Chapter 19

Two days later, Lois stirred from her swoon. The sun slanted into the small room, warm light spilling across her face and forcing her swollen eyes into a squint. They ached. Slowly, painfully, she blinked them open, the world around her still blurry.

She tried to sit up, but her arms and legs trembled, weak and unsteady, her body still drained from the ordeal. At last, her vision cleared enough to take in the scene before her.

A young lass swayed gently beside her, cradling a baby in her arms, humming as she fed the child milk with a tender smile. Beside her, an older woman carefully dressed another infant, her movements patient and practiced. On the bed lay four more, wriggling and crying in unison, their voices a chorus—soft and urgent, high-pitched cries tugging at Lois’s very soul.

Her heart lurched. She tried desperately to recall her last memory, but all she could piece together was the mountain… the searing pain… and the sensation of a child slipping from her body.

“My baby!” she cried out suddenly, her voice raw with alarm as she forced herself upright. “Where is my child? Where—where is he?!”

The lass turned quickly, her face lighting with relief. “Oh—you’re awake! Praise the goddess. Congratulations, my lady. These are your children. Your sextuplets. You gave birth to six healthy, bouncing babies—two girls and four boys. All naturally, all by your strength alone.”

Lois froze, the words swirling in her mind. Sextuplets? She blinked through her tears at the sight before her. Six tiny lives, warm and perfect. Her hand flew to her mouth as astonishment and disbelief overtook her.

“I… I gave birth to six?” Her voice trembled with awe, her face breaking into the brightest expression of wonder.

“Yes,” the lass said with a tender smile. “Six beautiful little ones.”

Tears welled in Lois’s eyes as she reached out with trembling arms, and the lass carefully placed the first child into her embrace. Lois held him close, her tears falling freely as she gazed into his tiny face. His eyes—so sharp already—seemed to stare straight into her soul.

“He was the first one we found with you in the mountain,” the lass explained softly. “They’re nearly identical, so we marked their nails according to their time of birth. This one is the eldest, marked on his thumb. Would you like to name them now?”

Lois’s vision blurred again, this time with joy. She traced the baby’s cheek with a fingertip, her heart swelling. His sharp gaze, his features… unmistakable. He bore the striking resemblance of Alpha Karl—her mate, who despised her. Yet she could not deny it. He was her son. The son of the Alpha King. A royal cub of Hale Kingdom.

“I hereby name you Conall,” Lois whispered, her lips trembling as she kissed his forehead. “A name of strength, of royalty, of leadership. Conall—the mighty wolf of valor, the royal cub of Hale.”

The lass’s mother smiled sadly. “Forgive us… we have no right to mark him with a royal tattoo. That can only be done in the palace.”

Lois nodded, brushing away her tears. “It is fine. He is marked in my heart already.”

The second child—a girl—was passed to her next. Lois gasped softly. She was exquisite. Blue eyes as deep as the sky, hair already long and golden, her beauty a delicate mixture of Karl’s power and Lois’s softness.

“I name you Cirila,” Lois said, smiling through her tears. “Princess Cirila of Hale. Your beauty is a sunrise—radiant, painting the skies in colors no one has ever seen before.” She kissed her daughter’s forehead, her lips lingering as though to brand her with love.

Then came the next—a boy, bold eyes staring straight at her with uncanny determination. Lois chuckled through her tears.

“I name you Coen,” she said firmly. “Prince Coen of Hale. Brave warrior. Your courage is a shield that will protect others, a strength that leaves behind safety like a lingering sweetness.” She kissed his brow.

The fourth was placed in her arms, a boy who wriggled and kicked as though already fighting the world. His eyes, bold and fierce, were the very mirror of Karl’s. Lois laughed, holding him close.

“You shall be Cahir,” she declared. “Prince Cahir of Hale. Fearless wolf. Your courage will roar louder than storms, protecting all who look to you with unmatched strength.” She kissed him, pride swelling in her chest.

The fifth came, and Lois gasped anew. A boy who looked nothing like Karl, but wholly like her. His features mirrored hers in every detail—nose, eyes, hair, even the rare shade of blue that glistened in his gaze. He was her reflection in masculine form.

“You are Conan,” Lois whispered, awe in her tone. “Prince Conan of Hale. Like a rare moonbeam, ethereal and untamed, you are proof of the moon goddess’s endless beauty. A child who defies expectation.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, her tears soaking his soft hair.

Finally, the lass brought the last—another girl. Lois’s breath caught in her throat. This one looked entirely like Karl, but softened, made delicate and feminine. The same green almond-shaped eyes, the same Roman nose.

“Cera,” Lois whispered with trembling lips. “Princess Cera of Hale. Like a rose in bloom—beautiful, kind, sweet as honey. May all who behold you be captivated by your grace.” She kissed her gently, smiling despite her exhaustion.

The lass squealed softly, her eyes wet. “They’re so perfect! All of them!”

Lois reached out, taking the girl’s hand, her heart overflowing. “I can never thank you enough. You saved me. You saved them. I… I have no words.”

At that moment, the farmer stepped closer, his expression shadowed with unease. “We were shocked to find you in that state. But tell me—how does a woman who has birthed the royal sextuplets of Hale end up in the wilderness? What brought you here?”

Lois’s lips parted. I am just a sex sla— Her voice faltered, her eyes falling to the ground in shame. Silence smothered her words.

The lass quickly grasped her father’s arm and pulled him aside. “Father, don’t interrogate her!” she hissed.

He glared down at her. “Jacinta, do you even understand? Do you know what it means for a consort—or a concubine, whatever she is—to risk the royal blood outside palace walls? It is a grave sin!” His voice shook with restrained fear.

Jacinta’s eyes blazed. “I don’t care what she is! Do you realize what she’s done for this kingdom? She gave birth to six babies at once—and she survived! That is a miracle!”

“Jacinta!” the farmer snapped. “According to Hale’s law, if she is not Luna Queen, then she has no power equal to the Alpha King. If she fled with the royal cubs, she has committed abduction. Kidnapping! A sin punishable by death—for her, and for anyone who harbors her.”

Jacinta’s face paled. “So you’re saying we’d all be killed for this? Just like that?”

“There would be a trial,” he muttered grimly.

Jacinta squared her shoulders, her voice sharp. “A trial? We don’t even know who she is! Consort, concubine, breeder—whatever name they use, she’s still a woman in need. She’s traumatized, Father. Do you think it’s easy to escape Hale carrying six royal children in her womb? She needs us.”