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AMELIA

Something isn’t right.

I’ve been feeling off for the past couple of days—more tired than usual, a persistent backache that won’t ease no matter how I sit, occasional twinges that I’ve been dismissing as Braxton Hicks contractions. But this morning, the discomfort has taken on a different quality.

“Your Majesty?” The Minister of Education pauses in the middle of her presentation, looking at me with concern. “Are you all right?”

I realize I’ve been rubbing my lower back and grimacing. “I’m fine,” I assure her, straightening in my chair. “Please continue.”

She returns to her discussion of rural school funding, but I find it increasingly difficult to focus. My back is really hurting now, a deep, rhythmic ache that seems to wrap around to my abdomen every fifteen minutes or so.

I glance at my watch. Tristan is in the northern province today, touring flood damage and meeting with local officials.

He’s not due back until evening. I should call him, I think, then immediately dismiss the idea.

This is probably nothing. No need to pull him away from important work just because I’m uncomfortable.

Shannon catches my eye from her position near the door, her brow furrowed in question. I give her a small smile that I hope is reassuring, though judging by her expression, I’m not convincing anyone.

Another pain grips me, stronger this time, making me inhale sharply. The minister stops again, and even the most oblivious of my advisers are now watching me with concern.

“Perhaps we should continue this meeting another time,” Shannon suggests smoothly, already moving to my side.

“No, I—” I begin to protest, then feel a distinct pop and a rush of warm fluid between my legs. Oh. Oh no.

The room falls silent as everyone realizes what’s happening. I look down at the puddle forming beneath my chair, momentarily frozen in disbelief. I’m only thirty-eight weeks along. This wasn’t supposed to happen for another two weeks, when Tristan would be firmly by my side.

“Call the hospital,” Shannon commands, her voice cutting through my shock. “And get Parker. The queen is in labor.”

The next few minutes are a blur of activity.

Someone helps me to my feet. Shannon disappears briefly, returning with a change of clothes.

Parker materializes, his usual stoic expression replaced by alert efficiency.

Typically he would be with Tristan, but because I’m so close to my due date, Parker has been assigned to me.

“We need to get you to the hospital, Your Majesty,” he says, already guiding me toward the door. “The car is waiting.”

“Tristan,” I manage to say as another contraction builds. “Call Tristan.”

“Already done,” Shannon assures me, supporting me on my other side. “He’s on his way back. The helicopter was already standing by.”

The knowledge that he’s coming should reassure me, but suddenly the reality of what’s happening crashes down. I’m having a baby. Today. Now. And Tristan is hours away.

“I can’t do this without him,” I whisper to Shannon as we make our way slowly down the corridor.

“You won’t have to,” she promises. “He’ll be there.”

But we both know labor can progress quickly. The rush of fear makes my knees weak.

Parker and Shannon help me into the waiting car, and we’re speeding toward the hospital with a police escort before I fully process what’s happening. The contractions are coming faster now, about ten minutes apart, each one stealing my breath.

“Try to breathe through them,” Shannon coaches, demonstrating the techniques we learned in Lamaze class. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

I try to follow her example, but panic is making it difficult. “It’s too early,” I say between contractions. “The nursery isn’t completely ready. Tristan’s speech for the announcement isn’t finalized. I haven’t packed a hospital bag.”

“Everything is taken care of,” she assures me, her calm voice anchoring me. “Kate had your bag prepared weeks ago, and the hospital has been on standby since your thirty-sixth week. The royal suite is ready.”

Of course it is. In my rational mind, I know the palace operates with military precision. But right now, I don’t feel like a queen with an army of staff ensuring everything runs smoothly. I feel like a scared first-time mother whose husband isn’t here.

“Shannon.” I grab her hand as another contraction builds, this one strong enough to make me gasp. “I’m scared.”

She squeezes my fingers, her expression softening. “I know. But you’re the strongest person I know, Amelia. You’ve handled ambassadors, state dinners, and Tristan at his worst. You can absolutely handle this.”

Her mention of Tristan makes tears spring to my eyes. “What if he doesn’t make it in time?”

“He will,” she says with such conviction that I almost believe her. “But even if he’s cutting it close, I’ll be with you every step of the way. I promise.”

The car pulls up to the private entrance of the hospital, where a medical team is already waiting.

