Page 47 of Royal Deception (Royals of the Underworld #2)

CLARY

T he world spins around me as the paramedics rush me into the emergency room. My body is tense, each contraction hitting harder than the last. I try to focus on breathing through it, but the pain is sharp and constant.

I’m lying on a gurney, the cold air of the ER hospital room making my skin crawl as they wheel me through the sterile hallways. The beeping of monitors, the shuffle of footsteps, and the rush of medical staff all blur together as I struggle to keep calm.

But I can’t. Not with the pain intensifying. Not with the fear gnawing at me, because every part of me knows something’s wrong.

I look down at my belly, feeling the cramping, the sensation of my body betraying me. And then I remember. Dmitry Petrov . His face flashes in my mind, the sedative he injected me with.

My heart skips a beat. Could this be a result of that?

“Is it normal?” I hear myself asking the nurse, but my voice is weak and unsteady. “The contractions, I mean?”

The nurse glances at me, her face calm, though I can see the underlying concern. “We’re going to get you checked out, Clary. Don’t worry, we’re on top of it.”

But it’s hard not to worry. I know what this could mean. I’m in labor too soon. I need Rory. I need him here with me.

But he’s not here.

The thought makes my chest tighten. I don’t know where he is or if he’s already on his way. All I know is that I need him. I need him to tell me it’s going to be okay.

“Please,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else, “I need him.”

“Clary?”

I turn my head and see Rory standing at the door. He’s breathless, his face drawn with worry. My heart skips, and for the first time since I’ve been rushed in here, I feel a spark of relief.

“Rory,” I say, my voice small as I reach for him. He moves to my side immediately, taking my hand in his, squeezing it tightly.

“Don’t worry, okay?” he says, his voice shaking a little but trying to reassure me. “I’m here.”

I nod, tears pricking at my eyes. “The baby… the sedative, is it affecting the baby?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“They’re going to take care of it,” Rory says, rubbing his thumb over my hand in a soothing motion. He’s trying to sound calm, but I can see the worry in his eyes.

The doctor starts to speak again, but I barely hear the words. The pain comes again, sharper this time, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. Rory’s hand is a lifeline, holding me steady.

“Stay with me,” he says softly. “We’ll get through this, Clary. I’m not going anywhere.”

The contraction fades, leaving me breathless, but the weight of what’s happening settles in. I don’t have time to wonder what could go wrong because I feel the panic clawing at my chest again.

Rory’s hand is still gripping mine, strong and steady, and I focus on the way his fingers curl around mine. He hasn’t let go.

A few seconds later, the doctor returns, her expression professional but not unkind. She looks at me for a long moment, checking the monitors before she speaks.

“Clary, Rory,” she says, her voice calm, “You’re thirty-six weeks along, which means you’re considered preterm, but we’ve seen babies born this early do just fine. We’re concerned, yes, but we’ll be able to manage it. Your baby’s coming, and he’s coming today.”

My breath catches. I want to say something, but the words don’t come. All I can do is look at the doctor, her words sinking in slowly.

Rory’s voice is a little hoarse when he speaks. “He’s okay? The baby’s okay?”

The doctor nods, a reassuring smile tugging at her lips. “There’s a possibility the baby will need some time in the NICU for monitoring, but there’s no need to worry. We’ll be prepared. You’re in good hands.”

Rory squeezes my hand, and I feel a tiny bit of relief wash over me, though the gravity of the situation is still overwhelming.

“They’ll monitor you closely as we move forward,” the doctor continues. “We’ll do everything we can to make sure the delivery is smooth, but the baby’s ready to come. We’ll prep for a delivery, and we’ll get you to the labor room soon.”

I try to steady my breathing, nodding, but the reality is crashing down on me. I’m about to become a mother. The baby’s coming now, not in a few weeks, not when we’d planned. I don’t even feel ready.

But Rory’s voice breaks through my thoughts, low and steady, keeping me grounded. “Clary, we’ve got this,” he says, his words firm but gentle. “We’ll be with you every step of the way.”

I nod, blinking back the tears that have started to well up again. I want to believe him. I want to believe everything’s going to be okay. But I can’t shake the nerves that tighten my chest.

The doctor steps aside as a nurse comes in with a fresh gown, moving quickly and efficiently, but I don’t miss the way she glances at Rory and me. She smiles a little, a gesture of reassurance, but I don’t have time to process it.

The next few moments are a blur of preparations and medical staff, but through it all, Rory doesn’t leave my side. He’s there when I’m wheeled to the labor room, his hand never leaving mine.

“Clary,” he says softly, his voice just for me, “This is it. We’re about to meet our baby.”

I cling to those words as the room starts to spin again, my heart racing with a mix of fear and excitement.

Everything is happening so fast. But I know one thing for sure—whatever happens, I’m not alone. Not anymore.

We’re doing this together.

The contractions are coming fast and hard now, each one leaving me breathless, squeezing every ounce of energy from my body. Rory’s voice cuts through the pain like a lifeline.

“You can do this, Clary,” he says, his tone low and steady, his words grounding me in the chaos. “I know you can. You’ve proven yourself more than capable, haven’t you?”

I nod, my fingers clutching his hand so tightly I’m sure I’m hurting him, but he doesn’t let go. His hand is a steady anchor in the storm of pain, his presence unwavering.

