before. “Your mother lost a child a little over a month ago,” she said. Malia’s mouth fell open, questions quick on her lips only for the Queen to keep speaking. “Your father deemed her too weak to travel,” she said. “Your mother fought him on it, of course, but her state made it easier for your father to succeed in getting her to rest.”
“Why didn’t anybody tell me about this?” she asked.
“Your mother made us promise that we wouldn’t,” she replied, audible contempt towards the idea in her voice. “She was worried you would fear or stress over your own labour because of it—she didn’t want her experience to influence you.”
Malia’s nostrils flared and her cheeks reddened with a growing heat. “She shouldn’t have made that decision,” she whispered. “How is she?” she asked before the Queen could reply, concern winning out over her anger.
“She’s tired a lot,” Queen Sybelle replied, “but she isn’t in any danger.”
“Will she be able to travel soon?” she asked.
Queen Sybelle sighed softly, “She would like to but your father would prefer it if she didn’t—not for the moment. Much to your mother’s contempt, it is what your father says that will go in this case.”
Malia chewed her bottom lip
, breathing out heavily through her nose. “I should go to her,” she said. She swallowed a lump, forming in the back of her throat, “I would take her mind off things if I could,” she added.
“Do you feel up to it?” Riffin asked.
“I’m fine,” Malia whispered. She glanced over her shoulder, breathing out a sigh, “Leaving them though—”
“Perhaps you could begin with a few letters,” Queen Sybelle intervened softly. “Since you cannot travel with the children, you could spend a bit more time with them and give yourself a chance to recover.”
She pursed her lips together, nodding curtly as she stood. Caught between two worlds, she found herself coming to a stop. “Do you know how far along she was?”
Queen Sybelle pursed her lips together. A quick glance in Riffin’s direction confirmed her suspicions that she had started to worry—in spite of her attempts to keep it from showing. Riffin rose to his feet and approached Malia, sliding in behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “About three months,” Queen Sybelle replied, “much like she was the first time.”
Malia placed her hands over Riffin’s, entwining their fingers together absent-mindedly. “Perhaps not being here is for the best,” she murmured as her shoulders dropped. “I cannot imagine it, losing a child, and then being surrounded by them.”
Queen Sybelle smiled softly, “Your mother is a remarkable woman, braving even the worst,” she said. She sighed, getting to her feet, “Write to both your parents,” she said. “See what your mother wishes to do, gain your father’s opinion and make a decision from there.”
Malia nodded in agreement, watching Queen Sybelle leave with a vacant star in her eyes. “Did you know about this?” she asked, leaning into Riffin’s embrace.
He shook his head, kissing her cheek, “No,” he said.
She sighed heavily, turning to face him within his embrace. “Our parents seem to like each other better than either of us could have hoped, keeping each other’s secrets this way.”
Riffin smirked, nodding in agreement, “Perhaps it was for the best,” he said. “I needn’t have anything else to fuel my concerns for you.”