Everything happens with practiced efficiency—I’m whisked into a wheelchair, brought through corridors cleared of other patients, and settled into a spacious suite that looks more like a luxury hotel room than a hospital.

A doctor examines me while nurses hook up monitors that track the baby’s heartbeat and my contractions. The steady thrum of our child’s heart fills the room, momentarily distracting me from my fear.

“You’re at four centimeters, Your Majesty,” the doctor informs me. “Making good progress, but we still have some time. The baby’s heart rate is excellent, and everything looks normal despite being a bit early.”

“How much time?” I ask, thinking only of Tristan.

“First labors typically last twelve to twenty-four hours,” she says gently. “Though every woman is different. I wouldn’t expect this baby before late tonight at the earliest.”

Relief washes over me. Surely Tristan will be here by then. Shannon’s phone buzzes, and she steps away to answer it, returning moments later with a smile.

“That was Parker. Tristan’s helicopter just landed at the palace. He’ll be here within twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. I can handle anything for twenty minutes. As if to challenge this resolve, another contraction seizes me, stronger than any before. I grip the bedrails, trying to remember my breathing, but a moan escapes me anyway.

Shannon takes my hand, letting me squeeze as the pain peaks, then gradually subsides. “You’re doing great,” she encourages.

“This hurts more than I expected,” I admit once I can speak again.

“Do you want to discuss pain management options?” the doctor asks. “We have everything available, from an epidural to?—”

“Not yet,” I interrupt. “I want to wait for Tristan.”

She nods understandingly. “Of course. I’ll check back in an hour unless you need me sooner.”

As the medical team steps out, leaving just Shannon and me with a nurse monitoring the machines, I feel another wave of vulnerability wash over me.

“What if I’m terrible at this?” I ask Shannon, voicing the fear that’s been lingering beneath the surface for months. “At being a mother, I mean.”

She sits on the edge of my bed, her expression serious. “Do you remember last year when that five-year-old girl presented you with flowers at the children’s hospital? She was so nervous she dropped them, and you got down on your knees in that ridiculously expensive gown to help her pick them up.”

I nod, remembering the child’s trembling lip and my instinctive desire to comfort her.

“Or the time you stayed up all night with the ambassador’s teenage daughter when she was having a crisis about her future? Or how you personally revamped the entire royal education initiative because you didn’t think it was serving children properly?”

“That’s different,” I protest. “That’s just being decent.”

“That’s being a natural nurturer,” Shannon corrects me. “You care, Amelia. Deeply and genuinely. That’s the most important quality in a parent.”

Before I can respond, the door bursts open, and Tristan rushes in, still wearing his coat, his hair disheveled as if he’s been running his hands through it.

“Lia!” he exclaims, immediately coming to my side and taking my hand. “Are you all right? Is the baby okay?”

The sight of him—worried, slightly rumpled, completely focused on me—releases something tight in my chest. “We’re both fine,” I assure him. “You made it.”

“Of course I made it,” he says, pressing his lips to my forehead. “I told the pilot I’d take over if he didn’t get me here in time.”

The mental image of Tristan attempting to fly a helicopter makes me laugh despite everything. “I’m sure that went over well.”

“He seemed to take the threat seriously,” Tristan says with a small smile, his thumb stroking the back of my hand.

Shannon rises from her spot on the bed. “I’ll give you two some privacy. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

“Shannon,” I call as she reaches the door. She turns back, and I try to convey everything I’m feeling with my eyes. “Thank you.”

She nods, understanding all I’m not saying, and slips out.

Tristan takes her place on the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning my face. “How are you really doing?”

“Scared,” I admit, knowing I don’t need to pretend with him. “Excited. In pain. All of the above.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when it started,” he says, guilt clouding his features.

“You’re here now,” I tell him, squeezing his hand. “That’s what matters.”

Another contraction begins to build, and I tense, gripping his hand tighter. “Talk to me,” I manage to say between clenched teeth. “Distract me.”

He launches into a story about his helicopter ride, how he practically ordered the pilot to break speed records, how Parker kept trying to remind him of security protocols while Tristan was focused solely on getting to me. His voice anchors me as the pain crests and recedes.

“Better?” he asks as I relax back against the pillows.

“For now,” I say, catching my breath. “They’re getting stronger.”