His Luna His Queen
I could already imagine holding him close, the saviour my people longed for.
“But… is it dangerous?” I asked, my voice thin.
“All birth is dangerous, Your Grace. But this—this will be safer than waiting. The medicine will prepare you. And my hands will do the rest.” He slid the papers across the table. “If you consent, sign this agreement.”
I leaned forward, staring at the parchment. My name already written at the top, the doctor’s signature below. All it needed was my mark.
My heart raced, doubt clawing at me. Yet, what choice did I have? I thought of the rubble of our homes, the cries of my people, the prophecy whispered from generation to generation. This child had to be born. I had to be
Bab Populer