I try to focus on him, on his voice, and it’s enough to get me through the worst of the pain. Each time the wave of pain crashes over me, I squeeze his hand harder, my breath coming in sharp gasps, and Rory’s voice never falters.

“You’re doing so well, Clary,” he says, his voice laced with that commanding tone he uses when he wants to calm me down. “You’re going to be okay. We’re almost there. Just one more push, baby, you’ve got this.”

I try to take a deep breath, forcing my body to relax even as the pain continues to pulse in waves. But Rory’s voice is steady, always steady, and it’s the one thing that keeps me going.

“That's it, just like that. Clary, you're amazing.”

I rest back against the pillows, trying to gather my breath, but the tension still hums in my muscles, the anticipation of what’s to come next keeping my heart racing.

Rory is right beside me, watching me with that look of fierce pride, like he can’t believe how strong I am.

Like he knew all along that I could do this.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair away from my forehead.

He’s about to say something else when his phone buzzes. He looks down at it for a second before pressing a button.

“I’ll be right back, love. Just breathe. Stay with me.”

I nod, closing my eyes for a moment, just focusing on the sound of his voice, the steady rhythm of his breathing. It feels like everything in the room falls away, just the two of us for a heartbeat. But then, I hear Rory speak again, his voice soft but urgent.

“Miranda, hey. We’re at the hospital. Clary’s in labor.”

The pain comes again, and I bite my lip to hold back a groan, but Rory is right there, holding my hand, letting me squeeze as hard as I need to.

“Yeah,” Rory says into the phone. “She’s strong, but this is going fast. I’m staying right here with her. She’s doing great.”

He pauses for a moment, listening before his voice softens again, this time with a slight grin in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m sure she’d love to hear from you. Give me a second.”

Rory puts the phone on speaker and places it between us. I blink at the phone, too exhausted to fully process what's happening, but then Miranda’s voice comes through loud and clear.

“Clary, darling, how are you doing?” Miranda’s voice is warm, comforting, and I immediately feel a sense of relief wash over me just hearing it. “You’re an absolute goddess. I hope you know that.”

I give a small smile, though it’s more of a grimace as another contraction hits.

“I’m surviving,” I say between breaths, my voice shaky. “It’s… it’s not easy.”

“You’re stronger than you think, honey,” Miranda reassures me. “You can get through this. And when you do, I’ve got a little surprise for you. Something to help you recover.”

My heart flutters at the thought, and I find myself clinging to that image of something good waiting for me when this is over.

“I can’t wait,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

Miranda chuckles softly, her voice filled with warmth. “I’m sure it’ll make you feel a lot better. But first, focus on what’s in front of you. You’re going to be okay. Just breathe through it. I’m so proud of you.”

Tears sting my eyes, and I swallow hard. “Thanks, Miranda.”

She pauses for a moment, then adds, “And once that little one is here, I’m spoiling them rotten. That’s a promise.”

I laugh softly despite the pain, my heart lightening a little. The thought of her holding my son, caring for him, makes me feel a sense of calm I didn’t know I could feel right now.

“I’ll hold you to that,” I say, squeezing Rory’s hand again, grateful for the support, both from him and from Miranda.

“Of course you will,” Miranda replies, and I can almost hear her smile. “You’re a tough cookie, Clary. Just keep going. You’re almost there.”

And with those final words of reassurance, I feel myself settle into the rhythm of it all, holding on to Rory’s hand, his presence grounding me as I focus on the task ahead.

It feels like forever, but a few hours later, with one final push, our baby bursts onto the scene with a loud, lusty cry.

“It’s a boy!” the doctor exclaims as she holds him up, his tiny body wriggling in her arms. Rory grabs my hand and squeezes gently, our eyes meeting in a moment of pure adoration.

As Rory cuts the cord, I watch, a beaming smile on my face. Once our son is placed on my chest, I can’t help the tears that fall as I stroke his tiny, soft head, overwhelmed with love.

“Let’s name him Sean,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.

“Sean,” Rory repeats, thinking it over. “I like it. Sean Woodcrest.”

I shake my head, my heart swelling even more. “No. Sean Brannagan.”

Rory’s expression morphs into one of awe as he stares at me, a look of pure admiration in his eyes.

A few hours later, I’m resting while Rory rocks Sean gently in his arms. I suddenly remember Miranda’s words on the phone earlier, and a curious smile creeps onto my face.

Eagerly, I reach for my phone, dialing her number, my heart fluttering as I wonder what the surprise could be.

“Hello, darling!” Miranda’s voice rings out, cheerful as ever. “How are you?”

“Baby Sean Brannagan is here,” I announce, my heart full as I relay the news. We chat for a few minutes about the birth, and then I hesitate before asking, “So, about that surprise…”

“Oh, yes, darling. Wonderful news,” Miranda says with a little too much excitement in her voice. “I got a letter addressed to you today. You were accepted into fashion school!”

My jaw drops. Can it really be possible that in the last twenty-four hours, I’ve gotten everything I could have ever wanted? It seems too perfect, like some kind of dream.

But as I glance over at Rory, his expression filled with adoration as he gazes at our son, I realize it’s not a dream. This is real.

And I truly got my happy ending.