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“What is wrong with the queen?” a small voice asks. A young girl stands, rubbing her eyes.

“Go back to bed, Inez,” Ruya tells her firmly before turning back to Honora. “We need to get her somewhere safe. Now!”

The servants immediately oblige, putting Honora’s arms over their shoulders and taking her back.No, she wants to scream,do not take me back.

They bring her to her chambers and help her onto the bed. She tries to claw her way off it, but they hold her tight.

“The baby is coming, Your Highness,” they tell her. “We need to deliver him.”

“No, no…” Honora sobs as another wave of pain wracks her body. “I need to save him.”

Ruya’s face is streaked with tears but shemakes soothing sounds for the queen, wiping her sweat-soaked forehead with a cool cloth. She wants to pour her au’mana into something to help, but there is nothing to ease her now. Honora’s stormy eyes begin to glow a furious gold, bright as molten glass, the fear and pain overwhelming her.

“Your Highness!” Ruya cries. “You cannot turn!”

Honora growls with lengthening teeth.

“The baby!” her handmaiden pleads. “You will hurt the baby if you turn!”

Immediately, the gold is extinguished, and the buds of her transformation shrivel. Honora succumbs to huge, heaving sobs. Defeated.

And then she hears him. Goosebumps spring up along the back of her neck as dread crawls up her spine.

“Everyone out.” The king stands silhouetted in the doorway, his voice cool.

The servants hesitate, glancing between each other.

“I said, out!” he booms. “If she is fit to survive this, she will.”

The servants jump and scatter, but Ruya shoots a venomous look at him.

“No,” she snarls, keeping hold of Honora’s hand. “She needs help to deliver him safely. I will not leave her.”

The king fixes her with an even look.

“You think I am unaware of yourmachinations behind my back? Whatever you have concocted, I hope it was worth your head,” he says, his tone almost bored. Two guards walk forth and wrap their grip around Ruya’s arms.

She shrieks and kicks at them, drawing on her au’mana. The room begins to glow purple, every sharp item around her turning to point at them. They hover ominously, a protective bubble around the witch and the queen. The king, eyes narrowed, flicks his hand.

A guard darts forward and pushes a wet rag against her mouth. Ruya squirms out of his grip and flings her au’mana. The sharp objects fly at the king, who falls back with a startled cry and a clang of armour. When he stands up again, a letter opener has sliced his cheek open. He touches it with a shaking hand, blood on his fingers.

“Close her magic off! Now!” he barks.

The guards hold the wet rag to Ruya’s mouth and nose. She tries to claw at them, but the other guards pin her arms back. She coughs, inhaling the foul drug, and her au’mana vanishes. The glow disappears, and the items drop back down again with a clatter. Impotent, Ruya is dragged away as she fights desperately to reach her magic again.

Honora watches, eyes wide and red-ringed, but can do nothing. The baby is coming. She can feel him. He is going to rip her apart, but she does not care. She only wants him to be safe.

The king gives her one last apathetic look and slams the door closed, locking it behind him. Honora unleashes a scream from the bottom of her soul through her body.

Prince Theo is born in wrath and blood.

The sheets are soaked red. Her son is crying for her, and she wants so much to reach for him, to hold him, but she cannot lift her arms. Exhaustion sweeps her, and she nearly closes her eyes.

No, she whispers to herself and snaps them open. In the corner of the room, cloaked in gloom, two figures stand. Their faces and bodies are covered, adorned in white silk, akin to marble statues. They stand and they watch and they do not move. Not yet.

Reapers.

Honora knows what this means. She looks back at them and shakes her head. Even if she has lost her battle, she feels her power swell. Ascended.